The gentle fingers moved down, and stopped. Kate forgot who she was—where she was. There was no sound in the room except her harsh breathing. When at last she lay back against the pillow, her hand on Erika, the other smiled. "Come on, we have to get up. I know—but Doug will be here any minute."

"I wish he'd let us alone."

"He likes you."

"Don't be silly."

"When he looks at you, it's the way men look at women. Wondering if they will or won't."

"I don't like him," Kate said. All her pleasure had evaporated.

"There's nothing you can do about it." Erika kissed her, then got out of bed. More of that neatness, Kate thought, watching her slide into panties and slacks, shirt and loafers. Erika hated to get up but was never late for work; disliked washing dishes but did it in double-quick time. Kate rolled over into the warm place where Erika had been lying. "Get up before I pull you out."

"Go ahead.”

"You think I can't?"

"Maybe. Or maybe I'll pull you back in and unfasten that silly zipper."

Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall, coming to a halt in front of their door. The girls looked at each other, wide-eyed. Erika giggled. "I'll let him in the other room. You get dressed."

Kate scrambled out in a hurry and got into the old clothes she had left out the night before: jeans, sweatshirt and sneakers. Moving day clothes, nothing butch about them. She looked into the mirror anxiously, as if the recent storm of feeling might be showing on her face. Kate Wood, making love with a girl. Could you tell?

A good face, alive and happy-looking this morning. A wide mouth, brown eyes, nose-shaped nose, bright, brown hair long enough to push behind her ears. I look all right, she thought. Good hips, a woman's bosom. I look like other people, she reassured herself for the hundredth time.

She picked up the seldom-used lipstick and ran it over her mouth, then coaxed a wave into her hair above the forehead, wondering why she was bothering.

She certainly wasn't interested in this Martin character.

* * *

"For some reason, I feel full." Doug Martin sat back and looked around the table, which was littered with empty dishes and leftover food: a loaf of bread still in the wrapper, a cardboard carton of milk, cold cuts on a paper plate, cheese, pickles, everything in a happy clutter. "It's a good thing we got the bricks carried upstairs before we ate. I don't think I could bend."

"I don't want to move for at least a week," Erika said. "Tomorrow I won't even turn over in bed."

"It's a school day," Kate reminded her. She had sat silently through the meal, eating little, turning from Erika to Doug as they talked. She was tired—and apprehensive. Why, she didn't know. The moving should have been fun, with Doug carrying everything up and Erika at her relaxed best.