“Why don’t you take a hot shower; I’ll bring you some dry clothes.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ll catch your death.”

She felt the laugh catch at the back of her throat, and she put her hand to her mouth and turned away.

“What?”

She raised her eyebrows and shook her head.

“What?” he asked again.

Now she looked at him, fixing herself against his stare. “Again with the quaint sayings—‘catch your death’—what are you, one of the town elders?”

“Older than you.” He narrowed his eyes, and she felt as if she had been struck. “And I’m not the one who showed up looking like a drowned kitten on my doorstep,” he continued. “Now just go take a shower.” He put his hand on her back and led her into the bathroom and closed the door.

She stood and stared at the sunny yellow walls and blue flowered tiles.

Twenty-two tiles. Twenty-two tiles, no doubt chosen by someone else. Twenty-two tiles and one missing at the corner. Oh, God, this was wrong. She should protest, tell him a sweatshirt would do just fine and that Mary could return it later, but she was shaky and light-headed, all her determination gone, and she peeled off her clothes and stepped into the shower. The knobs were old and unlabeled, and the water came out first in a blast of cold before slowly warming. She would take a shower, borrow some clothes, and leave immediately. Forget the tirade. Forget revenge. She would accept defeat. She would suffer this failure.

Finally, the water was hot, and it pounded rhythmically on her back. There was a bar of green soap and some generic grocery store shampoo and conditioner—normal guy stuff, she told herself—but he wasn’t normal. Guys didn’t do this to her. There was something not right with this one. There were probably hidden cabinets in this house, secret drawers. He probably advertised on the Internet. She had scanned the personal ads once: Good Looking SWM Seeks Naughty Girl; SWM Looking for SWF in Need of a Sound Spanking, but the pretense of it overwhelmed her and she had never responded to any of them. It was just pretend for those people, just play. What she wanted was real, and not, and she just didn’t know. She didn’t want any of it. No. She just wanted to leave.

She turned the water off, and as she did, the door opened, and she jolted.

“Sh, sh, sh,” he said. “Just me. Just leaving the clothes.” He snuck an arm in and placed them on the counter.

“Close the door,” she said.

“Yes, yes,” he said, and pulled it shut.

She stood there for a moment, and then he knocked.

“What?”

“Forgot the towel.”

She sighed loudly, and he tossed it in.

“Now go away,” she said.

“I am.”

“No you’re not; you’re standing there.”

He laughed.