Bonne Femme

Chapter 8

A Decision

Bonne Femme, 12: 15 AM, June 8

        The moon slid intermittently into view from behind the thickening curds of a buttermilk sky, while the old Merc grumbled loudly as if impatient with Richard's cautious pace while threading through the shoals to open water.  A vagrant swell jounced the boat as he pointed it toward the invisible mainland and slowly took her up to full speed.  Soon the old boat planed off smoothly, reducing the waves to an irregular thrumming against her aluminum bottom.  Jill feared that at any moment she would awake and find herself still on the island.

        Each small sound echoed around the bowl of the cove like the ruins of an ancient amphitheater as they left the lifelessness old marina by the erratic illumination of the cloud-veiled moon.  Burdened only by the smaller of her two suitcases, Jill easily matched Richard's pace as he struggled toward the junkyard lugging both the larger suitcase and his barracks bag.

        The car appeared undisturbed, but Richard cautiously left Jill hidden in the shadows, and went ahead to reconnoiter.  Everything was just as he had left it the night before, including a small limb he had leaned against the driver's side door to appear like a windfall.  Mic was familiar with tell-tales and would have replaced it had he been there, but the possibility was remote since Richard had siphoned gas at the marina rather than chance a trip into town.

        He motioned her forward and then popped the trunk.  Accustomed to only fire illumination at night, the trunk light seemed unnecessarily bright.  He stowed the baggage and softly closed the lid.

        "What happened to the windshield?" asked Jill, staring at the shatter star on the windshield as she got in.

160.

"Camouflage," he said.

        He drove through the junkyard, out into the open field, and up the hill with the lights off.  The Cougar bumped slowly over the grassy earth to the highway without them spying another car.  Richard pulled unto the pavement before flipping on his lights, and then he drove slowly through a light ground fog swirling in from the lake.  The dash clock read three fifteen when they reached the garish orange sodium vapor lights at the city limits.  When he took the road toward the downtown, Jill wondered if he was heading for her apartment or his.  Instead, he stopped in front a building with a red brick arch framing its double doors.  White letters paralleling the semi-circular transom above the entrance said "City Hall."

"Well.  Here you are," he said.

        Jill was afraid to reached for the door, certain that he would hit the accelerator and speed away.  Just then, however, two uniformed men came outside, talking as they slowly descended the steps to the sidewalk.  She yanked on the door handle.  Panicking as it refused to open, she turned wide-eyed to see what Richard would do.

"Oh," he said.  "I'll have to get that for you."

       He got out and came around to her side.  When he opened her door, the two officers stopped talking long enough to watch Jill exit the car.

"Do you want me to go in with you?" he asked.

"No," she said, hurrying past him while the policemen were still near.

        Inside, a tired looking older man glanced up listlessly.  He took one look at her, straightened, and managed a genuine smile.

"What can I do for you, ma'am?"

"I need to speak to someone."

"Anyone in particular?" he asked.

Jill thought about the note.

"JR . . . I cannot remember his last name."

        "Reeves?" he said with a laugh.  "You need the sheriff's office, ma'am.  This is the police station.  Go down to the courthouse."

161.

When she didn't respond, he continued.

"Or maybe we can help you.  What do you need?"

"I . . . think I need a restraining order."

        "You don't need us then.  You need you a lawyer.  Got to go to court for that.  But if you want to file a complaint, I can get someone for you."

 

        Richard leaned on the hood of the car with his hands in his pockets waiting for someone to come for him, and wondering whether he should say anything to Jill if he saw her when they took him inside.  Then she emerged, walked down to the car, and got in without so much as a glance his way.  When he had gotten over his shock, he went around to the driver's side and got in also.

"I did not tell them," she said without looking at him.  "It does not mean that I will not."

"What did you tell them in there?"

        "I asked about a restraining order.  They told me I must ask a judge, but that I should file a complaint."

She buckled the seat belt.

"Take me to my apartment."

"I thought you agreed to let me protect you," he said.

"It is enough that I have not had you arrested for what you did."

        "Yes," he said.  "I assume that is because you believe at least a part of what I've been telling you.  If so, do you think it's wise to---"

        "Wise or not, I will do as I decide," she said, cutting him off.  "You no longer control my life."

 

        When they arrived at her apartment, he took the suitcases from the trunk and started to carry them up the walk, but she stopped him.

162.

"Stay here.  I can carry them."

