What she heard instead in that tense and breathless silence was the faint rustle and crackle of paper. The click of a cigarette lighter. The softest of exhalations. And then at last she heard his footsteps scuff the vinyl-tile floor, moving away from her, toward the breakfast nook. Away, not closer. As of course she wanted him to do. Had all but asked him to do.

And still she felt a vast sense of loneliness and loss.

“Yeah, I still grieve for my wife and my son.” His voice was harsh in her friendly kitchen, so warm and fragrant with the homey smell of steaming soup. “I probably always will. I loved Jenny for twenty-two years, dammit-that’s almost half my life. Jason was my child-my only child. You don’t stop loving somebody just because they happen to die.”

“Of course not,” Jane whispered. She opened a drawer, took out an ashtray and stood for a moment holding it, keeping her back to him as she drew a courage-building breath. Why not? she thought. Why not? I have nothing else to lose. “But,” she said, her voice shaking, “does it mean you can’t love anyone else, ever again?”

He didn’t answer, and when she turned with the ashtray in her hands, she saw that he’d moved around the table so that it stood between them, like a barrier.

“I don’t know,” he said, and for a moment his eyes blazed at her with the brightness of pain. Then he shook his head and looked away, reaching blindly for the ashtray she’d placed on the table. “I know I loved my wife. I don’t know if I’ll ever love anyone else that way again. I know, well, hell, I haven’t exactly been a monk in the seven years since she died, but there hasn’t been anyone that even came close.” He pulled his gaze back to her then, as if it was a hard thing to do, and there was no escaping the anguish in his face, and the confusion, the longing, and…fear.

He’s afraid, she thought, suddenly understanding. Afraid of letting go.

“And where,” she softly asked, “does that leave me?”

She saw his jaw clench, and he punched the words through them. “Damned if I know!” He brought his fist down gently on the tabletop, but his knuckles were white and his voice rose, rocky with anger. “I don’t know what’s going on with me right now, if you want to know the truth. I know I like you, dammit. I like your company. I know I want you, and not just to have sex with, either, though God knows-and I think you do, too-that I do want that. I mean I want you around-to talk to, be with-and that’s not something I’ve said to anyone in seven years, let me tell you!” He glared at her as if both blaming and daring her to dispute him.

She stared back at him, eyes burning, her whole face aching with the need to relieve the tension with tears. But I can’t cry, she thought. It will make it so much worse. I won’t cry. She said nothing, and watched the anger and frustration in his face turn to bewilderment.

“But the thing is, ever since I met you, it seems like I keep being reminded of Jenny. Not…you, exactly-I mean, it’s not that you remind me of Jen. You’re nothing like her. Just…things. Little things. It’s like…you’ve brought her back to me, or something.” His red-rimmed eyes stabbed her accusingly. “Now every time I turn around, seems like I bump into a memory of Jen.”

“And is that such a bad thing?” Jane asked, her tongue thick with unshed tears.

“It’s hell.” Again he ground the words out through tightly clenched teeth. “Do you know how hard I’ve tried to forget? For seven years?”

“Maybe,” she ventured, hugging herself now, hoping he wouldn’t see or notice that she was shaking, “you aren’t supposed to forget. Maybe it’s time to remember…and then-” she caught a quick breath and whispered it “-say goodbye.”

There were moments of suspenseful silence. Then he uttered a surprised-sounding “Huh!” and unexpectedly smiled. It was the same little lopsided smile that had always struck her as being so poignant; now, at least, she thought she understood why.

“Funny,” he muttered as he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, “someone else just said the same thing to me a couple of days ago…”

When he looked back at her, his eyes had softened and the smile was slipping. “Look, all I know is, I wanted to see you again. Needed to see you, actually. So-” he gave an offhand shrug she knew was only meant to hide his terrible vulnerability “-I guess that’s the answer to your question, why I’m here.”

But not the second question, thought Jane. What do you want with me?

Because we both know exactly what you can’t ever bring yourself to admit. Simply put: You need me.

