 Why does Hank wait for Edith to leave before he changes clothes?
There was the usual welcoming crowd for a celebrity, and the usual speeches by the usual politicians who met him at the airport which had once been twenty miles outside of Croton, but which the growing city had since engulfed and placed well within its boundaries. There he sat between the mayor and a nervous young coed chosen as homecoming queen, and looked out at the police and fire department bands, the National Guard, the boy scouts and girl scouts, the Elks and Masons. He wanted a meal at his own table, a kiss from his wife, a word from his son, and later to see some old friends and a relative or two. He saw that as soon as the official car let him off at 45 Roosevelt Street. The head of the American Legion and the chief of police, who had escorted him on this trip from the square, didn't ask to go in with him. They held onto each other as if seeking mutual support, the thirty-three-year old woman and ten-year-old boy. So he put him down and told himself that it would all change, that everything would loosen up just as his commanding officer, General Carlisle, had said it would early this morning before he left Washington. Edith was leading him into the living room, her hand lying still in his, a cool, dead bird lying still in his. Carlisle had said his position was analogous to Columbus', to Vasco De Gama's, to Preshoff's when the Russian returned from the Moon—but more so. Edith said, "He made top forum the six-month period before vacation, and he made top forum the six-month period you went away, Hank." They had feared for him, having read of the many launchings gone wrong even in continent-to-continent experimental flight. Without waiting for an answer, he waved his hand—it shook; a ten-year-old boy's hand that shook—and ran from the room and from the house. He and Edith sat beside each other, and he wanted badly to take her in his arms, and yet he didn't want to oppress her. She led him upstairs and along the foyer past Ralphie's room and past the small guest room to their bedroom. He saw twin beds separated by an ornate little table with an ornate little lamp, and this looked more ominous a barrier to him than the twelve-foot concrete-and-barbed-wire fence around the experimental station.
 He doesn't want Edith to see the scars on his body. It will just remind her he died.
 Edith bought separate beds while he was gone. Undressing in front of her may make her uncomfortable.  The new bedroom arrangement put them in separate beds. He doesn't want Edith to feel uncomfortable by his undressing.  He doesn't want Edith to see the scars on his body. It will just remind her he died.  He doesn't want Edith to see the scars on his body. Scars may put a damper on the romance.