the muscles of his shoulders bunched。 When he squatted to
scrub the whitewalls； the muscles of his thighs swelled。 When he reached
across the front windshield； his shirt separated from his jeans； giving
fleeting； devastating glimpses of a flat； hard belly。 And through it all
was the sight of hands and forearms at work； lightly tanned； softly
haired。
When Chloe had taken as much as she could； she stacked her papers into a
pie； left the chair； and； without a word to explain her sudden
departure； went into the house。 To clean？ She hated to clean！ How else；
though； to expend some of the nervous energy that had gathered inside？
She swept the floors and vacuumed the carpets； all at doublespeed； all
with every bit of elbow grease she could muster。 Tables； chairs；
countertops； and shelves met similar fates beneath her dustcloth。
Perspiration beaded on her upper lip。 She barely noticed。
The football game offered a different torment； but one that was no less
agonizing。 She was polishing the aged oak banister halfway to the second
floor when the familiar sound waited up； and she sank down on the homey
wool runner in defeat。 The football game…what memories it brought。 That
sound…the excited roar of the crowd； the babble of color mentators；
the endless streams of kickoffs and passes； punts and first downs；
fumbles； tumbles； and pileups…brought back th