"I gave her a few days off," Greta said. "She'll be back this
afternoon."
"How come the time off?" Matthew said, without much interest. He
ate his muffin and pulled apart the newspaper, folded it on the
table, scanned the page, then glanced across it to his wife.
"I didn't want her around. I wanted to be alone."
He nodded, as if respecting her wish for privacy, then started
reading yet another article reporting yesterday's Wallaby and ICP
New York City announcement.
"Matthew," Greta said abruptly.
"Hmm?" he replied, his eyes never leaving the article.
"We need to talk."
He looked up distractedly for a moment at his wife, then returned
his attention to the newspaper. "Okay. Do we have yesterday's
'Examiner'?" He looked around the room. "I couldn't find one in
New York."
"Over there. Next to the sofa," she said, indicating the pile of
papers in the sitting room. He went to the stack and picked up
the topmost issue and sat down on the sofa. "What were you
saying?"
She studied him, instantly oblivious to her again as he read
about himself and yesterday's news. In an odd way she was glad
that he was behaving like this, poring over himself in the
newspaper, for it solidified her determination and kicked up the
heat of her anger a few more notches. There he sat, holding in
his hands the cause for their breakup, smiling proudly at his own
picture of himself and his damned machine.
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