“I don’t know. I…I had…I had a death in the family, I guess. I just thought maybe I’d meet up with Hannah and spend a few days in New York. Check out some grad schools in the city. This wasn’t exactly a planned excursion. I only got a one-way ticket.”

Hannah listened intently and grabbed her brush to make her hair look sleek and tamed, as if she were in a shampoo commercial.

“I’m going to New York with Hannah too. I’m starting my own business,” Vicki said. Hannah dropped the brush in surprise. It made a thud on the bath mat. She’d been asleep when Vicki had returned to the room, and when Hannah had woken up, Vicki was still under the covers. They hadn’t been able to talk since the wedding. With Rob in the room and Vicki discussing New York plans, Hannah wondered to what extent she had blacked out the night before.

“I’ve already called her fold-out couch,” Vicki continued to Rob, “so you’re on the loveseat. Or the floor.”

“I’m not sleeping on the floor, Vick,” Rob said. Hannah thought he sounded smug. She could imagine Vicki’s scowl.

“We’ll figure it out,” Vicki responded, more agreeably than Hannah would have expected.

Hannah wrapped a white towel around her torso. It was smaller than she wanted it to be, giving her the option of revealing too much leg or chest. She opted for chest and glanced down to make sure the white terrycloth covered her nipples.

“So how are we getting to New York?” Rob asked Vicki, whom Hannah could hear zipping her suitcase.

“Hannah has a train ticket, but we might as well just hop in my car. I’m sure I can find a place to park it in Brooklyn, at least for a few days.”

“Do you think I should tell Bee I’m here?” Rob asked more thoughtfully. Hannah pondered the question herself in the bathroom.

“I wouldn’t,” Vicki said. “For a number of reasons that I’d rather not go into, I think we should all just escape as fast as we can.”

At that Hannah threw open the bathroom door and stepped from the white, wet tile onto the tan carpet. The steam from the shower escaped with her, making her feel as though she were emerging through a fog of dry ice.

Phil

Phil was awake earlier than he expected to be. He’d returned to Baltimore from Annapolis fairly early, just before midnight, but had been unable to sleep, reliving the phone call to his mother as he held an ice pack to his swelling hand. He hadn’t fallen asleep until after four, and when he woke up at seven, his pillowcase was covered in blood, as was the sweat suit he’d changed into before nodding off in front of the television in the bedroom.

He was supposed to visit his mother today—it had been his idea to bring her food as she recovered from the flu—but he couldn’t imagine that she really needed it. He thought she could fare just fine without him this morning.