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she told herself. She’d be used to the smells of the farmhouse, age and cooking and maleness. She’d be used to the sound of Ramón’s voice, rich with inflections, rolling around her like a musical composition. She’d be used to catching sight of Antonio, blue-eyed and dark and so beautiful.
    Feeling close to tears, she put her fork carefully beside her plate and looked at Ramón. “I think I’m very tired. I’d like to go to my room.”
    A flicker of concern touched his eyes. “Are you all right?”
    “Yes.” She stood. “It’s just been a very long day.” Ramón put his napkin aside. “I’ll walk up with you.”
    “No. Please, just enjoy your dinner.”
    “I’ll be back in a minute, Desmary. Don’t let the boys take my plate.”
    His solicitousness made her feel even more vulnerable, and therefore panicky. She’d spent too many long years learning how to hide her feelings, how to appear strong when she felt like a marshmallow inside.
    But in all that time, she’d not had to confront her past in such concrete ways. Nor had she been attracted to anyone. In fact, she’d believed that part of her dead forever until she’d seen Ramón standing on the platform this afternoon.
    Now he stood there, beautiful and kind, holding out one long-fingered brown hand toward her. “I’m okay,” she said, and bolted.
    She ran all the way to her room on the third floor and slammed the door closed. The soft, soft bed with its piles of pillows looked as inviting as a mother’s arms. She kicked off her shoes and dived into the comforting mass, making a cocoon of pillows and coverlet, shutting out all thought with the same picture that had given her comfort so many nights in prison…a simple open meadow, surrounded with tall pines. In the middle of it was a tent. Her tent. When she went in, nothing could harm her.
    Thus comforted, she fell asleep.
    * * *
    Ramón cursed himself as Tanya ran away from him. Once again, he’d frightened her. It was going to be a lot more difficult than he thought to learn his way around her.
    She didn’t reappear that evening, and just before he turned in, Ramón knocked on her door, softly. Light spilled out from below it, and he knocked again, a little louder, when she didn’t answer.
    Still no sound from beyond. Concerned, he pursed his lips and weighed his choices. Although she’d tried to seem calm, he’d seen her distress earlier, and he knew he wouldn’t sleep until he found out she was all right. He knocked again, firmly. Again, no answer.
    He could go down the stairs and get Desmary, but that would mean making the old woman walk up three flights of stairs on her bad feet. He didn’t have the heart. There were no other women in the house.
    But what if he opened the door and Tanya wasn’t dressed?
    He’d just peek in, carefully. If she was all right, he’d just close the door and go on his way. If not, he’d be glad he looked in on her.
    Turning the handle very slowly, he pushed the door open a crack and peered inside. For a moment, he could see no sign of her at all. Then he spied her, on the bed and mostly dressed.
    She was sound asleep. A small snore wheezed in and out of her slightly parted lips. She’d evidentially started out curled in the covers, but the house was warm, and she’d flung parts of the covers off. Her shirt was unbuttoned a little, and a swell of breast spilled from the opening, as if anxious to be freed. One arm and one bare leg were uncovered.
    Ramón stood at the bedside admiring her with a feeling he couldn’t quite identify. How many times had he thought of her sleeping in the cold, dead confines of a prison cot while he lay alone in a double bed, a pillow clasped to his chest? How many times had he wondered how time had changed her, molded her?
    Every day. Every day he had thought of her.
    As he stood there, she turned, muttering to herself, and a spill of hair fell over her face. Gently, he reached out to push it away, unwilling to leave her