If anyone had asked her, she would have described herself only as nervous and worried. The figures on the worksheet paper in front of her were jumping and waving around so badly it was all she could do to make them out clearly enough to copy them with the typewriter.

She wondered whether Stanley would call. She wanted to be with him, to give him the comfort and companionship she knew he needed.

She had skipped her lunch hour in the fear that he might call while she was out. He hadn't. And now she was feeling sick, both from concern about Stanley and hunger.

Why hadn't he called?

Men, she reflected, even men like Stanley, are unpredictable.

She tried to think of his unpredictable actions in the eleven years she had known him and discovered they weren't so many after all.

Stanley really was quite predictable. That was one of the things she liked about Stanley. He wasn't like so many other men. The dentist last night, for instance. Dinner and the movies had been fine. He had taken her upstairs to say good night. She had invited him in for coffee.

It was in the kitchen, as she was watching the kettle, waiting for the water to boil, that he had grabbed for her. Without warning, without giving her a chance to prepare for it. From behind, he had put his arms on her shoulders, turned her around, and pressed her to him, so close she couldn't breathe.

Later, she apologized for the long scratch across his face, tried to explain she couldn't help herself, that the panic arose in her unwanted. But he hadn't understood. When he left, she knew she would never see him again.