After dinner Jessie lies on the couch with her head in Amy’s lap. Like her master, she knows a soft touch when she finds one. I click on 60

Minutes. Mike Wallace looks older every week.

According to Amy, her mother saw him on a trip to New York and complained that, in person, he was a wisp of a man, a virtual scarecrow. More power to him. I have begun to like old people on TV.

Hugh Downs. Bring ‘em all back.

Amy reaches over to the table and takes the remote and turns off the TV.

“What’s wrong?”

she asks.

“You’ve hardly said two words to me since you’ve come back from Bear Creek.”

I would very much like to avoid this conversation, but I don’t see any way around it. The trouble is, I don’t know what I want or even what I want to say. I can rationalize all I want about the reasons why this May-December business won’t work, but until I met Angela again it was working.

There was a spark between Amy and me that was real. I care deeply about Amy, and I know she loves me. Somehow though, ever since I went to eastern Arkansas it is as if I am being drawn away from her, and I seem helpless to be able to do anything about it. Certainly, it is not that I know with utter certainty I have’re met the love of my life.

Though I can’t put my finger on the reason, I do not feel entirely comfortable with Angela.

What I do know is that it is terribly unfair to Amy to pretend everything is normal between us.

“I should tell you I met my old girlfriend over there,” I begin miserably.

I am sitting in my recliner since Jessie is occupying my usual space on the couch.

Amy doesn’t even raise her eyes as she strokes Jessie’s head.

“Goodness, that was quick. I knew something like that was going on.

How long?”

She doesn’t understand.

“No!” I yelp.