She gets up slowly, stiffly, and comes out of the shower. I wrap her in the towel. For a moment my arms close around her. She leans into me and sighs.
We walk together across the hallway to her room. There she pulls away to sit on the bed, dripping onto her sheets. She looks curled in on herself, arms crossed over her chest.
“Okay,” I say. “I’m going to go stand in the stairway and you’re going to get dressed, and then we’re going to get out of here. I’ve got lots of untried schemes for walking out of Wallingford in the middle of the day; let’s try one. We can get some hot chocolate. Or tequila. And then we can come back and kill Greg Harmsford, something I personally have wanted to do for a while.”
Her fingers pull the towel tighter. She doesn’t smile. Instead she says, “I’m sorry I ha