She didn’t know which she wanted to do more-laugh or cry. If she’d thought David a master when it came to knowing how to push her buttons, then Tom Hawkins must be in a class by himself. He’d known her only a few days, and already he knew the one way to short-circuit her resolve, the one button she could never resist. He needs me.

But, her heart protested, what about me? I need too. I want. I deserve. Someone who loves…me.

Before she knew she was going to, she heard herself speaking softly, almost musingly. Leaning against the countertop with her arms folded across, and pressed hard against, the quivering ball of nerves that had taken the place of her stomach, she began to tell him about herself. And about David.

“I met my husband when I was just seventeen, Tom. I was in high school, a straight-A student, and I had so many dreams. David was very jealous, possessive and controlling, which I, of course, thought meant that he loved me. Because I was young, and didn’t know then that loving someone doesn’t mean putting them in a cage. It means giving them room to fly.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she had to look away quickly and wait until she was sure she had both her voice and her face under control again before she dared go on. All the while, Tom said nothing, but simply watched her, quietly smoking. He seemed to be waiting for her to continue, and after a while, in a low, husky murmur, she did.

“When I was nineteen, I found that I was pregnant. I’d just started college, but I dropped out, and we got married-familiar story, right? Especially in those days.” She smiled wryly, not quite meeting his eyes. “I must tell you that I didn’t look for ward to my wedding day and future life with joy and optimism. It was more like…resignation. I knew life with David would never be easy, but I believed I was doing the right thing.

“Anyway. Two weeks after the wedding, I had a miscarriage.” Tom exhaled audibly. “It was early in the pregnancy. The child wasn’t real to me,” she said gently. “I didn’t grieve for it. What I grieved for were my dreams, my…possibilities.” She took a deep breath. “But only for a little while. I told myself David was a good man, a hard worker, that he would love and provide for me, and I told myself that I loved him and it was up to me to make him a good wife and a happy home.

“And I did, dammit.” There was anger now, and she didn’t even try to hide it, to keep her voice from grating or one hand from curling into a fist. “For so many years I followed him dutifully from place to place, pouring all my energy into trying to be the perfect wife, the perfect mom, spending all my creativity to make our home lovely and serene. And David, well, to give him credit, he was indeed a good man, a hard worker, a good provider, and after Lynn and Tracy were born, a very good dad. What he never learned how to be was a partner, a friend, a mate…a husband.”

She paused, knowing she was getting more carried away than she’d planned, meaning to apologize to Tom for boring him with her life story when he was so obviously more in need of a listener than a lecture. But he’d pulled out a chair and seated himself at the table, and was gazing at her intently, listening to her, it seemed, with every cell in his body. So she gave him the apology in a shrug and a smile and continued.

“As the years went by, I realized that David not only didn’t love me, that in fact he probably isn’t capable of loving anyone. He only possesses people. He loves the girls, because to him they are extensions of himself. Me he cared about only in terms of what I provided for him-his home, his children, his meals. Sex. I was expected to do my job, like any good employee, while his function, like that of any good boss, was to delegate as much work and responsibility to me as possible, and in return provide me with a living wage. Period.”

“God,” said Tom under his breath, almost involuntarily.

Jane glanced at him and found that this time it was impossible to look away again. She said softly, “Little by little, I came to understand that I was very much alone. And that I was lonely. I decided that I had to do something, because if I didn’t, I was going to die of loneliness. I believe it, you know-that you can die of loneliness. You die inside, the part of you that really matters, a little at a time.”

“And so,” he murmured, not disagreeing, “you got a divorce.”

“No,” she said. “I took up dancing.” And she had to laugh at the look on his face. “It’s true. I signed up for dancing lessons. I meant it as a way for David and I to share something, to actually do something together for once. But he thought it was silly, said he was too busy and refused to go, and because I’d already spent the money, I went ahead anyway. It was pretty awful, at first. I hated the group lessons-as one of several unattached women, I always seemed to wind up dancing the man’s position-but the instructor was very good. So I signed up for private lessons.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said when Tom restlessly stirred, frowned and reached for his cigarettes. “It’s what David thought, too-that I was having an affair with my dance teacher. How trite, huh? And actually, I did adore Hans-”