Page 7

As he started to sit up, he said, “Hey…”

Ann had heard a noise. Was it the floor creaking?

She held her breath and looked in the mirror, searching to see if there was someone in the room behind her. She saw nothing, then quickly turned to look more carefully.

Then she thought she had heard a man’s voice—Dick’s?—but knew that that had to be impossible.

Just imagined it, she thought, just wished it.

She shook her head, telling herself it had been too long a day.

Then suddenly she saw the clothes she had tossed on the couch were…moving?

She started to scream—but then there was Dick Canidy coming out from under her coat, the sweater still on his head.

He was dressed in uniform, his eyes smiling, his arms open wide.

“Hey, baby!” he said. “Surprised?”

Ann caught her breath, then felt slightly unsteady on her legs.

“Dick!” she cried softly.

She padded across the room into his arms, pulled the sweater off his head, buried her head in his neck. She felt his arms wrap around and hold her tightly. It was an incredible feeling.

She turned to look up at him, smiled, and they kissed deeply.

When finally they had separated, Dick lovingly cupped her face with both of his hands. He thought he noticed something on her cheek, gently angled it toward the candlelight, then saw on her fair skin a line of tears that glistened with the reflection of the flame.

He felt his body quiver, slightly and involuntarily, as he realized just how incredibly beautiful he found Ann and how deeply she affected him.

“Miss me?” he said softly and kissed the tears.

Ann was already unbuttoning Dick’s shirt.

“So how did you get in the flat?” Ann said as she poured port into the wineglass that Dick Canidy held, filling it about halfway.

They were lying side by side on the floor before the fireplace—which now crackled as it burned brightly—on top of giant pillows covered in a fine silk fabric and under a goose-down-stuffed, cotton-fabric-covered duvet.

Ann put the cork back in the squat fat bottle, placed the bottle near the fire to keep it warm, then snuggled up to Canidy.

He offered the glass to her, raised an eyebrow, and she leaned forward and took a big sip, then leaned forward and kissed him. She wondered if it was possible to feel any more warmth in any more places of her body at once.

Canidy smiled and finally said, “Getting in places—mostly where I’m not supposed to be—is what I do for a living.”

He shrugged.

“This place is no challenge—boarded windows, half the building missing—”

“Is that where you were?” she pursued. “Where you weren’t supposed to be?”

“Annie,” he said, sighing. “You know I can’t—”

“I know, I know. But you can’t blame me for trying.”

She looked into his eyes.

“I worry about you. I worry about you and me.”