Since he couldn’t sleep, he climbed out of bed to kiss her good-bye. He was in the sweatpants he’d worn on the ship, with a different ratty T-shirt. She wore business attire, already ready for the office. She didn’t say anything about that, but he could tell she was thinking pretty loud.

“Hope the traffic isn’t too bad,” he said: an Angeleno’s prayer to the gods for good fortune. “Love you, Missus Stieglitz.”

“Love you, too, Mister Stieglitz,” she said, and then she scooted out the door. The King of Siam eyed Jerry. Jerry could read his mind, too. You’re still here. Amuse me, human. So Jerry did.

He took some of his things out of boxes and put them into drawers, when there were drawers, or on high shelves that Anna couldn’t reach, when there weren’t. He’d shoehorned most of his bookcases into the place Anna and he now shared. His sf, fantasy, and references were here. The rest of his books lay in other boxes in his dad’s garage.

He went through his file cards, trying to pick up where he’d been on his dissertation and where he wanted to go with it. In fact, he had a good idea about both. That wasn’t the problem. He wanted to be back on the Glomar Explorer, either keeping the CIA from going crazy and doing too much with Humpty Dumpty or, alternatively, trying to talk with the centaurowls if he couldn’t keep the spooks from going crazy … and if the aliens lived through revival.

Sooner or later, Professor Krikorian would want to see what he’d been up to lately. A story about a skeleton in seaboots wouldn’t thrill him. He’d want data, and charts, and analysis. Before John P. banged on his door, Jerry would have been eager to give them to him. He just couldn’t get excited about it now.

He had breaded pork chops and a diced onion going in a pan on top of the stove when Anna came in. The range here was electric. He liked gas better, but he could manage with what the apartment had. He wasn’t a great cook. Neither was Anna, though they could both cope. Since he’d been home and she hadn’t …

“I could get used to this,” she said, after an appreciative sniff.

“I’m supposed to spoil you, right?” he said.

“Works for me.” She came over for a kiss, so she meant it.

He did the dishes after dinner, too. She wouldn’t till the pile filled the sink. He might eventually get her to change her ways. Or she might get him to change his. Or he might wind up doing a lot of dishes because she wouldn’t.

“Waste of time,” she said now.