He wanted and needed to talk to him, for he respected and trusted him. He asked: “How’s Mother?” Harman Wright replied: “She’s lying down. She doesn’t want any dinner. I’m afraid she’s pretty unhappy over this.” “I’m sorry, Dad . . . I wanted to have a chance to talk to you alone first before I said anything, but it . . . sort of all came out.” Harman went to the side table and made two highballs. “Women always have to be eased up to a new idea gradually,” he said. “Cigar?” Jerry again felt warmed towards his father for the simple and genuine way he created the atmosphere that his son was a boy no longer, his tacit acknowledgement that the things that had happened to him since he had been away had changed their relationship. He felt strongly that his father was a good man. They lit their cigars and puffed on them for a moment. Then Harman asked: “When did you say you were going back?”
