“Really, hon, I think they might come home any moment.”

“What do you think of Trixie?” Sarah asked.

“Trixie? What about Trixie?”

“There’s something about her. She’s very sexy, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. I never really noticed, I suppose. We’ve just had coffee a couple of times.” I had nothing to feel guilty about where Trixie was concerned, but under pressure I might confess to anything right about now.

Sarah pulled back and looked at me. “What’s with you? This isn’t an interrogation. All I’m saying is, there’s something about her, more than meets the eye. Did you catch that thing she said, about Catwoman? How she liked her outfit?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I remember.”

Sarah smiled at me, slipped her hand down into my jeans. “How would you like it if I got a Catwoman outfit?”

“Well,” I said, aware that I was not responding to Sarah’s touch the way I normally did, “it would probably be very hot. There’d be chafing. A lot of chafing.”

Now Sarah had noticed that her touch was not producing the desired effect. “Is somebody sleepy?” she asked.

“Maybe,” I said. “I think he’s got a lot on his mind.”

Sarah pulled out her hand, rested it on my shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

“Sure, yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Sarah suddenly became very positive, like she was putting the best spin on a bad lab result. “It’s perfectly normal, you know. It happens. I wouldn’t worry at all. Like you say, you’ve had a lot on your mind, finishing up your book, and, you know, at your age, sometimes something like this is going to happen.”

“I don’t think this is an age thing.”

“I didn’t mean that. I’m just saying, that when you’re in your forties, and you’re tired, you know, this can happen.” But now her face was changing. Instead of worrying about me, she was thinking about herself. “Unless it’s me. Unless I don’t, I don’t know, please you the way I used to.”

“Believe me,” I said, “that is not the case. It’s what you said. I’m tired, and stressed out, and old. Very old.”

Sarah sat up on the edge of the bed. “I guess I was trying to sneak in a quickie because, well, there was another phone call.”

“What?” Oh God. Was this how it felt to jump out of a plane and then realize you’d forgotten your chute? Who could have called? Homicide investigators? The Mounties? The FBI? Agent Mulder?

“Work. I have to go in tonight.”

“You’re kidding.”