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masturbate as often as I used to. The urge just didn’t feel as strong. I had put it down to busyness or age. But today, the desire I discovered coursing through was like a hot geyser that had suddenly broken through a heavy crust. The covers now felt sweaty and suffocating. I shoved them off and climbed out of bed.
    I pulled opened a dresser drawer. Underneath the dull white underwear, I found a cloth pouch. Inside was my little blue friend, the same model I had given Van.
    I climbed into bed and turned it on. It hummed invitingly as I slipped it under the covers, where the sound would be muted.
    I was already wet even before I touched it to my clitoris. I let the tip do a slow dance around my erect nub, shivering from the electric pleasure.
    I lay back, trying to relax, knowing that focusing on getting to climax would only prevent me from reaching it.
    I allowed my mind to go blank. I didn’t want to think of anything. I just wanted to lose myself, to center my consciousness on the moment. As the pleasure increased, I spread my legs wider and turned the vibrator to its highest setting. The intensity increased tenfold, spreading up and down my body in waves, parting my lips and curling my toes.
    A thought drifted into my mind—a strong hand, the fingertips firm but smooth, skillfully manipulating my clit. His eyes, as deep and blue as the sea, melting into mine, reveling in my pleasure, making it his own. I could feel his hard cock pressed against my leg as he lay against me. I wanted it inside me. I wanted him badly.
    I jerked my hand away. What the fuck? Why was I thinking about Ashland Stewart? I sometimes thought about former lovers when I masturbated—the skillful ones. But this was unconscious and unwelcome, as if he had slipped into my bed unbidden.
    I quickly wiped off my vibrator and returned it to its home. I got dressed, feeling dissatisfied and disoriented.
    ~*~
    Two weeks passed. I continued my mundane life of shuttling children, making calls for the PTA, and occasionally applying for jobs, mostly out of a sense of obligation. I managed to push Magoa and Ashland Stewart out of my mind, at least during daylight hours. But at night, after I drifted off to sleep, my dreams pulled me into uncharted waters.
    I stand in front of the PTA board, going over details of the upcoming carnival. But in addition to the usual parents, Nina is there, along with the rest of the graduate students. Then I spot him, standing at the back of the room, his arms folded across his chest as he observes me. He doesn’t look at my face. Instead, his eyes turn downward, focusing on my tattoo.
    I woke with a start. I hadn’t dreamed of the tattoo in years, and of all the places I saw it in my sleep, it had never been on me.
    ~*~
    The phone call came shortly after I returned from dropping Anna at school. This time I immediately recognized the number. “Hi Julia,” the caller said. “It’s Nina Hwan.”
    “Hi,” I answered. I hoped she wasn’t going to invite me to another dinner.
    “I was calling to see if you’d be interested in a position in the archeology department.”
    “A position?” I was completely confused.
    “Yes, a job. We need a document translated from 16 th Century Spanish. I understand you have some experience with the language.”
    “I’ve translated literature from that period, but that was right out of graduate school.”
    “Would you be available to come in Monday for an interview?”
    ~*~
    I zipped my jacket up to where the metal scratched at my neck and rubbed my arms vigorously, trying to fend off Lake Michigan’s cold embrace. The sun hung dully in the washed out sky. Dog beach, which seemed so hopeful and welcoming on bright summer mornings, now felt like a grumpy neighbor I wanted to avoid.
    I had called Van immediately, catching her out on her morning run. We had agreed to meet here. Only a few other dogs and their human companions had braved the lakefront chill. But with so many thoughts racing