Back at the main house, the clock read midnight. Kevin was a terrible sleeper in the best of times, but now, with the house full, he heard every creak and footfall below. He slipped covers off the bed, careful not to waken Douglas, and crept to the window. Restless clouds crossed the sky. Down by the shuffleboard court, a hulking figure paced one way, then the other. Kevin picked a pair of binoculars off the window seat and brought them to his face. Who was he? One of the new arrivals. By the size of him, it looked to be the silent Bulgarian. Kevin had seen him earlier, wandering the lawn in a large gray overcoat. An escort who’d accompanied him from Sofia had tried to bring him food, but he’d refused. The Bulgarian hadn’t said a word, apparently, in days.

Kevin heard Douglas shifting in the bed, and dropped the binoculars to his side.

What are you doing? Douglas asked from the dark.

Nothing.

Don’t lie.

Kevin lifted the glasses furtively now.

You’re using the binoculars!

I am not.

Jesus, Douglas muttered and fell back on his pillow.

It’s the Bulgarian man, Kevin explained. He’s pacing on the shuffleboard court.

So?

He keeps going back and forth.

Maybe he wants to play.

Stop!

Kevin focused the ring, but it was too dark to see the Bulgarian’s face.

What can we do for him? Kevin asked.

Come to bed and stop staring.

Maybe I can bring him something. A drink perhaps.

Come to bed, Douglas groaned, and stuffed a pillow over his head.

Kevin lowered the binoculars and looked toward the water. The moon laid a trail of shivering gold to the horizon.

What can I serve them tomorrow? he asked aloud. Something to distract them, something to make them—I don’t know—not feel so bad?

Christ, Douglas hissed. Here we go again.

He whipped the covers off the bed, leapt out, and lay on the wooden floor. On the rare occasions when Douglas couldn’t sleep, his solution was sit-ups. A set of fifty at the very least.

Kevin sat in the window seat and dropped his chin into his palm and watched Douglas in his white boxer shorts on the floor.

There’s this lovely scene in The Odyssey, Kevin began, where two men—I forget who—are remembering all their friends who died in battle. Helen slips something into the men’s drink so they can have a pleasant sleep and forget their troubles.

She slips them a Mickey? Douglas asked.

No, not quite. It’s some kind of food or herb called “nepenthe.”

You remember this?

I remember this.

Douglas wheezed: How can I forget? The Famous Ph.D.

He was up to twenty sit-ups, the floor creaking with every crunch. After a moment he added: So what else?