\"ARE YOU STILL PRETTY， MAMA?.\"
Rachel closed her eyes tightly， shutting out the stove，
the canner， the jars of tomatoes， the air in the kitchen
that was like sweat-dampened silk that clings to skin on
a humid day. Was she still pretty? }tad she ever been?
Yes! she tilought defiantly. But she must have let her-
seli go these past five months if her nine-year-old was
raising the question. Rachel opened her eyes and faced
her son. He was stim and wiry， his nose speckled with
treckles， and it would be years before he grew into his
ears. His shorts were dark around the waist with per-
spiration and his thin shoulders vvere bent with the
weight of the basket i~e had hauled from the garden. He
looked so solemn her smile died on her lips. \"What-
ever makes you ask a question like that， Pete?.\"
He began to sort tomatoes from the basket. \"I was
just thinking thaf: if you were still pretty， maybe--
maybe you cotdci lind another daddy to take care of us.\"
He had that hes~.tant !ook about his narrow pinched
tare that suggested i m wanted {o say more， but Ra-
chel s mouth fell (~pen in astonishment and her reac-
tion preoccupied him.
\"Find another... Oh， sweetheart， that s not why
people get married.\"
Pete s ears turned bright red. He averted his face. \"I
don t see why not. It seems a good reason to me. I can t
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