said with a brilliant smile. "I'll be out in a bit." When she shut the bathroom door, Art heard her lock it.
Battened on guilt, Art quickly eliminated the beer bottles from the table and cleaned up. Suzanne had left damp footprints on the carpet near the hearth. He picked up her saturated sweater. So far this seemed real-world enough. This visitor left traces of her passage. Blitz had instantly flipped out into intruder mode, another proof. But no circumstance had ever before delivered strangers to Art's door, and he was in danger of getting lost in trying to figure out what every little clue meant, like the guy who can't hear the music over all the noise made by the orchestra.
He had bolted Excedrin and hydrocodone; the caffeine in the first was abetted by the buffering wave of the latter, and his skull began to relax its grip on his brain. Suzanne was oval-faced and attractive, with an almost Asian aspect to the set of her eyes. A bright intelligence danced in that gaze. His desktop schedule/planner was agreeably blank, his dance card clean, and he had no overwhelming desire to puzzle out his latest assignment or dip into another doorstop-thick, beach-read paperback. What else did he have to do tonight?
The utility cubby did double duty as a dog den. The home of the washer/dryer setup, it was equipped with a drop-down ironing board and a clothesline beyond Blitz's reach. Upper shelves were laden with canned goods overstock from the pantry. The main power panels for the house were found here, upgraded for better amperage, along with indoor meters for utilities. Some basic gardening tools were also kept here; Art disliked leaving such stuff outside, where it might reclassify as potential hardware for a break-and-enter. When it was cold like this, Blitz enjoyed lazing about the room when the dryer was running. Right now the dog sourly regarded his master from the far end of the room. I was just doing my dog job. What if she had been a monster?
"You can come out if you promise not to be an asshole."
Blitz livened up and sniffed the wet sweater in Art's hands. Some kind of aroma clung remotely to it. Perfume or body oil, more like a spice than a commercial scent. It helped add salacious thoughts to the shopping list already self-compiling in Art's imagination. Stop it , he remonstrated with himself. Be nice .
He heard the shower running in the guest bath. That made sense. Pound the chill out with hot water. Suzanne knew how to avoid catching cold even if she couldn't stay out of the rain.
Evidence of Derek's passage was so scarce that Art remained unnerved and off balance. The stack of dinnerware they'd used-for two-counted for nothing if he was delusional. He could have watched the movie by himself.
Or he could, more simply, have been so lonely that he was using any human contact as an excuse to doubt his equilibrium. The haughty Suzanne certainly classified as a surprise shock.
Blitz had heard that remark about the vomit smell. Sure, somebody farts, somebody pukes, blame it on the dog. It's what we're for, you smug biped .
"That's a great shower," Suzanne said. Her return was fanfared by a roll of steam from the half-cracked bathroom door. Art could hear the heat lamp and exhaust fans running. "You've got one of those rainfall showerheads." She peeked out, a face amid a burly cocoon of towels. "Clothes?"
"Oh." Art kept a whole row of variously logoed sweatshirts on the top rack of the linen closet. He pulled down a set in navy blue and added a T-shirt and thick socks. Suzanne was pink and radiantly warm from a brisk scrub with a back brush.
"I don't suppose you can spare some underwear?" It did not seem like such an oddball request.
"I think I can scare something up. Momentito." As he turned he saw her in the partially fogged bathroom mirror, towel drooping, nothing X- or even R-rated, just…
Battened on guilt, Art quickly eliminated the beer bottles from the table and cleaned up. Suzanne had left damp footprints on the carpet near the hearth. He picked up her saturated sweater. So far this seemed real-world enough. This visitor left traces of her passage. Blitz had instantly flipped out into intruder mode, another proof. But no circumstance had ever before delivered strangers to Art's door, and he was in danger of getting lost in trying to figure out what every little clue meant, like the guy who can't hear the music over all the noise made by the orchestra.
He had bolted Excedrin and hydrocodone; the caffeine in the first was abetted by the buffering wave of the latter, and his skull began to relax its grip on his brain. Suzanne was oval-faced and attractive, with an almost Asian aspect to the set of her eyes. A bright intelligence danced in that gaze. His desktop schedule/planner was agreeably blank, his dance card clean, and he had no overwhelming desire to puzzle out his latest assignment or dip into another doorstop-thick, beach-read paperback. What else did he have to do tonight?
The utility cubby did double duty as a dog den. The home of the washer/dryer setup, it was equipped with a drop-down ironing board and a clothesline beyond Blitz's reach. Upper shelves were laden with canned goods overstock from the pantry. The main power panels for the house were found here, upgraded for better amperage, along with indoor meters for utilities. Some basic gardening tools were also kept here; Art disliked leaving such stuff outside, where it might reclassify as potential hardware for a break-and-enter. When it was cold like this, Blitz enjoyed lazing about the room when the dryer was running. Right now the dog sourly regarded his master from the far end of the room. I was just doing my dog job. What if she had been a monster?
"You can come out if you promise not to be an asshole."
Blitz livened up and sniffed the wet sweater in Art's hands. Some kind of aroma clung remotely to it. Perfume or body oil, more like a spice than a commercial scent. It helped add salacious thoughts to the shopping list already self-compiling in Art's imagination. Stop it , he remonstrated with himself. Be nice .
He heard the shower running in the guest bath. That made sense. Pound the chill out with hot water. Suzanne knew how to avoid catching cold even if she couldn't stay out of the rain.
Evidence of Derek's passage was so scarce that Art remained unnerved and off balance. The stack of dinnerware they'd used-for two-counted for nothing if he was delusional. He could have watched the movie by himself.
Or he could, more simply, have been so lonely that he was using any human contact as an excuse to doubt his equilibrium. The haughty Suzanne certainly classified as a surprise shock.
Blitz had heard that remark about the vomit smell. Sure, somebody farts, somebody pukes, blame it on the dog. It's what we're for, you smug biped .
"That's a great shower," Suzanne said. Her return was fanfared by a roll of steam from the half-cracked bathroom door. Art could hear the heat lamp and exhaust fans running. "You've got one of those rainfall showerheads." She peeked out, a face amid a burly cocoon of towels. "Clothes?"
"Oh." Art kept a whole row of variously logoed sweatshirts on the top rack of the linen closet. He pulled down a set in navy blue and added a T-shirt and thick socks. Suzanne was pink and radiantly warm from a brisk scrub with a back brush.
"I don't suppose you can spare some underwear?" It did not seem like such an oddball request.
"I think I can scare something up. Momentito." As he turned he saw her in the partially fogged bathroom mirror, towel drooping, nothing X- or even R-rated, just…
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