"They're too heavy for you.  Besides I need to go in and make sure everything's okay."

"You are not going in," she said.

        "Then you go in and check each room?  Turn on the lights in each one as you do.  When you are certain that no one is in there, come to the door and tell me."

"Then you will leave?"

"I won't bother you.  I promise.  But let me at least carry your stuff up to the door."

"No."

She struggled up the walk to the stoop.

        "Be sure to check the closets," he called after her.  "And the locks on the doors and windows."

"I will look under the bed too," she said sarcastically.

        She fumbled with the lock and went inside without looking back.  Richard leaned on the car again, watching as the lights came on one at a time.  After what he considered too short a time, Jill came to the door again.

"You can go now," she said, closing the door before he could answer.

 

163.

        Jill lay fully clothed atop the bedspread, unable to find the energy to bathe or even change.  Physically and emotionally drained, she longed only for a few hours of worry-free sleep.  A sudden knock nearly sent her heart through her chest.  She shot to her feet, clutching her hands to her breast, as she stared apprehensively through the darkened living room toward the door.  She scrambled for her purse and drew out the .45.  A second knock drew her hesitantly out of the bedroom.

"Who is it?" she called in a quavering voice.

"It's me," called Richard.  "I just wanted to make sure everything's okay."

"Go away or I will call the police."

        When she didn't hear a response, she tiptoed to the door and looked through the peephole in time to see Richard retreating to the curb.  She heaved a sigh of relief when she saw him drive away.  After double-checking the lock and deadbolt, she went back to the bedroom.  Fatigue weighed down every fiber of her body, but her body tingled, demanding action.  There was nothing to do, however, but worry.

He's already stalking me again, she thought as she curled onto her side on the bed.

 

June 9

        Jill awoke at noon and went to the kitchen to put on water for tea.  Then she went to shower, deciding that she would call Marta.  As she bathed she was dismayed to discover that things were no clearer now than during her imprisonment on Bonne Femme.  By the time she finished dressing and went to the kitchen to make her tea, she had decided only one thing:  she would never again be alone with Richard.

What am I going to tell Marta? she worried. 

        She had made an important decision by not reporting him at the police station.  If she failed to tell Marta today, her decision not to report him would be irrevocable.

        Pacing as she sipped her tea, she wandered into the living room.  Drawing back the curtain, she looked out to see if it was nice enough out to walk to campus.

"No!" she said.

        She went to the door, slipped the security chain, and rushed down the walk.  The passenger side window slid down as she approached Richard's Cougar.

164.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I told you I'd stay close to make sure you're safe."

"You were here all night?"

"It wasn't too bad---better than sleeping on the cabin floor actually."

        His lack of contrition infuriated her.  He obviously was not going to walk out of her life on his own accord.  She would either have to have him arrested or leave Cartier to get away from him.

"You are forcing me to go to the police," she said.

"That's your call, Jill.  I don't have a choice."

The way she glared at him made him think she would slap him.

"Come inside," she said tiredly.  "I do not wish to talk out here."

He followed her inside and through the living room to the kitchen. 

"Here," she said, pouring him a cup of tea but leaving it on the table.

Richard didn't like hot tea.  He was always trying to make it be coffee.  He took it anyway.

"Thanks," he said.

"Short of moving in with you, how can I keep you from sleeping in front of my house?"

        "Change all your locks, install deadbolts, and put in a security system," he said immediately.

She sat down across the table from him.

"I cannot afford that.  And the locks work fine."

"They're ancient.  I could pick any one of them in five minutes."

"You pick locks?"

165.

"When I was a kid we thought it was a neat thing to do," he said.

"What kind of child were you?"

        "A boy.  You don't have any brothers.  If you did, you'd know that boys like to do things like that.  I can't pick a modern lock, but a lot of people can.  Besides, this old house has loose fitting doors.  I'll bet they rattle sometimes when the wind blows.  The latches can be slipped with a credit card.  That's why you need deadbolts."

He didn't like the way she was staring at him.

        "I've had police training, remember?  I don't break into homes; I tell people how to make their homes harder to break into.  Of course, unless there's a security system, an experienced criminal can always get in.  All they need to do is to learn your schedule."

"You're doing it again," she said.

"What?"

"You are trying to frighten me.  Do not deny it."

        "You need to be frightened, Jill.  I wouldn't have done the crazy things I've done if I didn't know that.  If you insist on staying here, I can buy the locks and deadbolts.  I can install them too."

