A neatly printed note tilted against a large white mug read //Help yourself!// The handwriting looked unbothered and feminine. The music re-focused him. Its source lay further down the hallway. Say good morning first, he figured. Only good manners. The music tumbled from the next door to the right. It sounded like one of the bands his daughter liked. He stepped toward the opening and peered in. A square-shaped exercise room accommodated fitness equipment and various sized dumbbells, along with a small area covered with a thick mat. For stretching, Michael guessed. Arnele, dressed in close-fitting light pink sweat pants and a white, waist-length tank top, rode atop a stationary bicycle, facing a single pane of the same over-sized windows that apparently stretched along the length of the home's valley side. Pulled back into a thick ponytail, her auburn curls swayed back and forth as she pedaled. Michael watched the rolling movements of her hips and buttocks, taken by her lithe,. The air was becoming chill as night began to fall. He stopped her. ‘Okay,’ he said, hardly believing he was saying it. ‘You can come to my room for a little while. But you have to tell me why you can’t go back to your own. Okay?’ ‘I will,’ she said, cheerful again. ‘Which room is yours? I’m in one-fifty.’ He was in one-twenty, almost at the other end of the row and told her so. ‘I’ll go first,’ he said. ‘You follow in a few minutes. People shouldn’t see us together.’ Damn, it felt like such a perverted thing to say. ‘Okay,’ she said softly. He stared at her a moment longer, trying to figure out something else to say, something that would make what he was doing alright. He could sense her fear, it was real, and he had an overpowering urge to protect her. Why, he couldn’t guess. He hadn’t felt like this since…well, never really. He turned away from her and walked quickly out of the breezeway. He thought of his wife waiting for him back home. The marriage had been over for a long time..
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