New office parks and townhouses blanketed the countryside, like swarms of termites burrowing through the trees. Cortez lay in the sunny spot on the carpet. Meg’s phone calls languished on the answering machine. In his dreams, he made love to a gorgeous blonde, not Meg O’Brien but his old standby, Chelsea. Their last encounter in the park replayed in his mind. Was he fooling himself? Chelsea was a cool customer, rarely driven to a display of nerves, but she shuddered as they touched. Only Jerry noticed. It reminded him of the first time they made love. It was the night before Chelsea departed for college. He’d kissed her odd lip, nibbled it even. He adored every part of her and wanted her to know, but his words vanished, as he fumbled with her clothes. Cotton sleeves and bluejeans slid shyly from her arms and legs. He and Chelsea had come this close before, and later they’d find confidence in lovemaking, but at that moment in Jerry’s bedroom, with the cicadas singing beyond the screened windows, Chelsea flinched, as he entered her for the first time.
