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rested his head on his hands. Memories flashed in his mind like film clips. Charlie, lying beneath him . At the last second, when he’d realized she was a virgin, he’d pulled back, but he knew damned well his swimmers hadn’t.
    He had a horrible feeling that the dream had been prophetic, that he’d done the unthinkable last night and fathered an illegitimate child.
     
    Still groggy from sleep, Carly sat in a living room easy chair, her legs tucked beneath her. In the predawn gloom, there were few sounds coming through the walls and ceiling from the surrounding apartments. Not even the wind chimes on the front porch of the ground floor unit were making any noise. Over the last three weeks since she and Bess had rented this place, Carly had grown accustomed to the musical tinkling. In a couple of hours, many of the neighbors would start stirring, some leaving for work, others emerging to walk their small dogs on the grassy center common. But for now, Carly felt like the only person in the world who was awake. She couldn’t even hear any cars passing by on the street, which was usually busy during the day.
    She’d lighted a candle to chase away the shadows and the bad dream that had awakened her. Somehow the flickering glow didn’t make her feel much better. Visions of Hank Coulter’s face kept slipping into her mind, and each time, a burn of humiliation mixed with shame pooled like acid in her belly.
    She decided a glass of milk might soothe her stomach and her nerves. Not wishing to awaken Bess, who had always been a light sleeper, she tiptoed into the adjoining kitchen. She’d just gotten a glass from the cupboard and started pouring when Bess’s voice startled her.
    “What’re you doing?”
    Carly jerked and sloshed milk. “Bess, what are you doing up?”
    Her friend flipped on the fluorescent ceiling lights. Carly winced and narrowed her eyes. “Do we have to have those on?”
    Bess muttered something about living like vampires and plunged the kitchen back into semidarkness. “How long before your eyes heal enough for us to turn on the lights like normal people?”
    “A few more days. I know it’s the pits, but bright lights are still pure murder.” Carly resumed pouring the milk. “I’m sorry I woke you. We need to ask the landlord to fix the refrigerator door. It creaks.”
    “Get your finger out of the glass. You aren’t blind anymore.”
    Carly curled her offending finger around the outside of the tumbler.
    “You can’t train your visual cortex unless you use it, you know.”
    “You’re cranky. Why don’t you go back to bed?”
    “Because I’m awake now, thanks to you.” Bess stifled a yawn. “You never answered my question. Why are you up so early?”
    Carly returned the milk to the refrigerator and mopped up the counter. “What time is it?”
    Bess glanced at her watch. “Not quite five. This is the second night in a row that you’ve paced the floors. What’s the matter, Carls? If you need to talk a little more about what happened the other night, I don’t mind listening.”
    One hand pressed to her still tender abdomen, Carly grabbed her glass of milk. She circled her friend and returned to her chair in the living room. Trailing behind her, Bess headed for the adjacent sofa. After plopping on a cushion, she drew up her legs and hugged her ankles. In the candlelight, with faint streaks of dawn washing the window behind her, her dark hair looked like a drape of silk lying over her shoulders.
    Normally, Carly could confide almost anything to Bess, but certain details about the incident with Hank Coulter were different somehow—intensely personal and, even worse, horribly humiliating. She set her glass aside and tugged at the hem of her nightshirt. “I’m a little worried,” she confessed. “I don’t think Hank used any protection.”
    Bess’s eyes widened. “You’re not sure?”
    Carly shook her head. Bess already knew about the painkillers and alcohol not mixing well. There