Why did it hurt? Because he had been beaten. And how had he been beaten? Because he let himself go. He let himself maybe start to almost love a woman. She didn't mean him any harm, and she didn't even cause it, really. But it was because he was drawn to her and she to him that he was beaten today. Even though his romantic feelings toward her were gone he still felt protective toward her, and they had used that against him. The way this world worked, the decent people had to live by the rules of honor, while the sons-of-bitches could run around biting them on the butt every chance they got. And yet when he thought of becoming like them, becoming a real son-of-a-bitch himself, it just made him sick inside. It came down to this: If his daughter was still alive somehow, in heaven if there was one, and if she knew what he was doing, or if he was maybe going to see her again someday, he wanted her to be proud of him. A woman needed him to protect her. A decent woman being treated badly because she dared to reach for love. Then she needed money and he had some, and so he shared. If his daughter lived with Jesus like they said, then maybe she knew he did that and she was proud of him.

  So he did it for his little girl. And now that he knew that, or at least could talk himself into almost believing it, it was OK again. He didn't feel like crying anymore.

  When he got home the Carville Plumbing and Heating van was parked in front. This time, though, Sylvie hadn't let him in. Young Jim Carville—young only compared to his seventy-year-old father—was sitting in the front of his van, smoking. When he saw Don, he put the cigarette out and sauntered over to the pickup. "Not many guys I'd wait for," said Carville.

  "Sorry I kept you waiting," said Don. "You couldn't possibly be early, could you?"

  "Yeah, job fell through."

  "Well, mine didn't, and if you got the time I'd like you to inspect the pipes and tell me what I need to replace."

  "Plenty of time," said Carville. "You want to give me a hand bringing in the new water heater?"

  Don went up and unlocked the deadbolt, then went back to help him get the water heater out of the van. It wasn't really all that heavy. Carville could've done it alone, but why not help? On the way in, Carville said, "That girl you're letting stay with you, you sure have got her scared to do wrong."

  "Oh?"

  "I told her who I was, but she wasn't letting me in without your say-so. Next time you ought to tell her when you got a contractor coming."

  "I knew I'd be back two hours before you were scheduled."

  "When you're dealing with Superman, you better plan on him showing up early."

  When they had wrestled the thing down the cellar steps, Carville checked out the old installation and pronounced that this would be a breeze and no, he didn't need any help till it was time to carry the old lime-silted water heater out of the building. "And for that you might need three more guys, a winch, and a thousand-pound chain."

  "It's that old?"

  "And none of the water ever softened. I'd be surprised if this old heater can hold more than a cup of water at a time. The rest of it is one big stalagmite."

  Don went back upstairs and thought of doing some sweaty job and then realized that when this one was done, there'd be hot water for a shower. So maybe he should go now, before he got himself all filthy, and buy a few little things like soap and towels and, since he had company in the house and the working shower was upstairs, a bathrobe.

  Friendly Center had most of what he needed, between Harris Teeter and Belk. Then he trucked up to Fleet-Plummer to buy a couple of soap-dishes and a shower caddy and to get an extra key made. When he got home, he stocked both bathrooms with soap and laid out the towels, a set of them for her, a set for him. He put up a new shower curtain, laid down a bath mat. Downright domestic. Then he went in search of Sylvie to give her the key.

  She wasn't on the ground floor or the second floor, and she wasn't in the cellar. But when he got into the attic he didn't see her there, either. Not that the light was all that good, coming in slantwise through the filthy porthole windows in the gables. "Sylvie?" he said. "You here?"

  No answer. Called again, no answer. Had she left? Just when she'd finally got it through her head not to let people in, now she slips out of the house when he's downstairs or out shopping? It shouldn't have bothered him, but doggone it, he'd just gone and bought some towels and a bathrobe he didn't need if she wasn't living there. People ought to be consistent, at least, even if they were consistently annoying.

