Wet and cold, they each went to their rooms, Paul slipped out of his clothes and turned on the faucet, waiting until the steam was billowing from behind the curtain be-fore he hopped into the shower. It took a few minutes for his body to warm up, and though he lingered far longer than usual and got dressed slowly, Adrienne hadn’t re-appeared by the time he went back downstairs.

With the windows covered, the house was dark, and Paul turned on the light in the sitting room before heading to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. The rain beat furiously on the hurricane guards, making the house echo with vi-bration. Thunder rolled continuously, sounding both close and far away at the same time, like sounds in a busy train station. Paul brought the cup of coffee back to the sitting room. Even with the lamp turned on, the blackened win-dows made it feel as though evening had settled in, and he moved toward the fireplace.

Paul opened the damper and added three logs, stacking them to allow for airflow, then threw in some kindling. He nosed around for the matches and found them in a wooden box on the mantel. The odor of sulfur hung in the air when he struck the first match.

The kindling was dry and caught quickly; soon he heard a sound like the crinkling of paper as the logs began to catch. Within a few minutes the oak was giving off heat, and Paul moved the rocker closer, stretching his feet to-ward the fire.

It was comfortable, he thought, getting up from his chair, but not quite right. He crossed the room and turned off the light.

He smiled. Better, he thought. A lot better.

In her room, Adrienne was taking her time. After they’d reentered the house, she’d decided to take Jean’s advice and began filling the tub. Even when she turned off the faucet and slipped in, she could hear water running through the pipes and knew that Paul was still upstairs showering. There was something sensual in that realiza-tion, and she let the feeling wash over her.

Two days ago, she couldn’t have imagined this sort of thing happening to her. Nor could she have imagined that she’d he feeling this way about anyone, let alone someone she’d just met. Her life didn’t allow for such things, not lately, anyway. It was easy to blame the kids or tell herself that her responsibilities didn’t leave enough time for something like this, but that wasn’t completely true. It also had to do with who she’d become in the aftermath of her divorce.

Yes, she felt betrayed and angry at Jack; everyone could understand those things. But being left for someone else carried other implications, and as much as she tried not to dwell on them, there were times when she couldn’t help it. Jack had rejected her, he’d rejected the life they had lived together; it was a devastating blow to her as a wife and mother, but also as a woman. Even if, as he’d claimed, he hadn’t planned on falling in love with Linda and that it had just happened, it wasn’t as if he simply rode the wave of emotions without making conscious decisions along the way. He had to have thought about what he was doing, he had to have considered the possibilities when he started spending time with Linda. And no matter how much he tried to soft-pedal what had happened, it was as if he’d told Adrienne not only that Linda was better in every way, but that Adrienne wasn’t even worth the time and effort it would take to fix whatever it was he thought was wrong with their relationship.

How was she supposed to react to that sort of total re-jection? It was easy for others to say that it had nothing to do with her, that Jack was going through a midlife crisis, but it still had an effect on the person she thought she was. Especially as a woman. It was hard to feel sensual when you didn’t feel attractive, and the ensuing three years without a date only served to underscore her feeling of inadequacy.

And how had she dealt with that feeling? She’d devoted her life to her children, her father, the house, her job, the bills. Consciously or subconsciously, she’d stopped doing those things that would give her the opportunity to think about herself. Gone were the relaxing conversations with friends on the telephone, or walks or baths, or even work-ing in her garden. Everything she did had a purpose, and though she believed she was keeping her life orderly in this way, she now realized that it had been a mistake.

It hadn’t helped, after all. She was busy from the mo-ment she woke until the moment she went to bed, and be-cause she’d robbed herself of any possibility of rewards, there was nothing to look forward to. Her daily routine was a series of chores, and that was enough to wear anyone down. By giving up the little things that make life worth-while, all she’d done, she suddenly realized, was to forget who she really was.

Paul, she suspected, already knew that about her. And somehow, spending time with him had given her the chance to realize it as well.

But this weekend wasn’t simply about recognizing the mistakes she’d made in the past. It also had to do with the future and how she would live from this point on. Her past was played out; there was nothing she could do about that, but the future was still up for grabs, and she didn’t want to live the rest of her life feeling the way she had for the last three years.

She shaved her legs and soaked in the tub for another few minutes, long enough for most of the suds to vanish and the water to start cooling. She dried off and—knowing that Jean wouldn’t mind—reached for the lotion on the counter. She applied some to her legs and belly, then her breasts and arms, relishing the way it made her skin come to life.