        "And you can have duplicate keys made also," she said with a sour smile.  "How stupid do you think I am?"

        "Well you invited me into the house with you just now.  So if I was intending to do anything to you, I wouldn't have to wait until I got a key, would I?  Besides, how about all that time we were on Bonne Femme?  You don't really believe that I want to hurt you."

Why am I allowing this to continue? she wondered.

She stared at him, as unable to refute him as she was to answer her own question.

        "Okay," he said.  "Here's what we should do.  Go with me when we get the locks.  When I open the packages you take the keys.  That way you'll know that I haven't made duplicates."

"Then will you stop sleeping outside in your car?"

166.

"After I find a closer apartment," he said.

"Why?"

"So I can get here in a hurry if you call."

The phone rang.

"This is ridiculous!" she said, getting up to answer it.

When she answered it she turned and walked away before speaking.

"I will tell you all about it later."

"When?"

"Perhaps.  Just a moment."

She turned to look at Richard with her hand over the phone.

        "Marta wants me to meet her.  She's on her way to the campus.  Can you give me a ride?"

He nodded.

"I will be there in just a little while."

"No.  I will tell you when I get there."

She turned off the phone.

"I must get ready.  Could you wait in the car?"

"No problem," he said, getting up and starting toward the door.

        "Wait, Richard.  This . . . thing we are doing has to be . . . minimized.  Let us only replace the locks.  Please do not move closer."

"Okay, but---"

        "And," she cut him off.  "There can be nothing personal between us.  You must understand this."

167.

"I've know that for a long time now," he said.

She shook her head slowly in resignation and wonder.

"So which of us is the bigger fool, Richard?"

 

Pere Marquette, Face to Face   

        Jill recognized the trim figure coming toward them well before Richard did.  Marta's short black hair was held tightly by a combination of small combs and braiding.  She wore a long sleeved, light blue cotton shirt tucked into faded jeans.  A bright smile flared in her bronze face as she hurried forward.

"Jill!  It is so good to see you."

"Marta!" cried Jill as she rushed ahead.

As they embraced, Marta whispered, "You must tell me about your vacation."

"Later," Jill replied.

They separated, still holding hands until Richard caught up.

        "So," said Marta, turning her amused gaze upon him.  "It is nice to see you again, Richard."

"Nice to see you too, Marta," he said solemnly.

        As he thought about what Jill would tell Marta, he wondered what else he hadn't thought of.

        "I already enrolled," she said to Jill.  "Do not worry.  There are few students.  You can go right in.  Let us go to the cafeteria and talk.  It has been so long."

"Richard has something to do," said Jill, turning him a look that suggested that he agree.

        "Yeah.  I need to see about getting my windshield fixed.  I'll meet you guys in the cafeteria?"

        "You may take your time," said Jill.  "Buy those things you were speaking of.  I can walk home.  It is a nice day."

This time he refused to take the hint.

168.

        "You can never tell about the weather this time of year.  I'll see you in cafeteria in about an hour."

Marta watched until he was out of earshot, and then turned to Jill expectantly.

"So, what is the story?"

"Between Richard and me?"

        "Por supuesto!  I thought he would never leave.  You know, when you send the e-mail that you are going away with him, and then you do not answer my messages, I worry."

"About me?  Why?"

        "Yes.  It is not like you.  Then I say, ‘My friend finally sees that the nice one likes her, and maybe she likes him too.  She must like him a lot, because she goes away with him so soon.'"

"Is strange," she continued.  "But is not so strange."

        "I've had a difficult time," Jill began uncertainly.  "I was a little confused, I guess.  I quit seeing Mic, and then . . . things happened with Richard so quickly."

"Very quickly," said Marta.  "But I do not judge."

        "You do not understand.  We just had to get away.  I needed to think things through . . . to be sure of my feelings.  I asked Richard if he could take me away for awhile, mostly to get away from Mic---you know how he has been bothering me since I quit seeing him."

        Even as she said it, Jill rued elaborating the lie.  First she had failed to report Richard to the police, and now she lying to her best friend in order to protect him.  What did she owe him that she should do such a thing?

Marta noticed her agitation.

"What happens between the two of you, mi hermana?" she asked.

"I am not sure, Marta.  I am not sure."

Marta shook her head.

"You are not sure, but you run away with him."

        "I did not run away with him," said Jill as they entered the cafeteria.  "It was not like that.  We just decided to get away from . . . everyone---everything for a while."

