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into bed. He lightly kissed her cheek. She moaned as if disturbed in her sleep. Dal rolled away.
        Connie lay awake for a long time. She shifted to her stomach, to her back, to her side. Her pillow was sweaty so she turned it over. She flung the top sheet aside, pulled off her damp nightgown, and stared at the ceiling.
        
***
        
        When she awoke in the sunlight of morning, she was vaguely surprised to realize she had fallen asleep.
        She eased herself carefully out of bed, hoping to avoid waking Dal. She found her nightgown on the floor. A gift from him.
        A 'moving in present' he'd called it. The gown reflected his taste: it was short, low-cut, and transparent. She couldn't step outside in it, not even for a moment to grab the newspaper. She put it on, anyway. Before leaving the room, she took her robe from the closet.
        As she slipped into the robe, she saw a box of Good 'n Plenty on the dining-room table.
        Dal hadn't forgotten.
        She felt a warm rush of affection for him. It only lasted a moment. Then, her anxiety came back. She hurried to the front door, and opened it.
        The newspaper lay on the Welcome mat. She quickly picked it up. She rushed inside, tugging the plastic band off the paper.
        Dropping to her knees, she spread the paper on the carpet. She leaned over it, her eyes moving swiftly over the front page.
        Nothing there.
        Nothing about the two kids.
        Nothing about the burning Mustang.
        She turned the page. Another and another. She searched the first and second sections. Section three was sports and financial. She skipped that. Wouldn't be in the entertainment section, either. Only the classified remained. Feeling light with relief, she put the paper together and flung it onto the couch.
        No mention of what she had done.
        The kids had probably kept the incident to themselves. If they went to a hospital-which they must've done-they gave a false story to explain their injuries.
        The Mustang fire must've been too routine to report. No injuries there. It hadn't blown up in someone's face, after all.
        Off the hook.
        With a sigh, she got to her feet. She went into the kitchen, and began to prepare a pot of coffee.
        Off the hook unless she ran into those kids again.
        She took the open can of Yuban from the refrigerator, and peeled off its plastic cover. Carrying it to the counter, she raised it close to her nose and sniffed. Such a wonderful odor.
        She'd always loved that smell. It reminded her of being a child, of lying in bed early in the morning listening to the rhythmic slurp of coffee perking in the kitchen. She wished she could hear that sound again. Nobody hears it now. Nobody uses a percolator. Drip machines are so much quicker, more efficient. Progress.
        At least coffee still smells like coffee.
        She scooped it into a paper filter.
        A hand patted her fanny. She jumped, spilling grounds.
        'Dal!'
        He grinned. 'Morning.' He pulled her into his arms, and kissed her.
        'How were the movies?' she asked.
        'Not bad. I've seen better, but they were okay. What'd you do last night?'
        Connie shrugged. 'Washed my hair, and read.'
        'Doesn't sound very exciting.'
        She shrugged. 'Well, my old friend Joe dropped by and banged me a few times.'
        'Oh really?' Dal asked. Though grinning, deep red filled his face.
        'Hey, only kidding!'
        'I know, I know.' He turned away.
        

CHAPTER SEVEN
        
        Freya pushed the button of the remote control box, and watched the television screen flash from channel to channel.
        Nothing on but shit.
         Daffy Duck , Scooby and Scrappy-Doo , an ancient rerun of The Lone Ranger .
         Roller Derby , for Christsake.
        She lifted her teacup off the TV Guide , took a sip, and checked the