Harry, relieved, stayed quiet, and soon Alice’s breath became slow and rhythmic. He turned away from her and closed his eyes. When he opened them again the window had brightened with soft morning light. Alice was still breathing heavily, her mouth now pressed into the hollow between his shoulder and his spine, her lips against his skin. He moved his hips involuntarily, and Alice’s fingers fluttered against him. Harry made himself roll away, then sat up on the edge of the bed. He produced a low humming sound to make it seem as though he had just woken up. Behind him, on the bed, Alice stirred. He stood before she could say anything, aware of his nakedness, and quickly left the room, grabbing his jeans and T-shirt from the floor.

He went straight downstairs, where he got dressed, and pulled on the shoes that were still by the door. Then he stood still, listening for the sound of Alice getting up herself. He heard nothing. What had happened in the middle of the night now felt like a vague, dusky dream. How drunk had she been? Was there the possibility that she hadn’t known what she was doing?

Harry opened the door quietly and stepped out onto the front step into the cool dawn. Birds were chattering loudly in the trees, and the front lawn was coated in dew. He sat on the steps, his mind replaying details from a few hours ago. His skin shivered and tightened at the memory. It had been a new experience, giving in to the will of someone else, her body taking control of his; she was smaller than he was, but she’d felt larger as she’d drawn him into her. Harry was desperately trying to file the experience into a folder that made sense, but he couldn’t. He’d had sex with his stepmother, less than a week after the death of his father. It felt halfway between a fantasy come true and the type of nightmare you wake up from drenched in sweat. He tried to stop remembering it, but kept hearing her whispering his name in his ear, the edge of her teeth against his earlobe.

He had no idea what time it was, but figured it was probably just around five o’clock. He decided to walk to the Dunkin’ Donuts over in Kennewick Center, get himself some coffee, maybe something to eat.

It was over a mile to Kennewick Center, but the walk felt good. He began to warm up, the sun rising, the mist burning off. Approaching the Dunkin’ Donuts, he wasn’t sure it was open yet, but when he got to the front doors, he could make out an employee moving behind the counter. He got himself a large regular—a coffee with maximum cream and sugar—and a blueberry donut.