169.

They went through the line for tea and then found an empty table.

"So, where did you go?"

       She remembered the postcard Richard had told her about.  If she were going to lie for his sake, she would at least be consistent.

        "I have always wanted to see the desert.  So . . . I know it was impulsive, but . . . I asked him, and . . . we just decided to drive down there . . .  to the southwest.  We had a nice time . . . I mean it was a nice trip."

        "So," said Marta, enunciating slowly, almost pedantically, "you are dating this . . . nice guy . . . for just a few days . . .  and you like him . . . so you ask him to take you away for over a month so that . . . you can look at the desert."

When Jill looked down instead of laughing as she expected, Marta's smile faded.

"Something is wrong, Jill.  What is it?"

"Nothing is wrong, just complicated.  You see---"

She stopped in mid-sentence when she saw who was approaching.

"Hi," said Mic, smiling and nodding at each of them in turn.

        "Mind if I sit?"  He pulling out a chair without waiting for an answer.  "I saw you and came over to apologize.  Where's Ricky?"

"He will return in a moment," said Jill, wishing she hadn't sent Richard away.

Mic smiled before continuing.

        "Well I got something to say to him when he gets here, but I guess I can start by telling you how sorry I am for being rude to you."

        Jill stared mutely, wondering what kind of person would think taking a woman by the hair and throat and shouting in her face was merely rude.

        "You know, I mean the night we argued and broke up," he said, as if he had to jog her memory.

Jill cleared her throat.

170.

"It is okay.  I accept your apology," she said hoarsely, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

        For a beat or two he held eye contact, as if it were a contest.  Then he smiled and looked away a moment.  When he looked back it was with a look of pained sincerity.

        "No, it's not okay.  I was drinking a lot back then, and I said some things I didn't mean.  I was real rude to you."

        Jill recalled it too vividly.  She could feel his fingers twisting her hair painfully, as he pinned her to the headrest while squeezing her neck until she couldn't breathe.

You call that "rude"!  she wanted to scream.

"That is fine, Mic," she said weakly.  "It is okay, really."

        He nodded and smiled as he took out a cigarette and lit up.  Leaning back, he appraised her as if he were admiring a new car.

        "So, it's you and Ricky boy, huh?" he asked, derision sneaking into his voice before he regained control.

        "He's a good guy.  Better hang on to him," he said, using the cigarette for a pointer.  "I wish I could be more like him, you know?  Always admired the . . . uh . . . sensitivity."

Then he laughed.

"Most of the time anyway."

He paused for her response. 

        "He didn't tell you, did he?  That's my buddy, Ricky.  Always could keep a secret.  You see a couple of nights before the two of you left town together, he and I got into a fight."

"He told me," she said.  "Let us not talk about it."

        "If he said it was my fault, he was right," he said as if he hadn't heard her.  "I got drunk because I blew it with you.  By the way, I went into detox while you were gone.  It's working out real good.  Anyway, I was really blitzed and decided to have it out with Ricky for stealing my girl.

He paused, trying to gage her reaction.

        Jill kept a neutral expression, deciding that his monologue would come to an end sooner if she didn't respond.

171.

       "Well," he continued.  "I'm waiting for him at his apartment.  Like I said, I'm drunk, but I don't really want to hurt him, so instead of cold-cocking him, I just kind of come up behind him.  He doesn't know it's me . . . thinks someone's trying to strong-arm him I guess."

He paused, hoping for feedback.

        "I can't see worth a damn in the dark, and he cold-cocks me.  Next thing I know, I'm laying on the couch in my own apartment, and my old buddy's got a washcloth full of ice holding it to my head.  But I'm still drunk . . . feeling mean . . . don't appreciate that the guy cared enough about me to bring me home---it's booze, you know.  I start cursing, calling him every name I can think of.  But Old Rick, he just takes it, which makes me even madder."

        Mic paused again, clenching his jaw.  Her lack of reaction was beginning to irritate him. 

        "I can't remember what I said that set him off, but it must have been bad because Old Rick really lost it."

He brushed back the dark hair to reveal an ugly inch-long scar with three stitch marks.

"Beer bottle," he said.

Jill's quickly indrawn breath pleased him.

        "I don't really blame him though," he said magnanimously.  "I kind of remember calling you a name or something.  If I were in his place I'd probably do the same thing.  Hell!  I might even have killed a guy if he said the wrong thing about you."

"I see," she said noncommittally.

