She dared not move, dared not breathe. His eyes burned on her. In the space between them hovered all that had not been said, and it was blinding. She was on the verge of going to him. He looked away. “Forgive me, Wilma,” he said. “I should not have said such a thing.”

She bit her lip, hard. “No, Gust.”

“It seems I’m always having to apologize to you for the things that I say,” he said. “Perhaps I came here intending to say such a thing, and that’s even more disgraceful.” He made for his hat.

“Don’t go,” she blurted, and he stopped, looked at her. “I don’t—” Just then, the baby kicked her, and she let out a little yelp.

“Are you all right?” Gust said, starting toward her. “Is it the baby?”

She breathed, pressing her hand to her belly. “I don’t know what it is. He’s usually much calmer.” The baby kicked again, as though sensing the unrest in her heart.

“Would you like to feel him?” she asked, recklessly.

“Wilma?” In his eyes was his shock at the impropriety of her proposal.

“I don’t care,” she said. “Please.”

So he approached, and crouched down close to her hip. She felt him come over her like a cloak, his smell of cigars and winter, his warmth. She took his hand in hers, guiding it to her stomach, pressing it there.

“Godsakes,” he said, when he felt the baby kick. She could smell the mint on his breath. “Doesn’t he hurt you?”

She shook her head, trying to breathe, trying not to reach for him.

He looked up at her. Then he brushed her cheek with his fingertips.

Her eyes drifted closed, and more than just the baby seemed to shift and settle within her. There was no denying it: Gust’s life was woven with hers, too. Do not—she warned herself, though she knew it was much too late.

Then the heat of him was gone. When she opened her eyes, he was already retrieving his hat from the sofa. “Forgive me, Wilma,” he said. “I forget myself when I’m with you—”

She struggled to her feet.

“I’d best go,” he said.

“It isn’t your fault, Gust.” She should have known better than to invite him to touch her; she should have known that there would be consequences for such an indiscretion. “I’m as much to blame—”

“I can’t be near you, Wilma. That much should be clear from the way I’ve behaved. I’ll go up to camp and cut lumber for a couple months. We must try to forget this. Pa’s been after me about going up, anyway, wanting firsthand how things are going, nothing will look strange—”