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Nothing that Meets the Eye They walked together. She could hardly keep up with him, so he took her hand. The fields opened up on either side after the pavement stopped. Charlotte strained to see the car, and then the road turned suddenly and they came upon it parked by the roadside. It was big, but not so bright as those in the movies. He opened the door and lifted her in, her feet dangling over the edge of the seat. Then he came in from the other side. "All set?" "Uh-huh." Charlotte was looking at the car inside. "Like it?" he asked, and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. They didn't drive off immediately. Charlotte was examining the gaudily colored dashboard, its clock with green numbers and silver hands. The other circles she did not understand, but they were all beautiful, colored and shining. The man caught her hand suddenly and she felt his fingers warm and moist, felt her mouth twist up as though she were about to cry. Then she wished that she had not come, wished that she were back on the front porch with Emilie. But he was smiling, laughing, even, as he started the car. "You like to go fast?" Charlotte tried to answer, but her lips were stiff. He squeezed her hand again. "I like a lot of speed." Then through the engine's noise she heard someone calling her name. The man heard it, too, and released her hand. But the car was moving on toward her house. "Charlotte! Charlo-otte!" "That's my mother," Charlotte said quietly. Charlotte noticed that he frowned and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. She felt the cool breeze in her face and she wanted to go on riding, but they were not going fast and she wanted to go fast. As they came near the house, she pressed herself against the seat, hoping her mother would not see her. The woman stood with one foot on the curb, her apron hanging almost to the ground. She waved at them and and he slowed the car. She came nearer, hiding her hands under her apron. "Charlotte." She grinned, but she looked at the man almost flirtatiously. "Em'lie said you were out ridin'. I just wanted to make sure where you was...an' I need you to help with the baby now." She pushed some strands of hair behind her ear. The man at the wheel smiled broadly and said, "How d'you do?" Charlotte's mother nodded to him. "I allus have Charlotte help me with the baby 'bout this time after supper...It's awful nice o'you to take her out ridin', mister, but she didn't say nothin' to me about it." She laughed nervously. "Sure, I know," he said. He stretched one arm across and opened the door gallantly. "Maybe tomorrow, then. I'll be around for a few days." The woman looked in awe at the shiny dials and knobs, the upholstered seats. "Why...I'd like you to take her ridin'...most anytime." Then Charlotte and her mother walked hand in hand down the sidewalk. Once the woman cast a timid glance back at the car. "He's a mighty nice man for a city fellah, Charlotte. Where'd you meet up with him?...An' say, ain't that a pretty car?" Charlotte watched the ground pass below her bare feet. Her free hand brushed along the coarse grass that grew high. "Maybe he'll be around tomorrow," her mother said. One blade of grass Charlotte caught convulsively and the edges jerked through her fingers. As she looked at her thumb, two thin red lines came out of the flesh. I picked up Nothing that Meets the Eye with the recommendation of the New York Times book review. I had read another novel by the same author and liked it. This book simply proved to me once again that I am not a fan of short stories. Either her stories weren't that good or I don't like the style. I will go with the latter.

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