Kathy, of course, had a euphemism already handy to cover her interference. "I was just trying to help," she said quickly when I walked back in the room and looked at her pointedly.

But I immediately smiled. I was still feeling very yummy from my conversation with Cody in the hall. "Don't worry about it," I said. "It'll be fun."

Kathy smiled back. She was a firm believer in the adage, "It's better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission." And with yet another situation, her belief and behavior were further solidified.

As I sat down at my desk, I asked, "Who all is coming along on this group non-date?"

"Well, Terry of course, although I haven't told him yet, and Thomas. I also phoned Pete. And of course he wants to come along." Then her endearing mischievous grin was back on her face. "If we're lucky, Pete will soon be the odd man out." Her eyes squinted and twinkled with happy wicked thoughts.

I chuckled. "Pete isn't going to be the only single one left." Just as Kathy had her forgiveness/permission adage to direct her behavior, I had my "He'll never notice me" adage to direct my behavior. Though I longed for Cody, he seemed impossibly out of reach. "Cody and I aren't going to hitch up tonight."

She just continued grinning. "Perhaps." Then we both actually began working.

As I walked into my house that afternoon, a restlessness settled upon me. I felt like I had just drunk an entire pot of coffee. Apparently nervous anticipation and caffeine have the same effect on the body. Any plans of reading, surfing or any other restful activity were right out. I had to do something.

And what do women do when they are filled with nervous energy? Clean. We clean like little robots with new batteries. Our minds tick away the future possibilities as our hands scrub and wash and shine.

My mind, however, also likes to play tricks. It is not merely satisfied with taking fantasies to romantic conclusions. No, it must deviate into darkness. It entertwines anticipation with pain, the possibility of future euphoria with the annihilation of the past.

I stopped scrubbing the tub. Sitting back on my heels, my gloves dripping with Scrubbing Bubbles, I stared blankly at the bathtub's tile wall. Why does it have to hurt all the time? When is the break?

Self-pity? asked my other self in a disparaging tone.

"Good lord," I replied as I began to clean the tub again, "don't you ever let up?"

It's useless and unproductive.

"But perhaps necessary. I don't think you could label crying as useful and productive, but you definitely feel better at the end of it."

There are better choices.

I sighed. My other self was a task master. I pulled off my gloves and went into my bedroom. Laying down on the bed, I closed my eyes.

What do you see?

"I see me." With my eyes closed, I pictured a bright, white light. It sparkled and flickered like light reflected off water. It was how I pictured my soul. It was my inner self without a body. Then I saw myself playing on the beach as the sea water came up to tickle my toes. "It's lonely."

But no self-pity.

"No self-pity." The Kate on the beach was smiling and waving back at me.

And you're okay to continue working? You won't get bogged down in the pain?

"I think I'm okay." I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling. Ever since I was a child and the beast tore through my family and my soul, the pain had become a part of my everyday life. It was a deep, low bass that came from no direction. It was my ever-present undertone.

I rose from the bed. The pain and fear had been contained again. The swell had been confined back into its constant background hum. But this time I put Red-Headed Stranger in the CD player. Working in silence was obviously too dangerous.

I was just putting the vacuum cleaner back in the hall closet when the doorbell rang. It was 7:53pm. Butterflies immediately entered my stomach and began salsa dancing. I looked through the peephole to see a distorted fisheye Cody looking idly around my front porch.

I had to open the door. I mean, it's assumed that when you have company, you actually let them into your home.

But this was Cody. Maybe if I didn't have butterflies doing fancy Brazilian dance steps in my stomach, I would have no problem opening the door. Then along came a savior or three. Kate showed up along with Pete and Terry. I watched them all greet each other from behind my fisheye lens. From my disassociated third-person view, I was able to calm my nerves. I opened the door, smiling. My fragile feelings were once again safely hidden behind a placid, perfect mask. "Hey, everyone."

Chapter Four