He walked down to the end of the driveway, holding his head high. He imagined her looking at the back of his head, and thought it was very arrogant to suppose she was watching him that way. When he got to the end of the driveway, he slapped the wood corner post and whirled around to wave at her. She was watching him and then waved when they saw each other. She was bright with a smile and he thought she was terrific. He waved too as he slipped around the post and disappeared from her sight.

Then he got some beer for the party he was headed to and kept walking. Swinging the cardboard six-pack in his arm, smelling barbecues from the neighborhood, he thought of her, the girl he'd just left, sitting alone outside her house in the little half-walled garden on the folding chairs in the sun. He could give her one of the beers, to keep her company on that sunny summer afternoon, while he went away to his party. And then, this would be reason to talk again, he could say what he wished he had said, if he knew what that was, if he could think of it in the three minutes it would take to walk back. He could say, "I thought you might like one of these." And he could kiss her, gently on the cheek. She might respond, glad he'd come back, to complete what had haltingly started. He got excited, thinking of it. If she was happy then, he could fall into her, lift her up, carry her inside.

He walked on to the party with six beers to offer.