  He was about to head back down the steps when he heard her voice from the darkest of the four wings of the attic, the one with no window at all. He hadn't looked real close back there because he didn't think she'd be there in the dark. She picked her way through the scattered junk—even Helping Hands didn't want this stuff—so quickly and deftly that it was like she could see in the dark. But come to think of it, she'd had plenty of time to memorize where everything was.

  "You were looking for me?" she asked. He couldn't blame her for sounding incredulous.

  "I wanted to tell you the water heater's being installed and after the water has a chance to heat up, you can get a real shower."

  "I bet I need one."

  "It'll feel good whether you need it or not." As if there was a chance she didn't have years of sweat and grime caked on her. "Got soap there, if you don't mind sharing a bar of it with me."

  "No problem," she said.

  "And you can take your pick of towels, I'll just use the other set."

  "You got me a towel?"

  "Can't very well hang you out the window to dry, can I?"

  "All I meant was. Thanks." Again, that tone of surprise.

  "Also," he said, pulling out the extra housekey "It isn't safe for you to be in here with the deadbolt fastened and no key. Plus if you went out, you shouldn't have to knock or wait for me to get home."

  She looked at it without taking it. "It's not my house," she said. "It's yours."

  "I got title to it," said Don. "But I could've lost that just now, if some lawyer really wanted to go to town with me. So the way I see it, we're both squatters here, really. House still belongs to that Dr. Bellamy guy."

  "Oh, he's forgotten all about it by now," she said.

  "I expect so," said Don. "Him being dead and all."

  "Funny how he made such a strong house out of love for his wife, but that's the thing, the house didn't really have a hold on him at all, ever, because it was her that he loved. I think that's romantic."

  "Are you taking the key or not?"

  "I don't know. I don't know if it's right for me to have it."

  "I say it is." And as he said it, he found that he pretty much believed it. "Now that you're following the rules. Not letting people in."

  "Would you mind setting the key by the door to my room?"

  He looked at her for a minute. What was this game? Didn't she recognize victory when she had it? Did she have to rub it in by making him deliver the key?

  "Really," she said. "I don't know if I could even hold the key. I'm kind of shaking right now. I guess what I'm saying is, please take the key and leave it there for me because I don't want to cry in front of you, I'm shy about that."

  "Didn't mean to make you cry."

  She shook her head and turned her back. He went down the attic stairs and laid the key in front of her door and then headed on to the cellar to see how Carville was doing.

  Only when he got down the stairs to the entry hall, he could see through the glass in the door that somebody was standing on the porch, pacing nervously. In the attic he wouldn't have heard any knocking. He opened the door. It was Cindy.

  "Hi," she said.

  "Sure," he said. "Come in." He had a sinking feeling that she had heard what he did for her and she was there to thank him and he didn't want that scene. But he'd rather have that one than the scene where she tries to pick up the romance where it was when it got sidetracked back at her house.

  "You can relax," she said, coming inside. "I know it's over between us."

  "I suppose maybe so," he said.

  "You have no idea how I've replayed that day in my mind, wishing I could..."

  "No point in that, Cindy," he said.

  "And now I've cost you money."

  "They had no business telling you about that."

  "Ryan doesn't know how not to tell what he knows. He doesn't understand that that's why he's not a very good spy. It doesn't give you any advantage to know a secret if you blab it as soon as you find it out."

  "Ryan needs to have his head shoved up his butt."

  "Might as well," she said with a wan smile. "It's always up somebody's."

  He couldn't argue.

  "Anyway, Don," she said. "I'll pay it back to you. You have to let me."

  "You've got other places for that money to go."

  "But I know what having this house free and clear meant to you."

  "It's OK," he said. "The thing is, I'll only have to borrow for a few months and that's nothing. And I kissed you for the camera as much as you kissed me."

  "But you didn't know how I'd bullied him into dropping the price."