Wrapping the towel around her, she went to her suit-case. Force of habit made her reach for jeans and a sweater, but after pulling them out, she set them aside. If I’m serious about changing the way I’m going to live, she thought, I may as well start now.

She hadn’t brought much else with her, certainly noth-ing fancy, but she did have a pair of black pants and a white blouse that Amanda had bought her for Christmas. She’d brought those along in the vague hope that she might head out one evening, and though she wasn’t going anywhere, it seemed as good a time as any to put them on.

She dried her hair with a blow dryer and curled it. Makeup came next: mascara and a dusting of blush, lipstick she’d bought at Belk’s a few months back but had seldom used. Leaning toward the mirror, she added a trace of eye shadow, just enough to accent the color of her eyes, as she’d done in the early years of her marriage.

When she was ready, she tugged at the blouse until it hung just right, smiling at what she saw. It had been far too long since she’d last looked like this.

She left the bedroom, and as she passed through the kitchen, she could smell the coffee. It was what she would normally drink on a day like this, especially since it was still the afternoon, but instead of pouring a cup, she re-trieved the last bottle of wine in the refrigerator, then grabbed the corkscrew and a couple of glasses, feeling worldly, as if she were finally in control.

Carrying it all to the sitting room, she saw that Paul had

started the fire, and it had somehow changed the room, as if anticipating the way she was feeling. Paul’s face was glowing in the flames, and though she was quiet, she knew he could sense her presence. He turned around to say some-thing, but when he saw Adrienne, no words came out of his mouth. All he could do was stare at her.

“Too much?” she finally asked.

Paul shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “No, not at all. You look. . . beautiful.”

Adrienne gave a shy smile. “Thank you,” she said. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, a voice from long ago.

They continued to stare at each other until Adrienne fi-nally lifted the bottle slightly. “Would you like some wine?” she asked. “I know you have coffee, but with the storm, I thought it might be nice.”

Paul cleared his throat. “That sounds great. Would you like me to open the bottle?”

“Unless you like bits of cork in your wine, you’d better. I never did get the hang of those things.”

When Paul rose from his chair, she handed the corkscrew to him. He opened the bottle with a series of quick movements, and Adrienne held both glasses as he poured. He set the bottle on the table and took his glass as they sat in the rockers. She noticed they were closer to-gether than they had been the day before.

Adrienne took a sip of wine, then lowered the glass, pleased with everything: the way she looked and felt, the taste of the wine, the room itself. The flickering fire made shadows dance around them. Rain was sheeting itself against the walls.

“This is lovely,” she said. “I’m glad you made a fire.”

In the warming air, Paul caught a trace of the perfume she was wearing, and he shifted in his chair. “I was still cold after being outside,” he said. “It seems to take a little longer every year for me to warm up.”

“Even with all that exercise? And here I thought you were holding back the ravages of time.”

He laughed softly. “I wish.”

“You seem to be doing okay.”

“You don’t see me in the mornings.”

“But don’t you run then?”

“Before that, I mean. When I first get out of bed, I can barely move. I hobble like an old man. All that running has taken its toll over the years.”

As they moved their rockers back and forth, he could see the reflection of the fire flickering in her eyes.

“Have you heard from your kids today?” he asked, trying not to stare at Adrienne too obviously.

She nodded. “They called this morning while you were out. They’re getting ready for their ski trip, but wanted to touch base before they go. They’re heading to Snowshoe, West Virginia, this weekend. They’ve been looking forward to that for a couple of months now.”

“Sounds like they’ll have fun.”

“Yeah, Jack’s good for that. Whenever they go to visit, he always has fun things planned, as if life with him would be nothing but one big party.” She paused. “But that’s okay. He’s missing out on a lot of things, too, and I wouldn’t trade places with him. You can’t get these years back.”

“I know,” he murmured, “Believe me, I know.”

She winced. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.

He shook his head. “It’s okay. Even though you weren’t talking about me, I know I’ve missed more than I can hope to recover. But at least I’m trying to do something about it now. I just hope it works out.”

“It will.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. I think you’re the kind of person who ac-complishes just about everything you set out to do.”

“It’s not that easy this time.”

“Why not?”

“Mark and I aren’t on very good terms these days. Actu-ally, we’re not on any terms. We haven’t said more than a few words to each other in years.”

She looked at him, not sure what to say. “I didn’t realize it was that long,” she finally offered.

“How would you? It’s not something I’m proud to admit.”

“What are you going ............