The fact that my divorce didn't pique any further curiosity in her just then both puzzled and surprised me. Was she sensitive to how bloodletting my divorce had been? Our conversation followed a different thread.

"Do your parents live in Rapidan?" she asked.

"No. Both are dead. A drunk CPO T-boned them. DOA."

"I'm sorry. Do you miss them?"

"To be honest, Dreema, being only six at the time, I was too young to have known them. They were good country people. Or so I've heard from those who did know them."

"You'd better ask those people your questions," she said. "When they die, your parent's stories will go with them. They say every time an old person dies, a library burns down."

"So noted," I said. "When I roll back to Rapidan, you can bet I'll do just that."

"I hope so," she said then quickly, "I'm training to be a medical transcriber. And you?"

" . . . o-o-o . . . "

Again, the question of my gainful employment was at issue. "Last year's 1040 classified me as a security guard. I try to make bank and keep myself in groceries. At least I'm not in debt and own my own place. That's good enough for me, believe it or not."

"You sound ambivalent."

"I guess it must be, then."

Dreema sighed. "Go flip the LP, Cartwright."

"Surely. Nothing ambivalent about doing that."

"Is your ex from Rapidan?"

"Both of us, born and bred." The next untruthfulness slid off my tongue with rehearsed ease. "We parted still friends. I mean, who needs more enemies, right?"

"Why the parting of ways at all?"

Was I to admit my infidelities and ruin the moment? On the fly, I half-promised myself then and there to make my stand and do better at my next try. "Irreconcilable differences" was my evasive reply.

"Sorry to open old wounds."

"You've got nothing to apologize for," I said.

Dreema sit her wine goblet down on a coaster and switched off one lamp.

" . . . o-o-o . . . "

"Leave that one on," I said, husky-voiced.

"Why, Cartwright?"

"Because a body without freckles is like a night without stars. I heard that back home."

"That's really sweet," she said, stretching.

The lamp's gentler flare softened any remaining rough-cut edges as The Temptations dialed my mood ring to red-hot. Her eyes shut and mine open, we kissed.

My senses didn't flinch, shirk, or short-circuit. My emotions felt natural, unforced, and vivid. Dreema's green blouse rustled from her skirt, clean as the skis swishing over fresh powder snow. She was at my ear. My hands looped under her blouse and, without inept entanglement, popped her bra clasp.

We broke our embrace. She peered over at me once, her glowy mocha eyes big and moist. That gave me a start. Was this all wrong? She coached me on. Blouse slid off her tan, toned shoulders. She amplified fuller upstairs but then that always fooled me.

The pace had to pick up.