Sure, she'd spent all her pay on clothes in those days, trying to look like everybody else. She'd spent evenings polishing her nails, trying hair styles, putting on different colors of lipstick to see how they looked. But it wasn't to make herself attractive to men. It was part of being free and earning money and having a long life still reaching out ahead of her.

She was almost twenty-one before she went to bed with a man, and it didn't mean anything because it happened when Paul was first committed and all she did was wait for visiting days. She was half-drunk when it happened, another first time—she'd never tasted anything stronger than beer before. One of the men from her office had offered her a lift home and they ended in a motel out on the edge of town—with a fifth of whiskey. They sat around for a while, drinking and kissing, and finally they got undressed and went to bed. It didn't seem like anything to make a fuss about. She'd been surprised that it was so simple.

Both of them were afraid to look at each other the next day. She couldn't remember the guy's name, Charley something. He was afraid his wife would find out. That was all she remembered about that, thanks to the alcohol.

There were others, none of them distinct in her memory. Except the truck driver who got mean after a few drinks. She remembered him all right. He pulled her out of bed at four in the morning and slammed her up against the wall before going to work on her with his fists, screaming words she'd never heard, even from Pa. The motel owner threatened to call the police and chased them both out, and she drove the man's car back to town because he couldn't see straight. When she got home she discovered she had two black eyes and a split lip. A wonder he hadn't knocked out a mouthful of teeth, that would have been a real problem.

It seemed then, that she had gone to bed the way other people went to the movies. It was something to do, a way to keep from being alone in the evenings. And what had she ever gotten out of it? A little excitement while you wait for it to happen, a little fun while it's going on if the guy isn't in too much of a hurry; and a little worry afterward if your period is late. She could remember lying in bed under some sweaty stranger and wondering why she was there.

Never, the feeling of tenderness that welled up in her when Erika touched her.

She ran a drink of water and went back into the living room. Erika was reading through a paper, frowning, pausing to mark a mistake in red pencil. She looked up. Kate stood in front of her. "You know what, Erik?"

"No, what?"

"I love you."

Erika stood up, dropping the pencil. She put her arms around Kate and held her tight. "I love you too," she said. "Nothing else matters."