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Chapter Three

Carla awoke with a start, the hammering in her heart matching the frenzied pounding in her head. “Was I having a nightmare?” she wondered aloud. The question remained unanswered, the soft hum of the heat flowing through the vents in the bedroom wall was the only sound she heard in the room. She was completely awake. She turned for a moment. Glancing with annoyance at the bright red digits of the clock radio on the bedside table behind her, she discovered that it was only three-fifteen.

She lay back on her side facing Nate. She drank in everything about him. Even in sleep, there was always an almost palpable intensity about him. It was a controlled intensity, as if he was holding himself in check. He rarely displayed strong emotions. At least he didn’t in Carla’s presence. That wasn’t entirely true. He unleashed this intensity on the occasions when they made love, always leaving her breathless.

She watched as Nate slept this night with him lying bunched up, like a bundle of dirty clothes, upon his stomach. The fingers of one hand were curled beside his face in a fist. His other hand was outstretched, touching Carla on some portion of her body. She did not fancy herself a know-it-all or a student of psychiatry. But I’ll bet that even they would learn a thing or two trying to analyze you, she thought, sliding a hand over Nate’s smooth skin. He slept this night, as he did some nights, in the nude.

There was a full moon out, and its light played across Nate’s features as soft blue-gray stripes through the not-quite closed slats of the Venetian blinds. Although she was glad Nate didn’t snore, Carla marveled at how quiet he slept. Sometimes she would place the back of her hand in front of his nose to reassure herself that he was, indeed, still breathing. Her heart swelled with love for him, although as of late, her intuition was cloaked in an air of foreboding she could not shake. Unlike most people, Carla wasn’t one to ignore her intuition. Her style was simply to go on with life but to remain aware. In her experience, sooner rather than later, secrets revealed themselves.

This time, however, her strategy was not working. Carla knew there was something going on with Nate. What was it, was the infernal question. Nate was not a man who talked a lot about himself on a good day, and that was just his way. She had accepted that exasperating quality about him. Yet Carla’s gut was almost never wrong.

For the moment, she relaxed once again against the plump pillows and before long, was asleep.

Copyright by Pamela D. Beverly