In the master bath, I got down my daily medical kit, while Shana roamed her hands over the marble countertop, the sleek stainless steel fixtures. The walk-in shower, with its four shiny nozzles, fascinated her. But what she returned to again and again was the sensuously shaped soaking tub. Her fingers, dancing along the polished edges, following the line that dipped down the middle, then back up at both ends.

“Not like Mom and Dad’s,” was all she said.

With my bandaged left hand, I couldn’t open the antiseptic wipes. Shana did the honors. She carefully swabbed each cloth over the myriad of angry red lines marring my face. The doctors were concerned about my risk of infection, given that I wouldn’t feel the accompanying pain. I hadn’t had the heart to tell them it didn’t matter, just as I hadn’t the heart to stop my sister’s ministrations.

“It doesn’t hurt?”

“No.”

“What’s that like?”

“I don’t really know. I have nothing to compare it to.”

She unwrapped my left hand. Beneath the mitt of gauze, my index finger was encased in its own special plastic shield. Shana didn’t bother removing the protective tip, tending to the other cuts on my hand instead.

When she was done, she picked up the gauze, but I shook my head. I didn’t want to be rewrapped like an Egyptian mummy. I wanted to lie down, curl into a ball and sleep.

My head felt so heavy. My limbs as well.

I was going to make something, I thought. Do something in the kitchen, but now I couldn’t remember. My thoughts kept floating away, harder and harder to corral.

Beside me, Shana swayed on her feet, her gaze once more locked longingly on the pedestal-mounted tub. . . .

My phone rang.

The noise shrieked through the condo, momentarily penetrating my stupor.

With effort, I retreated from the bathroom into the bedroom, where I picked up the cordless phone from the nightstand.

“Dr. Glen?” Charlie Sgarzi’s voice came over the line.

I nodded before remembering he couldn’t see me. “Yes,” I murmured, licking my lips.

“Are you okay? You sound funny.”

“Just . . . tired.”

“Yeah. Well, it’s been a rough day. I gotta say, Shana’s escape has left me rattled. I don’t feel like I can go home, but I don’t have anywhere else to go, either. I wondered if, you know, maybe you’d meet with me. We could keep each other company, compare notes. Two heads being better than one, and all that.”

“No . . . thank you.”

“I could come to your building if you’d like. But not your apartment,” he added hastily. “I mean, unless you preferred me to. But we could just sit in your lobby. There’s gotta be cop cars outside, right? That’ll be good. Extra guards.”