  "But see, here's the thing, Cindy. You did it because you liked me. So when it comes right down to it, the owner was right. I was getting a special advantage. I would have bought this house anyway, even at seventy thou. It would have taken me a few days to decide, maybe, but I would have bought it. So in a way, the only loser is you, because you didn't get your whole commission."

  "Don't you dare even think of paying me a—"

  "I got kissed by a beautiful lady," he said. "I found out I could feel things I thought I couldn't feel. That's not about money."

  "That's it," she said. "That's how I feel too. And please don't think for a moment I'm upset that you already have a girl here."

  "There's a girl here," said Don, "but I don't have her. She came with the house."

  "No, no, you don't have to explain anything. I know whatever you did, it was the kind of thing a kind and generous man would do. For all I know, she's just another broken-hearted woman like me. Maybe you're just a trouble magnet, Don."

  "Or maybe there's no such thing as a person without troubles, so I'm just lucky to know somebody like you."

  She shook her head, holding back tears. "You know too much about me to believe that, Don."

  He went to her and put his arms around her and held her again. She clung to him, tight, and now with her body against his he couldn't help but feel some of what he'd felt before, that longing for her.

  "You can hold me when you know what I did?" she whispered.

  "What you almost did," he said. "What you made damn sure you would never, ever do. That's all that counts. What we do, not what we think of doing or even want to do."

  "But see, I lied to you," she said. "I did put the pillow over her face."

  It struck him like a blow; his knees gave a little.

  She pulled away from him, studying his face, tears flowing down hers.

  "Did you... hurt her?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "Only for a minute. And that's the truth this time. Now that I know you already have somebody else, I can stand to tell you that last little bit. That I was doing it."

  "But you stopped."

  She nodded.

  "And your baby wasn't hurt at all."

  "She cried cause I scared her, but no, she wasn't hurt. It really was only a minute. Less than a minute. But that's how close I was. It's awful, Don, knowing I could come that close."

  "We can all come close to something ugly," he said.

  "Not that, though," she said. "You could never even come within a thousand miles of that. And that's why you can't love me."

  "I think... that's not fair, Cindy. Don't judge yourself by me. I lost a little girl. I've got scars of my own. That's all that's happening here."

  "No, I know better, Don. The kind of man that's the only kind worth loving, when I tell him that story, he'll never be able to love me."

  "You don't know that."

  "Because how could he ever trust me? How could he ever leave our kids alone with me, without wondering? And a man like that, Don, he's going to want kids. A man who's a natural husband and father."

  "I don't know, Cindy. I know we mean something to each other. That's better than anything I had for the last couple of years."

  "Me too."

  "So there," he said. "That's love too. It ain't sex, and maybe that's too bad, but you know, Cindy, when a man and a woman care for each other, that doesn't always mean they have to sleep together or live together."

  She nodded, then glanced toward the stairs and gave a little half-smile.

  He didn't bother to answer her, to insist that there was nothing between him and Sylvie. Because how did he know? Maybe there was something between them. Maybe he was finally back to a place in his life where he could mean something to people and they could mean something to him. He didn't owe Cindy any explanations. And she wasn't asking for any, either.

  "Anyway," said Cindy. "I'm going to start another account. I'm going to fill it up with money till it's at twenty thousand dollars. If you won't take it from me, then I'll call it my Don Lark fund and I'll try to use it as kindly for someone in need as you used it for me."

  "That money was as much to get me out of hot water as it was for you," he said.

  "Yeah, right." She laughed. "You wouldn't have lost your real estate license."

  "Well, just so you don't think I'm too noble, Cindy, I got to tell you that right now what I want more than anything in the world is to kiss you."

  "Me too."

  "A better man than me would just let that feeling pass."

  She stepped to him, put her hands on his chest, let him enfold her in his arms again, and gave back a warm sweet kiss. Not like she kissed him in the bathroom or in the car, none of that hunger. It was good-bye. But it was also love, and he had needed that from her and she gave it, and she needed it from him, too, and they were maybe just a little bit more alive, a little bit closer to happiness because of that. So the kiss lasted a long time. But when it ended, she was out the door really fast.

