She blushed. Even in the darkness I could see the bright color in her cheeks. She started to turn away and the movement of her hips brought back, sharply and vividly, the image I had seen through her window so long ago.
"Wait!"
She stopped, her face averted, and I caught once again the sense of a bird trembling on the brink of flight.
"I don't even know your name," I said gently.
Her voice was low. "Erika," she said. "Erika Lindstrom."
I smiled. The name so perfectly suited her tall, blonde beauty. I felt a renewal of that strange, deep rush of tender feeling.
"Thanks again, Erika."
"Goodnight, Mr. Cameron," she said quickly.
This time I didn't try to stop her. Watching her retreat into the security of her trailer, I wondered why she was so anxious to help me. The knowledge of her anxiety gave me an unfamiliar pulsation of pleasure. In that moment I felt that I had regained more than my faith in my own reason. I had recaptured something lost long ago. Closeness. Warmth. The touch of humanity.