“You told me that already.”

Her bottom lip pouted. “I did?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what did the note say? Was it a good note?”

“I don't know…you never gave it to me.”

The grin returned. “I know!” And she whispered again. “It was a love note.”

She pointed it at the ceiling. “I found it up in my room.” She stopped, frowning.

“Oh, no, I said 'up.' ”

Peter shook his head. “Remember when I said alcohol wasn't the problem, it

was the solution?”

“Yup. That was my joke.”

“I was wrong.” He tried lifting her by her arms. “C'mon, now, let's get to your room.”

She suddenly pushed him away, stumbling slightly. “How dare you shup me

to my room up there? I don't hardly know you. Varlot.”

“Varlot?”

“Yeah. It's what they say in the old movies when a man was a varlot to a girl,

which you are. A varlot, not a girl. I'm the girl.” She pointed at herself. “I'm going to sleep on the couch if you don't mind, but I think that first I need to throw up.”

She suddenly pushed past him, through the narrow bathroom door next to

the staircase and slammed it shut. In seconds, Peter heard a bout of retching.

“Kate?” he called. His answer was another heave. He tried the door handle.

It was locked.

“Varlot,” she gagged from behind it.

A few seconds later, the toilet flushed. The door unlocked, then creaked open

as a bedraggled Kate emerged, looking like a wet puppy.

Peter quickly moved to her, put his arms around her shoulders. “Hey? You okay?”

“Is okay when the room is spinning like a sideways merry-go-round?”

“No.”

“Then I think I'm fine.” She looked over her shoulder. “You know, I've never

thrown up in that room before.”

“That's great. I'm so proud of you.” He reached behind her, grabbed a hand

towel from a rack and bumped the cold water handle on. He wet the towel, turned off the faucet and dabbed her face. It looked so pale, like a little girl's.

One arm still around her, he guided her to the living room. Pulling a blanket

off the couch and onto the floor with one hand, he gently guided her down, laid

her back, then lifted her feet up onto a pillow at the other end. He grabbed a pillow from the chair nearby and tucked it under her head. “Here—here's a pillow.”

She looked up at him with big brown eyes which started to fill with tears.

“But I didn't get you anything.”

Peter smiled, then tucked some hair from her face back behind her ear. She

lay back, a smile returning, as he retrieved the blanket from the floor and gently

laid it over her. He kneeled down beside her, his arm resting on the side of the couch.

“Goodnight, Kate.” He thought about kissing her on the forehead.

Kate, smiling, nestled deeper into the couch and closed her eyes. In a few seconds, she was already asleep.

Peter stood, still watching her. Her chest rising and falling, he found himself

seeing her as that little girl from his tree house. Wavy hair spilling around her face, a sprinkle of freckles around her eyes. Angelic and childlike at the same time. Not the sophisticated career-driven woman who felt so out of reach, but a

simple small-town girl.

He knew she'd been working hard. Maybe too hard. And he felt a measure of

guilt himself. Was he making her life harder? Maybe that kiss was a mistake.

He cocked his head, spying a pink piece of paper peeking out of a top pocket

of her dress. Curious, he slowly removed it. It was wrinkled and old and smelled

like faded strawberries. Pink paper with ruled lines from a little girl's notebook.

He went to a chair, unfolded the note, and spread it on his knee. It was written in red pen, festooned with small hearts and the curlicues of a happy art-crazy girl.