  And there, leaning on her car, was Ryan Bagatti. All smiles. "Interesting diner you found for your lunch hour," said Ryan. "What's on the menu? Must be fast food." He was looking at Cindy. Maybe he didn't even realize Don was standing there. Didn't matter. He'd gone too far this time. Don was down the porch stairs before Bagatti could hold his hands out and insist, "Just kidding! Just kidding!" And then he cowered as Don loomed over him.

  "Don, don't!" cried Cindy.

  Don didn't need the warning. He had the desire, but not the intention of harming Bagatti. But he did stand close, as close as he could. Bagatti straightened up a little, but found himself forced to lean flat against his car or he'd have had Don's chest in his face.

  "Hey, back off, man," said Bagatti. "Can't you take a joke?"

  Don just stood there, looming. Waiting for Bagatti to act.

  It didn't take long. A guy like Bagatti, when someone didn't fight back, he assumed they were afraid to hurt him. So now he started acting cool again. "Get a sense of humor, man," he said. And then he laid his hands on Don's chest and pushed, just a little. "Give me some space."

  That was what Don needed. He snatched both of Bagatti's hands and held them, using his own hands like pincers, his thumbs in Bagatti's palms, his middle fingers pressing the other side. And he squeezed. Bagatti yelped. In reply, Don held his hands out to both sides, spreading Bagatti like a crucifix and bringing his face right up against Don's chest. Bagatti struggled to get his hands free, but the more he resisted, the tighter Don squeezed. "You're killing me!"

  "Not yet," said Don. Then he bent his head down to speak directly in Bagatti's ears. "Listen tight," he said softly. "I'll say this once. No more jokes, no more teasing, no more following Cindy anywhere. You see her at work, you treat her politely. You never criticize her or even discuss her with others. No nasty tricks, no rumors, no sneaking, no telling tales about her. You getting this?"

  "Yes," said Bagatti.

  "You're the kind of bully who picks on somebody just because they can't fight back. Well, you were right about Cindy. She can't fight you. But now she doesn't have to. Cindy and I are not now and never have been lovers, not that it's your business. But we are friends. And I take care of my friends, Mr. Bagatti."

  "Right, yes," said Bagatti. "I'm getting this. I got this."

  "I'm not sure," said Don. "You seem to me to be a slow learner."

  "I'm a quick learner."

  "But the minute I let you go, you're going to forget."

  "No, I'm not."

  "The minute I let you go, you're going to start yelling about how I've been threatening you and assaulting you and if I think I've heard the last of this—"

  "No, I won't say that."

  "Then I can let you go?"

  "Definitely. Yes. This would be a good time."

  Don released Bagatti's hands. It surprised him how much tension had been in his grip. The lad was going to have bruises. Indeed, Bagatti slumped back against the car and cradled one hand in the other, then switched them, then held them both in front of him as if they were stumps. "Look what you've done to me."

  "As far as I'm concerned," said Don, "you did this to yourself. If you hadn't come here to taunt Cindy Claybourne, your hands would not be in pain right now."

  "This is a crime you committed here, buddy," said Bagatti.

  Immediately Don seized the man's hands and Bagatti shrieked and tried to snatch them back. "You promised me," said Don.

  "Yes. Yes, I did. I do. No crime. It's fine."

  "What you have to remember is that I'm crazy," said Don. "Whatever I do to you, I'll get off."

  "Yeah. You won't have to do anything to me. Please."

  By now Don wasn't squeezing his hands or anything. Bagatti could have pulled them back. But he wasn't trying to. He was submitting. Don had won. It should have felt good. And it did, a little. Because Bagatti might actually leave Cindy alone. Maybe he had done what it took to protect her.