"Yes… I guess I'm cold. Maybe I should get…" Then her voice broke off in a low, horrified gasp and her face turned a shade of fiery red as she realized that all she was wearing was the wanton orange nightgown her husband had bought her.

Oh God, what's Larry thinking of me? she agonized, pulling away from him as she also noticed the overly familiar way she was snuggled up against him. How could I have been so stupid? Thank goodness it's not somebody else who wouldn't understand that I'm just too upset to know what I'm doing!

"Excuse me," she mumbled, feeling exceedingly awkward and not daring to meet her husband's best friend's eyes. "I… I better go get d-dressed…"

She rose to her feet, then collapsed in a heap upon the couch as her left leg buckled beneath her. Glancing down in bewilderment, she noticed for the first time that there was a jagged scratch running along the soft white flesh of her upper thigh. The moment she became aware of the red droplets of blood oozing down her leg, the cut began to throb with pain.

"Sandi! What happened to your leg?" Larry exclaimed. "Just lie there – I'll go get something to put on it."

"I ran into something when… when the doorbell rang," she gasped as she settled weakly down against the cushions. "But it didn't hurt till now."

The three-inch abrasion wouldn't usually have bothered Sandi in the least, but tonight she was already in such an emotional state that the sight of blood made her feel as though she were about to faint again. Gulping down some more whiskey, which made her head spin more wildly than ever although it did help to deaden her nerves, she focused her glazed eyes on Larry Johnson's tall, broad-shouldered figure hurrying toward the bathroom.