If I've gone crazy, she's driven me to it, and she doesn't even know what she's doing. That's the conclusion I've come to. I wouldn't have thought that it was possible for a grown woman, one who wasn't raised in total isolation, to be so naive. How is it possible for someone to move through this world without letting it touch them to this extent? Or rather, how has she escaped it for so long?

She fascinates me. I didn't know why, I still don't, but there it is. Obsessions, after all, are not logical. But then I was still calling it 'interest'. She wasn't a secretive person then, her life was pretty much an open book. I think if I'd asked anything, she would have told me. After awhile I realized it was because she thought that there was absolutely nothing of vital interest about herself, so why should she bother to block off, or be mysterious? She didn't realize that being so open leaves you vulnerable.

She'd gotten a letter from her niece. It was there with the morning mail when she came home, tired from a hectic night at the convenience store, and she read it while I fixed breakfast. There was a loud groan, and I looked over to see her shaking her head. "Something wrong? Someone sick?" *No, damn it. You'd better all be healthy. I don't want her rushing off to attend anyone. And she would, even if it meant losing her job.*

"Physically, no. Metaphorically, I'm not so sure." She dropped the paper with a sigh. "Eva has another 'boyfriend'. That's about the... let's see... eighth one this year. She's averaging a little better than one a month. And it's another one she met at work."

"Workplace romances can be iffy," I agree.

She raises her eyebrows. "Dana, Eva dances in a 'gentleman's club'."

"Oh."

"Yes. The guys hanging around there are not usually the monogamous type. There must still be some good men out there. Problem is, I think I may be related to them all by blood, and I'm not that southern." Another sigh. "Well, she's twenty-one, free, and stubborn as hell. I just hope she doesn't get hurt so badly that she never trusts anyone. She's so bright and pretty, it'd be a shame if she ended up alone." A laugh. "Like her maiden aunt."

Here was a chance to pry a little bit, a genuine excuse. "I was wondering why you aren't married. You seem to be a nurturing, family oriented type."

She shrugged. "Never met the right one." Free stood up and peeled off her uniform jacket. It had been cold last night, and she'd worn a sweatshirt under it to insulate herself when she went out to sweep the parking lot. She rolled her shoulders, wincing a little. I wasn't the only one who had tension aches, but I didn't dare offer her a neck rub. I couldn't guarantee what would happen if I put my hands on her.

"I know your schedule is tough, but you haven't gone out since you've been here. That's almost a month."

"Oh, it's been a little longer than that. Let's see," she squinted, obviously doing mental calculations. "Do you count double dates where you got dumped?"

"No."

"Then it's been forty-two years." I must look skeptical, because she says, "No one I liked ever asked. The point of going out is to be with someone you like, isn't it?"

I digest this information. "You aren't saying that you're still a virgin?"

She doesn't quite flinch. "I'm not?"

"Are you?"

She becomes very involved in buttering a slice of toast precisely. I don't say anything else, waiting for an answer. Finally she say, "Let's say that I avoid vacationing around active volcanos, lest a sacrifice be required." She takes a bite, then mumbles. "It isn't catching, last I heard."

"Are you gay?" *Dear Lord, Dana. Cut your own throat, why don't you?*

"Would it make any difference if I was?"

*Oh, God, yes. Then I could start breathing again.* "No."

"I'm glad to hear that. I'm not gay." A hesitation, a flicker of indecision. "I... don't know what... I don't like labels." She's starting to blush, nervously twining her fingers together. I watch, remembering the feel of her hands, the contrasts: gentle and firm, soft, and a little rough. I shouldn't think about those hands, really I shouldn't.

"This isn't really a breakfast conversation." She gets up and walks out of the kitchen. "I really need a bath. Can I use some of your bath crystals?"

"Help yourself." I check my watch. I have a little time before I have to leave for the office, so I have another cup of coffee. I listen to the water run in the bathroom. In a moment I hear her singing. "Listen to the rhythm of the fallin' rain, tellin' me just what a fool I been..." I wait a little longer, listening. then I go and knock softly on the bathroom door?

The splashing stops. "Eeyayuh?"

*Why do I need to go in?* "Free, I didn't brush my teeth. Okay if I come in?"

"Just a sec." There is the dull squeak of flesh on porcelain, and a rattle as she draws the shower curtains. "Okay. Come on."

The bathroom is damp with steam when I enter, and it smells of honeysuckle. I get my brush and the toothpaste, glancing casually at the tub. The opaque curtain stretches across it. There is a sliver of a gap at each end. To the right, I can just see the back of her curly head resting against the wall. To the left, I see one foot break water, the toe patting the faucet, dislodging a drop that has been quivering on its lip. I brush my teeth so hard that my gums bleed.

As I leave, I hear her call "Have a nice day." Her voice is already thick with drowsiness. In a few minutes she'll be crawling into bed, sliding between the dark green sheets. I know I'm going to spend the rest of the morning, if not the rest of the day, thinking about that.

The house is empty when I return home. This is the first time she's been gone. Always before she was still sleeping, or drowsily puttering in the kitchen. But there is no sign of her. Her purse is gone, but the flagrant orange jacket is still hanging in her closet.

Where could she be? *Any one of a thousand places, Dana. She's not a child, she's a grown woman.* Telling myself this doesn't do much good. I've seen too often what can happen when someone is 'just late'. It could be perfectly harmless, perfectly innocent. But there's darkness lurking out there, ready to snatch the vulnerable and unwary. I already hate her job. Working the graveyard shift at a convenience story is almost as good as having a bull’s-eye painted on your back, and those people she works for take advantage of her.

Where is she? Before long I'm pacing, wearing a trail from livingroom to kitchen. It's getting close to her work time. We always leave at eight-thirty. The time comes... and passes. I pick up the phone to start dialing hospitals. I put it down as I hear the rattle of a key in the door.

The door opens, and she comes in, singing a country western tune under her breath, and before I can stop myself, I'm moving up into her personal space, confronting her. "Where have you been?"

She doesn't pull away from me, but she flinches in surprise. "I went to the movies. I didn't plan on it, but I caught two features. What's wrong?" I'm breathing harder than I should. "I know I'm late. I'm sorry. I'll just get my uniform..."

As she started to slip past, I grabbed her arm. My grip must have been harder than I intended, because she winced. I loosened my hold quickly, but I didn't let go. I can only imagine what she thought, as she gazed down at me. I've seen myself like this before. I know I'm so pale that my freckles stand out, and there are two spots of color on my cheeks. "I was worried about you," I grind out."

She seems confused by my agitation, but placating. "I'm sorry, I didn't think... I was going to be back earlier."

I let go of her arm, and smooth the sleeve awkwardly. "Did you go alone?"

Her brows draw together in puzzlement. "What?"

I'm very quiet now. I hope she can't hear the danger in my voice. "The movies. Did you go alone, or did you go with someone?"

"Who would I go with? I went by myself."

"All right." I take a step back. "Go get your uniform, or you'll be late."

She gives me a last bewildered glance, and goes to her room, rubbing her arm. She doesn't understand what just happened. I'm not entirely sure I understand, either. I just know that the thought that she might have gone out with someone else makes me furious.