"God, Suzanne. That was different." She put her hand on his chest and
rubbed slow circles, the way she'd done when he'd had a headache. "I've
been on the receiving end--a while back. But I never dished it out like
that."
"How did it feel?"
"Kind of strange, at first. Then it felt good."
"I knew we were in trouble," she said. "What happened?"
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"To that relationship, when you were--receiving."
"Oh," he said. "I changed. Yi! What time is it?"
"Getting on for three."
"Baby, I've got to run. I hate to." He was already dressing.
"I know," she said.
He was gaining speed. Deweys was his only hope. He had to get there and
get Suzanne to the back of his mind before he could go home. The quilt
stopped him.
"Suzanne." She came naked into the living room. "This quilt is
special." He thought. "It's because you are . . . And I don't mean
just because you're twenty-seven and gorgeous. How did you do it?"
"I follow my heart, that's all." She looked at the quilt. "It needs a
lot of work."
"I've really got to go. Damn!"