Heroic Measures (continued)

"You can't?" she said. "Or you won't?" She paused and considered him for a moment. "Do you want to?"

The tingling in his cheeks was replaced by a warm burning sensation. He was certain that it showed.

"Vivian . . ."

Vivian stared up at him. Walter found that he could not look away. Her eyes held his. He found himself frozen as she lifted her face to him and pressed her lips against his. He wanted to breathe. He wanted to pull away, but was terrified to move, afraid that she might misinterpret any movement on his part as interest.

The problem, he knew, was that was interested. Were it not for Abigail, he might have been more than a little tempted to see where this might lead, even with the difference in their ages.

Walter heard the outer door bang open. His paralysis became frozen panic. He did not want to caught like this—even if he knew that it was not his doing.

To his relief, Vivian moved away. She did so, though, in no particularly hurry. Her eyes never left his and Walter was convinced that they had betrayed him. He thought he spied a satisfied smile dance across her lips, but she turned away before he could be certain.

She moved toward the opposite door and was gone. Walter remained standing there, transfixed, staring at the door even after it closed.

"Walt?"

Grant's coarse voice penetrated his paralysis.

Walter turned to face Grant. It felt as though his flush had faded. He suspected, though, that he now looked as pale as a sheet.

"You okay, Walt?" Grant eyed him up and down. "I know the washdown can be kinda rough . . ."

Walter shook his head slowly, hoping to clear it. It felt heavy and coated with a heavy mist.

"I'm . . .," he replied. He managed to find his voice, although it came out at a higher pitch than he would have liked. "I'm fine."

Grant studied him for a moment and then shrugged. "Whatever you say."

Walter looked away. He stared down at his hands and was surprised to find that they were not shaking.