They sat around the remains of dinner in Charyn’s spacious breakfast room. When David arrived from work to pick up Sean and Ingrid, he found Nona and Cliff there, so Charyn fed them all. Dinner had since finished, and the children had scattered.
“I know,” said David enthusiastically, “let’s go to the Art Museum.”
David was not particularly interested in the glories of the Cleveland Museum of Art, impressive though they were. He wanted to talk to Nona semi-privately, away from the clatter of workmen and children, out of Charyn’s house, alone. The warmer he felt toward her, the warmer he thought she felt toward him, the less accessible she became. She was rarely where he expected her to be. When he came to Charyn’s, she was at her own house. When he went there, she was with the architect o
