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By Root 301 0

painting secret things in the garlands on the walls and furniture that first appalled and then amused Linc. They had dinner together at six, talking about her paintings of driven women and his book of rebellious women. It was Daisy’s favorite part of the day, and she thought it might be Linc’s too, because he was never late and he never tried to hurry her through the meal or took his food upstairs on a tray. She was learning so much from him, not just about his book but about her own work. He brought her home pictures of Rosa Parks so she could finish the painting, and he talked with her about the ideas she wanted to use, what they meant to him, which helped her figure out what they meant to her. They talked about his book too, about birth control and what it meant to women, and he asked her questions and listened to her answers, even once saying, “Wait a minute, I want to write that down,” and leaving the table for pencil and paper while she went dizzy with pride and pleasure. She’d never known conversation could be so intense and so satisfying and so ultimately frustrating, because making conversation with him told her what making love with him would be like, just as intimate and intense.

After dinner Linc worked on his book until eleven, and Daisy took her frustration upstairs and painted until three or four in the morning, first Rosa Parks and then, inspired by Linc, Margaret Sanger. The Sanger painting was different somehow, angrier in the reds and blacks she found herself using and the sharp forms with which she surrounded the intense central figure draped in gray, her tiny black eyes like tiny black holes in the canvas.

“That’s amazing,” Linc said when she showed it to him in November. “That’s my book. If I sell this book, maybe we could use it for the cover design. Would you mind?”

And Daisy had shook her head no because she was too dazzled to talk.

“I like your other stuff too,” he told her before he went back to his room to write, “but this is something different. You’re really growing here.”

I am, Daisy thought. Not enough yet, she still wasn’t where she should be, but the Sanger painting was stronger than her earlier work. The deal was working.

Except I want it all, she told herself. I love the intellectual stuff we have, but I want the physical stuff too.

Maybe one night when they were talking, arguing passionately about some idea, she could just lean over and kiss him. She tried to tell herself the story, how Linc would sweep her into his arms and say, “My God, how could I have been so blind?” but it wouldn’t come out true somehow. That wasn’t Linc. He’d be embarrassed and pull back and he’d take his meals on a tray and she’d lose the wonderful conversations she counted on. It was the first time she couldn’t make a story come out right, and it rattled her a little.

You have more right now than most women have ever dreamed of, she told herself. Don’t get greedy.

Linc wasn’t sure when he first realized he’d lost his grip on his story. The realization came gradually, built up in short encounters like the day he answered the front door to find a little old lady dressed in three different brightly colored cardigans and a lime green skirt. She handed him a pie and said, “This is for Daisy. You must be Linc. You have a lovely wife.” She peered up at him. “Reminds me of myself when I was young.”

She dresses like you too, Linc thought, but all he said was “Thank you, Mrs.—uh …”

“Armbruster. You tell Daisy I said thank you.”

“I certainly will.”

He took the pie into the kitchen and put it on the counter in front of Daisy. “Who’s Mrs. Armbruster?”

“Our next door neighbor on the right. She’s very nice. I helped her with her lawn mower yesterday. She said she was going to make us a rhubarb pie.”

This is not what I had in mind, Linc thought, but he didn’t say anything and Daisy went on. “Mr. Antonelli lives on our other side. He used to teach romance languages at the college before he retired. He said we needed to put potassium on our dogwood or it won’t bloom. And Dr. Banks lives across the street. He helped