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Kenny was back. I think the whole town knew it and waited for the event as breathlessly and fearfully as we in the pink house did. The October stillness that had fallen upon us seemed to grow more intense as the day approached, until all of Hanover hovered in suspended animation.
He planned it that way, of course—the drama of waiting, expecting, not knowing—so that his appearance, when it came, was as much a shock as though we had not known he was coming. It was his same sense of drama, undoubtedly, that dictated the manner in which, almost at the end of the day, he did finally appear. He could as well have called from the station or, more simply, let us know when he would arrive. And for our part, it would not have been hard to determine the hour. Not so many trains or busses stop at Hanover, after all. But, just as in the past, we followed his cue, and waited at the house.
.....
Kenny and I were stretched out naked by the swimming hole. The day was hot and we had splashed and played for an hour. Kenny’s body sparkled with droplets of water. I stretched on my side and looked at him as he lay on his back, eyes closed, his hard, lean body bare. I could see the sun drying his skin, tiny bubbles bursting and disappearing as a larger expanse of dryness started at his chest and moved across his flat belly.
Kenny stretched his arms over his head, and turned and faced me. He grinned. For some reason, I was suddenly embarrassed.
.....