After dinner, Quint and I sat down in the TV room (which doubles as Mrs. Walters' study) to watch a Fred Astaire movie on the VCR. Tyler and Morgan followed us in, but the second they started to tease Quint about my being his girlfriend, he kicked them out. "We want to watch this movie in peace," he told his mother. "Isn't it their bedtime, anyway?"

We settled in, on opposite corners of the couch. Quint seemed a little shy — maybe because we hadn't seen each other in a while — and I was glad. I tried to pay attention to the movie, but once again I was distracted by the idea of T-time drawing near. I peered over at Quint. He looked distracted, too. Then he grinned at me. "I'm really nervous about tomorrow night," he confessed. "It's an important performance."

That was it. I decided that T-time could wait until after the concert. I didn't want to upset Quint.

The movie ended, and we sat quietly for a while. I started to gaze out the window at the building next door, which was only about six feet away. It was kind of cool how you could see into other apartments. I saw a homey-looking kitchen, a starkly modern living room, and a playroom full of toys. Some apartments were so close that I could even hear snatches of conversation drifting across the airshaft. (Everybody's windows were open since it was a warm night.) "Great dinner, honey," said a man in a kitchen to his wife. "How about Mozart?" asked a woman standing by a hi-tech stereo in a modern living room.

One room was just opposite "my" window, but it was empty. It was a cozy-looking living room, with big over-stuffed sofas and chairs. I was just thinking how nice it looked when two men walked into the room. One of them