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If things went the way she hoped they would this evening, she would have no need of plots for tomorrow.

She opened the front door of her side of the Dodge and sank onto the seat. Inside, the car was stifling. She blotted her upper lip on the hem of her skirt.

"So how do we present this?" Ira asked " 'Surprise, surprise, Jesse boy! Here's your ex-wife, here's your long-lost daughter. Never mind that you legally parted company years ago; we've decided you're getting back together now.' " "Well, for your information," she said, "I've already told him they're coming, and he'll be at our house for supper." Ira bent to look in on her. He said, "You told him?" "Right." "How?" he asked.

"By phone, of course." "You phoned him? You mean just now?" "Right." "And he'll be there for supper?" "Right." He straightened up and leaned against the car. "I don't get it," he said finally.

"What's to get?" "There's something too simple about it." All she could see of him was his midsection-a hollow- looking white shirt wilting over a belt. Wouldn't he be baking? This metal must radiate heat like a flatiron. Although it was true that the air had grown cooler now and the sun was slightly less direct, already starting to slip behind a faraway scribble of trees.

"I'm worried about that Maverick," she said, speaking to Ira's belt buckle.

"Hmm?" "Mrs. Stuckey's Maverick. I'd hate to ask her to move it, and I'm not sure we have room to get around it." That caught him, as she'd guessed it would-a question of logistics. He left, abruptly; she felt the car rock. He wandered off to check the Maverick's position, and Maggie tipped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.

Why was Ira so negative about Jesse? Why did he always have that skeptical twist to his voice when he discussed him? Oh, Jesse wasn't perfect-good heavens, no-but he had all kinds of endearing qualities. He was so generous and affectionate. And if he lost his temper easily, why, he regained it easily too, and had never been known to bear a grudge, which was more than you could say for Ira.

Was it plain old envy-a burdened, restrained man's envy of someone who was constitutionally carefree?

When Jesse was just a baby Ira- was always saying, "Don't pick him up every time he cries. Don't feed him every time he's hungry. You'll spoil him." "Spoil him?" Maggie had asked. "Feeding him when he's hungry is spoiling him? That's nonsense." But she had sounded more confident than she'd felt. Was she spoiling him? This was her very first experience with an infant. She had been the youngest in her family and never had the casual contact with babies that some of her friends had had. And Jesse was such a puzzling baby-colicky, at the start, giving no hint of the merry little boy he would later turn out to be. He had flown into tiny, red-faced rages for no apparent reason in the middle of the night. Maggie had had to walk him endlessly, wearing an actual path in the rug around the dining room table. Was it possible, she had wondered, that this baby just plain didn't like her? Where was it written that a child was always compatible with his parents? When you thought about it, it was amazing that so many families got along as well as they did. All they had to rely on was luck-the proper personality genes turning up like dice. And in Jesse's case, maybe the luck had been poor. She felt he was chafing against his parents. They were too narrow, too sedate, too conservative.

Once, carrying a squalling Jesse down the aisle of a city bus, Maggie had been surprised to feel him suddenly relax in her arms. He had hushed, and she had looked at his face. He was staring at a dressed-up blonde in one of the seats. He started smiling at her. He held out his arms. His kind of person, at last! Unfortunately, though, the blonde was reading a magazine and she never gave him so much as a glance.

And then the minute he discovered other children-all of whom instantly loved him-why, he hit the streets running and was hardly seen at