"So how come you couldn't even come up with a name for a dum-dum bird, and then you hit me with something like 'Captain Howdy'? Why do you call him 'Captain Howdy'?"
" 'Cause that's his name, of course," Regan snickered.
"Says who?"
"Well, him."
"Of course."
"Of course."
"And what else does he say to you?"
"Stuff."
"What stuff?"
Regan shrugged. "Just stuff."
"For instance."
"I'll show you. I'll ask him some questions."
"You do that"
Her fingertips on the planchette, Regan stared at the board with eyes drawn tight in concentration. "Captain Howdy, don't you think my mom is pretty?"
A second... five... ten... twenty...
"Captain Howdy?"
More seconds. Chris was surprised. She'd expected her daughter to slide the planchette to the section marked Yes. Oh, for pete's sake, what now? An unconscious hostility? Oh, that's crazy.
"Captain Howdy, that's really not very polite," chided Regan.
"Honey, maybe he's sleeping."
"Do you think?"
"I think you should be sleeping."
"Already?"
"C'mon, babe! Up to bed!" Chris stood up.
"He's a poop," muttered Regan, then followed her mother up the stairs.
Chris tucked her into bed and then sat on the bedside. "Honey, Sunday's no work. You want to do somethin'?"
"What?"
When they'd first come to Washington, Chris had made an effort to find playmates for Regan. She'd uncovered only one, a twelve-year-old girl named Judy. But Judy's family was away for Easter, and Chris was concerned now that Regan might be lonely.
"Oh, well, I don't know," Chris replied. "Somethin'. You want to go see the sights? Hey, the cherry blossoms, maybe! That's right, they're out early! You want to go see 'em?"
"Oh, yeah, Mom!"
"And tomorrow night a movie! How's that?"
"Oh, I love you!"
Regan gave her a hug and Chris hugged her back with an extra fervor, whispering, "Oh, Rags, honey, I love you."
"You can bring Mr. Dennings if you like."
Chris pulled back for an appraisal. "Mr. Dennings?"
"Well, I mean, it's okay."
Chris chuckled. "No, it isn't okay. Honey, why would I want to bring Mr. Dennings?"
"Well, you like him."
"Oh, well, sure I like him, honey; don't you?"
She made no answer.
"Baby, what's going on?" Chris prodded her daughter.
"You're going to many him, Mommy, aren't you." It wasn't a question, but a sullen statement.
Chris exploded into a laugh. "Oh, my baby, of course not! What on earth are you talking about? Mr. Dennings? Where'd you get that idea?"
"But you like him."
"I like pizzas, but I wouldn't ever marry one! Honey, he's a friend, just a crazy old friend!"
"You don't like him like Daddy?"
"I love your daddy, honey; I'll always love your daddy. Mr. Dennings comes by here a lot 'cause he's lonely, that's all; he's a friend."
"Well, I heard..."
"You heard what? Heard from who?"
Whirling slivers of doubt in the eyes; hesitation; then a shrug of dismissal "I don't know. I just thought."
"Well, it's silly, so forget it."
"Okay."
"Now go to sleep."
"Can I read? I'm not sleepy."
"Sure. Read your new book, hon, until you get tired."
"Thanks, Mommy."
"Good night, hon."
"Good night."
Chris blew her a kiss from the door and them closed it. She walked down the stairs. Kids! Where do they get their ideas! She wondered if Regan connected Dennings to her filing for divorce. Oh, come on, that's dumb. Regan knew only that Chris had filed. Yet Howard had wanted it. Long separations. Erosion of ego as the husband of a star. He'd found someone else. Regan didn't know that. Oh, quit all this amateur psychoanalyzing and try to spend a little more time with her!
Back to the study. The script. Chris read. Halfway through, she saw Regan coming toward her.
"Hi, honey. What's wrong?"
"There's these real funny noises, Mom."
"In your room?"
"It's like knocking. I can't go to sleep."
Where the hell are those traps!
"Honey, sleep in my bedroom and I'll see what it is."
Chris led her to the bedroom and tucked her in.
"Can I watch TV for a while till I sleep?"
"Where's your book?"
"l can't find it. Can I watch?"
"Sure; okay." Chris tuned in a channel on the bedroom portable. "Loud enough?"
"Yes, Mom."
"Try to sleep."
Chris turned out the light and went down the hall. She climbed the narrow, carpeted stairs that led to the attic. She opened the door and felt for the light switch; found it; flicked it, stooping as she entered.