Patton lay on her back looking up at the ceiling, the cool air wafting through the gap in the drapes and caressing her bare skin almost as effectively as Ruthie had. She remembered this, though it had been a long time, this almost out-of-body experience she had after sex, looking down on her contented self and not quite able to simply revel in the luxury of the moment, always somewhat bemusedly wondering, How the hell did you get here, Patton Harcourt? Ruthie had demanded nothing of Patton—no explanations about her behavior in the van back in Munich, no apologies for fifteen years of silence. And Patton had remembered Ruthie’s body, had admired how it had ripened, had delighted in the way it still responded to her touch.

As she mentally floated in the air, looking down on two naked, satisfied women, Patton couldn’t help wondering if, in another version of her life, things might have been different, or if, perhaps, it wasn’t too late for this version. She tried to imagine mixing choux pastry on a Sunday morning with Ruthie. It was a beautiful vision of marital domesticity that Patton could almost see herself embracing. One thing was for sure—she could certainly see herself embracing Ruthie far beyond this lovely morning.

“I’m sorry about, you know, back in Munich, after the explosion,” said Patton, reaching for Ruthie’s hand without looking at her.

“You mean when you threatened to waste me?” said Ruthie, giving Patton’s hand a squeeze.

“It wasn’t one of my finer moments.”

“You were upset.”

“No, it was more than that. The vest, and that basement, and the explosion—they brought back some shit that happened in Afghanistan.”

“PTSD?” said Ruthie.

“God, I detest that term,” said Patton. “It’s so clinical. Let’s just say that what happened over there fucked with my head and you were in the wrong place when it came crashing back. Anyway, I’m sorry.”

“I’d say what you just did to me was a rather thorough apology.”

“We should probably get dressed. They could be back anytime.”

“Or we could just put on those lovely complimentary bathrobes they have in the wardrobe,” said Ruthie, poking Patton in the side.

“You mean the ones with all the glamour of a hospital gown,” said Patton.

“And half the coverage,” said Ruthie, jumping up and bouncing across the room under Patton’s admiring eyes. A moment later, they were wrapped in the skimpy bathrobes sitting on the side of the bed.

“Are you hungry?” said Patton.

“Do you mean for food or . . .”

“For food,” said Patton. “Not that I’m opposed to . . .”

“We’d probably better stay here until they get back. I can go get us something then.”

“Maybe we should go across the hall and see if we can get any news updates on the TV,” said Patton.

“You mean see if they’ve caught us yet?” said Ruthie.