He looked comfortably around the bar.
"Ah," Oliver said. "Not necessarily where you sleep, then."
Richard raised his eyebrows. "Not necessarily. I have two homes--at the
lab and right here."
"Lucky dog," Oliver said. Richard flashed his smile. Be yourself and
you are home anywhere. Oliver drank up. "Well, I've got to be going."
"Have a good holiday, Oliver."
"You, too."
"You smell like Deweys," Jennifer said, when he walked into the
kitchen. She took the pizza from his hands.
"Good old Deweys," Oliver said. "How's Precious?"
"Sound asleep. Oooh, it's getting chilly."
"I'll get some wood," Oliver said quickly. "Come on, Woof." They had a
couple of cords stacked in the barn, cut to two foot lengths. He turned
on the light and found the maul leaning against the corner where he had
left it. He swung the maul and tossed the wood and pretended that
Suzanne wasn't sitting in her quiet living room, pretended that nothing
had happened. Woof sat attentively in the doorway. There was only the
splitting, the thunk of the maul into the chopping block, the klokking
sound of pieces thrown on the pile . . .
"Pizza's ready. My goodness, Sweetums, what a pile!" Oliver gathered up
an armful.
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