Free Carry Me Home by Rosalind James Page B

about calling her mom. Her mom would understand about the boots. But she’d also want to know how Zoe’s dad was doing, and that was so depressing, and so exasperating, too. Give it up, Mom , she always wanted to say. He doesn’t love you anymore, and he never will again. But it was too cruel.
    Her dad was right. Relationships were confusing, and they got you off track. And men were fickle anyway. Her dad was the prime example of that one, too. She’d focus on work. She knew about work.
    She’d call her mom tonight, tell her she’d gone out dancing, describe what she’d worn. Her mom would love that. Meanwhile, she needed to finish her grading, and then she could take a walk, have that swim. She could say hello to people along the way, and they’d say hello back. She could even look at babies in the park. But she had a stack of tests to grade before she could do that, and she was only halfway through, so she picked up the next one, opened it, and got started.
    Amy’s. Her handwriting had become increasingly wild as she’d gone along. It was obvious that, for whatever reason, she had indeed panicked. During the test, anyway.
    Zoe sighed, read, marked, and hoped Amy would keep after it, would do those corrections. She reminded herself to encourage the girl if the opportunity arose, because she hated failing a student who was trying. It was the worst.

CANDY AND FLOWERS
    Wednesday night, and Halloween, too. Amy walked the last few blocks toward home in the dusk, her coat buttoned against the increasingly chilly late-afternoon wind. There was going to be frost tonight, and all the kids would have to wear their jackets under their costumes, and they’d complain about it, just like she always had. It was pretty hard to feel like a beautiful princess with a puffy jacket stuffed under your Snow White dress.
    She hoped she’d get some kids, but the apartment complex was student housing, so probably not. She’d bought some M&M’s just in case, hoping she could restrain herself from eating them. When you were short anyway, five extra pounds were five pounds too many, and she’d gone to a Halloween party at Bill’s frat house on Saturday night, had drunk too much, and beer was fattening, everybody knew that.
    She didn’t have to eat M&M’s, she reminded herself sternly, because she was in control. Of her body, and her life. Even though she’d finally gotten her geology test back in class today, and it had had a big red “61” on it. She’d turned the book over fast, looked around and hoped nobody had seen, and swallowed against the sickness that rose at the grade distribution Dr. Santangelo had posted on the whiteboard, because her 61 was third from the bottom. She was going to do the corrections tonight, though, and then she was going to stay caught up. The next midterm, she wasn’t getting a 61.
    She climbed the final hill to the apartment complex, saw the splash of color outside the sliding door to her apartment, and her heart lifted a little. Bill had never sent flowers before, but then, he’d walked home with her on Saturday night after the party, had come in to say good night . . . and it had been really good.
    They’d both been a little drunk, and her roommate had been at a party of her own, so they’d had the apartment to themselves. Bill had pulled the plunging top of her belly dancer costume right off her when they’d barely been inside the door, and they’d never even made it to the bedroom. They’d done it right there on the living room rug, and it had been the best sex she’d ever had.
    “Damn, baby, you looked hot tonight,” he’d gasped, grabbing her by the hips and grinding into layers of transparent skirts. He’d gotten everything off her except the jangling bells around her ankles, and when he’d been doing it hard and fast, those bells had rung like crazy, and so had hers.
    Right in front of the window, in the dark, and that had been exciting, too. And now there were flowers outside