With a vacant expression, Ivy absently brushed her cheek and
tried to focus her vision on him.
"Get out," he said, turning to the others.
Ivy remained seated on the floor, stroking her face while the
boys disconnected the equipment from the Joey and gathered their
knapsacks.
"You can keep the beer, man," one of the boys said as he
shouldered his pack. Then the pair was gone.
Alice padded softly into the room and began picking up the
scattered litter. She stepped on an empty potato chip bag, which
crackled noisily underfoot. Peter could see that it was an
International Foods brand, one of Matthew's onetime goodies. Too
bad he hadn't stayed in fucking soda pop. Any temporary remorse
Peter felt for his behavior, for slapping Ivy, vanished, and his
rage returned with greater force.
"Leave it, Alice. Ivy will clean up."
The housekeeper hesitated then returned the empty bottles to the
table, her face flushed as she soundlessly exited the room.
Peter turned and faced Ivy from where he now stood, across the
room.
"I'm sorry," she said, still sitting on the floor and now rocking
back and forth with her arms wrapped around herself. "We were
working on my program, and I wanted to surprise you tonight with
a new dialect module I put together - "
"You have to go."
" - and I wanted to demonstrate it when you walked in, so you
would be happy.
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