The sound of the front door startled me awake, heart pounding. By the time Roger made his way to the living room and remarked, “You know you could have used a bed,” I’d figured out where I was (not in the woods, not in the dark) and was sitting upright.
“What time is it?” I asked.
Roger took my wrist gently in his hand and turned it toward my face. Oh yeah, watch.
“Just after five,” he said. “Ralph said he’d be here by five-thirty. What can I get you to drink?”
“Coffee?” I asked, in a prayerful voice.
“Coffee it is.”
Roger initiated the machine’s launch sequence. I splashed water on my face while he changed clothes, from his still-immaculate suit to a cashmere sweater and a pair of slacks. The bum. The smell wafting from the large ceramic mug he handed me a few minutes later (more of