        Richard had approached unnoticed.  He grabbed a chair from an adjoining table and interposed between Jill and Mic.

"Are you all right?" he asked her as he sat down.

She nodded.

        "Hi, Ricky.  Good to see you again.  I was explaining to the girls here what happened that last time we saw each other.  It was all my fault.  Drinking---you know."

"Yeah, I know all about you," said Richard.

Mic's jaw tightened in annoyance.

"You know, Ricky.  If I had really meant to hurt you, I would have---drunk---or not."

172.

Then he smiled.

        "Hey.  I came to apologize.  None of it would have happened if I wasn't drunk, and it was my own fault that you nearly took my head off with that damned beer bottle.  I understand why you don't feel like apologizing, but, after all we've been through together, what say we let bygones be bygones?  Okay?"

Mic extended his hand, and after a short pause, Richard took it.

"All right, Mic."

Richard watched him leave.

        "What did he have to say while I was gone?" he asked without taking his eyes from Mic's retreating figure.

"The same as he said to you," said Jill.  "Did you do what he said?"

        "Yes," he answered, turning back to face her.  "And he apologizes after that?  I can't imagine it."

        "He came to my house when you were gone," said Marta.  "He asked where you were, but he did not believe it when I say I do not know."

"I do not like the way he looked at you, Marta," said Jill.

"I never like it," she said.

The remark took Jill by surprise.

"He examines women," said Marta.  "It is very rude."

 

        Jill sat quietly in the passenger seat, trying to dampen her emotional turmoil and clarify her thinking.  If what Marta said about Mic was true how could she have missed it?  Jill knew that she was smart, and she had always considered herself intuitive.  Yet, she had apparently been duped by both men.  She had made a series of mistakes, the last of which perhaps was lying to Marta.  Worst of all, she wanted to believe Richard.  At the same time she didn't want to because if he were right then she was in the utmost danger.

        The truth is the truth, she decided.  It does not matter what I wish it to be.  It only matters that I discover it.

173.

"He was acting," she said suddenly.  "And not very well."

"Yes.  He wants you to believe that he's accepted the situation," said Richard.

       A chill came over her as she remembered that Richard had employed the same argument to justify her abduction while they were on the island.

        "He knows I don't believe him," he continued.  "But he thinks he can make you think that I'm making stuff up."

"How does he know what you have told me?"

"He knows what I've seen."

        Mic's behavior had reinforced her fear, but it hadn't confirmed anything that Richard had told her.

"He didn't find you by accident today," he said.

"When will you have the locks changed?" she said, eager to drop the subject.

"This afternoon.  I still wish you would consider---"

"Just change the locks."

"I got deadbolts too.  They can be picked, but you can't slip them with a card."

 

Jill's Apartment

        At four-thirty Jill came into the living room where Richard had just finished setting the new entry lock striker plate.

        "I don't know what I was thinking," he said.  "I need a hole saw to install the deadbolts and the rental place is already closed for the day."

"But the apartment is more secure now, right?  The new locks are harder to pick open?"

"Yeah, but let me show you something."

He went outside.

174.

"Now lock it," he called.

        Jill turned the lock and waited.  A moment later she heard a gentle rasping and then the door swung inward.  He came in waving a credit card.

"See.  I told you.  There's too much play between the door and the jamb."

"Could that not be fixed?" she asked.

        "If the door is torn out and reframed.  Your landlord probably won't want to spring for it."

"The deadbolts will make it secure?"

"Not against someone who can pick a lock."

"Can he pick locks?" she asked.

"I have no idea."

        Richard had just passed a subtle test.  Had he affirmed that Mic had the skill to bypass the new locks she would have known he was lying.

"You'll be safe tonight," he said.  "I'll fix the deadbolts and security chains tomorrow."

She knew from the way he said it that he intended to sleep out at the curb again.

        "Jill, I was thinking that a good alternative to the security system would be for you to enter my number on your phone.  I'll get a place nearby.  I could probably get here quicker than the police could if you had a security system.  Of course, my place would be a better---a more secure choice.  I have deadbolts on the doors already.  Let's go over there just for the night.  You can stay in the bedroom.  There's a lock on it too."

"Locks can be picked.  You said so yourself."

"Then I'll stay in the car," he said.

        "Yes---in front of your own house.  No.  What is done is done.  You have made Marta think that we are lovers, so you might as well sleep here on my couch tonight.  After all, how many nights was there nothing but the tent between us?  I will get a blanket and pillow for you."

