He's working as a carpenter. I think he might be heading into the
artist's life."

"Poor baby."

"I'm proud of him."

"Good, Joe."

"And you? No Mr. Isabelle?"

"Not any more. He died in the wreck that messed me up. He was a bad
boy," she said, smiling sadly.

"I'm sorry."

"If it hadn't happened there, it would have been somewhere else." She
seemed to say the words more bravely than she felt them. "Let's have
some more wine, then."

He hunched himself off the bed and refilled their glasses. "You're a
handsome guy, Joe. Good manners. Tougher than you look. Episcopal, I
bet."

"Right about the Episcopal, anyway. Not that I pay much attention."

"Is it true that Episcopalians are baptized in Harvey's Bristol Cream?"

"It's true."

"Lucky Joe." She took another drink of wine. "I know something about
you tough guys."

"Oh, yeah?"

"You're really just bad boys--and you need to be read to." She reached
for a book on the bedside table. "I am revisiting _Anne of Green
Gables_, by Lucie Maude Montgomerie."

"Good grief," Joe said. Isabelle opened to the first page and began
reading calmly. Joe stretched his legs and looked at the ceiling. It
had been a long few days. Despite himself, he was drawn into the story.
Her voice was low and soothing. He nearly fell asleep and spilled the
last of his wine. Isabelle took the glass from his hand and turned out
the light.

"Your hands are cold," she said, "get under the covers." With one arm
she pushed him sideways and held up the blanket and sheet. He rolled
under and next to her. She took his hand and rested it on her stomach.
"That's better," she said. He registered distantly that he was in bed
with a woman he didn't know, but her warm body and the soft cotton
nightgown under his hand made that unimportant. It was a good place to
be. He snuggled closer and she sighed. He began to caress her stomach
slowly. She sighed again and moved her hips closer. His fingertips
brushed lightly across her breasts. She tipped her head back.
"Careful," she warned in a constricted voice.

He continued slowly, turning on his side and pushing his face against
her upper arm. He brought his hand down and stroked lightly along the
curves of her stomach. Isabelle placed her hand on his and pushed it
lower, down over her pelvis. He moved closer and rubbed where she
guided. Her body tensed. He stretched out, fully aroused against her
hip. Her breath came harder. It was important, now, wh