Six strides from the living room windows to the wall with the radio, six strides back. Nora knew this because she’d been wearing out the floor from one direction to the other for the better part of an hour. Finally, she sat on the couch. Less than a minute later, she jumped up again to pace to-and-fro. “What could you possibly have been thinking?” She gesticulated wildly while berating herself. “What possessed you? She works for you—under your supervision. Do you have any idea how bad that looks? Did you think about the impropriety? No? Let’s not even talk about the perception. And what if someone catches you looking at her like she’s your next meal? What then?”

She plopped down on the couch again and lowered her head into her hands. She was certain it had to be the lack of sleep talking. After Mary left, she’d poured out the burnt coffee and cleaned the percolator. She’d lain down and prayed for sleep, but it would not take her. Instead, she tossed and turned for hours, reliving their time together, remembering the way Mary’s back arched as she…

Nora popped up yet again. This time, she flipped on the radio to distract herself with the news. That proved to be another bad decision, since the first sounds she heard were the strains of Glenn Miller and his Orchestra. There was Mary, standing in the very spot Nora now occupied, swaying to the music and looking more sensuous than any pin-up model.

She turned the dial and tuned in the CBS Network. Perhaps she wasn’t too late to hear Edward R. Murrow reporting from Berlin, or Eric Sevareid reporting from London or Washington.

Her mind strayed to Mary, sitting at her cubicle, her face a mask of concentration, assuming anyone could concentrate the night after Christmas. She checked her watch. It was almost eleven o’clock. Mary would be getting off work right about now. Did you get any sleep when you went back to your room? Or did you lie awake wondering what just happened, as I did? Are you as confused as I am?

In truth, she hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep last night. Mary’s scent lingered on the sheets and pillowcases, permeated her nostrils, and bedeviled her no matter which way she turned. Images of their evening together played like a movie every time she closed her eyes. Mary, her eyes open wide in fear when the Nazi took Mrs. Miniver hostage. Mary’s hand gripping hers in the theater. Mary, her head thrown back in passion. Mary, so uncertain where she stood when they parted.