When Jill she came back he extended his cell phone.

175.

"Here.  It's charged and I've got lots of minutes," he said.

"You want me to call someone?"

        "How long since you spoke with your aunt?  Call if it's not too late over there.  It's on me.  Talk as long as you want."

She started to shake her head.

"Jill, after . . . just let me do this for you.  I know how you miss her."

"Thank you," she said, taking the phone.

        "I noticed you cleaned out your refrigerator," he said.  "I'll just take things out to the garbage can for you.

"My houseplants died while I was gone," she said.  "Take them out also."

"I'm sorry about that."

        She shrugged, and took the phone into her bedroom, closed the door, and sat on the bed.  As she waited for the call to go through, she saw something protruding from the top drawer of her dresser.  It irritated her that she had been careless again.  She had ruined her favorite camisole shortly after having arrived at Cartier.  With her limited means, nice things were difficult to come by.

        As Richard came back for the plants after carrying out the spoiled food, he heard Jill speaking French in an overly loud voice.  Either her aunt was nearly deaf or Jill had snagged a bad connection.  The small back yard had no flowerbeds, but a large lilac looked like a good repository for the withered plants and their soil.  He stacked the empty pots out of the way on the back porch and went back inside.

"Richard," she called.

"Yes," he said, going to the bedroom to see what she wanted.

"What is this?" she asked pointedly, holding a wrinkled nightie in her hands. 

"A nightgown?"

"It has my perfume on it," she said accusingly.

"I didn't do that."

176.

"You went through my things."

        "I didn't go through the drawer that was in.  I opened it, but as soon as I saw what was in there . . . well, I didn't think they were . . . appropriate for . . . camping on the island.  And I certainly didn't spray perfume on anything."

        "You have been . . . playing with my things," she said.  "It is perverse.  I want you to leave."

"I wouldn't invade your privacy like that," he said.  "I couldn't."

"You couldn't?  Look what you have done to me!"

        It was clear to him that Mic had been in her room.  Sooner or later she would realize that.  Assuming that he had done it instead of Mic was logical since he had taken things from the dresser.  It pained him that she still harbored suspicions.

        "Jill, I know you'll never think of me as anything better than a well-intentioned fool, but I'll settle for that right now."

"What do you want from me?  Just tell me."

"No.  Not like this."

"There will be no . . . intimacy between us.  There cannot be."

"You have to know that it's not like that."

"Why?  Because you did not force me while we were on the island?" she shouted.

        "Let's not go on.  What I wanted doesn't matter anymore.  I know that, so let's just drop it."

        "No.  We will finish this because I want it over.  Tell me what you wanted, or are you ashamed to say it?"

"You want me to make a fool of myself.  Is that it?"

"Why not?  You made a fool of me."

        "Okay.  Here it is.  As stupid as it sounds, all I ever wanted from you is that you would look at me the way my mother used to look at my dad."

178.

His naïve admission was met by stony silence.

"Sex is more likely," she said.

        "Well, whatever you think of me, I care about you too much to indulge in some cheap, vicarious . . . thing like amusing myself with lingerie."

        His argument was too inept not to be sincere, but it irritated her that she had unwittingly added a further complication by forcing him to voice his feelings.  She already knew that he was in love with her, but now she could no longer pretend that she didn't know.

"If you say you did not do it, I believe you," she said.  "We will not speak of it again."

"And thank you for letting me use your phone," she added.

"You're sure someone went through your things?"

She shot him a withering look.

"Then we know who it was," he said.

She took the negligee to the kitchen and dropped it into the new garbage can.

        "Wait here," she said as she brushed past him.  "I do not wish to keep anything that is in that drawer."

Although her voice was steady he saw that she was struggling to control her emotions.

"I'm sorry, Jill."

"It is okay," she said, clearing her throat.

        Shame burned her face.  It was like discovering she had been seen naked by a peeping tom.  She had done nothing wrong, but that didn't matter to her.  She would never feel safe in the house again no matter how many locks were on the doors or how sophisticated a security system was installed.  Going home meant giving up her dream and disappointing her aunt.  Moving in with Marta could endanger her, and she couldn't change apartments because she had signed a lease.  That left her only one option.

Why not?  I've lived with him for a month already.

        When she announced that she wanted to go to his apartment, she didn't tell him if it was to be only for the night or for an extended period, mainly because she hadn't decided.