Jim lay naked in the cramped tub, gently washing his crusted aching nose, wondering about her. Wondering what the heck she really wanted and what, if anything, it had to do with him. Out there in the room alone ... she might be (a) calling the cops, or (b) panicked and gone for good, or (c) waiting for him with her gun in her hand. Or even, possibly, (d) lying naked in bed with the covers up to her chin and an expectant look on her face. Jim thought that in a lot of ways (d) might be the worst alternative of all. He wasn’t up for (d), it would change too much, be too weird. Then he realized with a groggy rush of fatigue that he’d already forgotten what (a) and (b) were ...