It was nine and the sun was quick on the deceptive peace of the Pacific. She must have slept or morning wouldn't be. here. Her heart was clenched within her, wondering where he might be. One radio man had already disappeared. And then she heard his voice. There was no accent of trouble in it; she'd been worried over something she herself had invented. "Of course you'll have dinner with us. Sure you will. Meet you at the Hilton at seven, Kathie." That Kathie again. She called out, "What's it all about?" He came into the bedroom. He hadn't slept; his eyes were weary. He wore an old checked cardigan over bright blue bathing trunks, the same dirty sneakers, and carried a tall glass of orange juice. "For me?" she asked. "Hustle your own." But he handed it to her, kissed her nose, and said, "Made a date for us tonight with the Travises. I want to see Walker. You'll like them." He was himself this morning, not alternately jittery and deceptively quiet like the ocean outside.
