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“
Not
every
game
.
”
“
Every
game
that
counted
,
”
Beltik
said
.
She
studied
his
face
.
He
was
younger
than
she
remembered
him
.
But
she
was
older
now
.
He
was
an
uncompromising
young
man
;
every
part
of
him
was
uncompromising
.
“
You
think
I
’
m
a
prima
donna
,
don
’
t
you
?
”
He
permitted
himself
a
small
smile
.
“
We
’
re
all
prima
donnas
,
”
he
said
.
“
That
’
s
chess
for
you
.
”
When
she
put
the
TV
dinners
in
the
oven
that
night
,
they
had
two
boards
set
up
with
endgame
positions
:
his
set
with
its
green
and
cream
squares
,
its
heavy
plastic
pieces
;
her
wooden
board
with
its
rosewood
and
maple
men
.
Both
sets
were
the
Staunton
pattern
that
all
serious
players
used
;
both
had
four
-
inch
kings
.
She
hadn
’
t
invited
him
to
stay
for
lunch
and
dinner
;
it
had
been
understood
.
He
went
to
the
grocery
store
a
few
blocks
away
for
the
food
while
she
sat
musing
over
a
group
of
possible
rook
moves
,
trying
to
avoid
a
draw
in
a
theoretical
game
.
While
she
made
lunch
he
lectured
her
about
keeping
in
good
physical
shape
and
getting
enough
sleep
.
He
had
also
bought
the
two
frozen
dinners
for
supper
.
“
You
’
ve
got
to
stay
open
,
”
Beltik
said
.
“
If
you
get
locked
into
one
idea
—
like
this
king
knight
pawn
,
say
—
it
’
s
death
.
Look
at
this
…
”
She
turned
to
his
board
on
the
kitchen
table
.
He
was
holding
a
cup
of
coffee
and
standing
,
frowning
down
at
the
board
,
holding
his
chin
with
the
other
hand
.
“
Look
at
what
?
”
she
said
,
irritated
.
He
reached
down
,
picked
up
the
white
rook
,
moved
it
across
the
board
to
king
rook
one
—
the
lower
right
-
hand
corner
.
“
Now
his
rook
pawn
’
s
pinned
.
”
“
So
what
?
”
“
He
’
s
got
to
move
the
king
now
or
he
gets
stuck
later
.
”
