He did not think she would. He believed she would wake as the old Liz Madera, the one on the beach, the one who looked at you with beautifully suffering eyes—while she ripped out your entrails and spilled them at your feet. He believed she would deny everything she had told him. He believed she would dress hurriedly and leave in a cold rage of disgust, with herself as much as with him. So as the minutes passed and the room slowly brightened, he found himself lying there watching her as if she were some exotic wild animal of unknown disposition, tranquilized now, but destined soon to wake, soon to reveal its true nature.

Weary of waiting finally, he got out of bed. In the bathroom he closed the door behind him and stood at the mirror looking at the wreck of himself. His head was pounding and he was so thirsty he drank three full glasses of water. A few minutes on the toilet made him feel better. Then he took a long hot shower that left his skin so numb he barely felt it as he switched on cold at the end. After toweling off, he shaved and brushed his teeth. Then he put on his robe and went back into the bedroom.

She was awake. As he lit a cigarette, she lay in bed watching him. He asked her how she was.

“Alive, I guess.”

“No more than that?”

“No more.”

“You remember much about last night?”

“Enough.”

“Does it surprise you?”

“It does you, I take it.”

“I guess so.”

“You regret it?”

“No,” he said. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I’ve messed up your life enough as it is.”

“Sex messes up a life?” he asked.

“In this case, yes. Suddenly everything’s out of whack. I don’t know which side is which.”

Hook dragged on his cigarette, thinking, wondering whether to plunge ahead. He decided to. “You could clear it up. You could see Sergeant Rider with me. Today.”

She shook her head. “No. That hasn’t changed. I still can’t do that.”

“Because of Douglas.”

She shrugged, made a face that said her reasons were her own.

“Because you love him so much,” Hook kept on.

“You should know who I love by now. Nobody. Least of all myself.”

“And Chris? Did you love him?”

For a time she did not answer. “Only in a sick, sisterly sort of way,” she said finally.

“Sisterly? Then what you said last night was true? You didn’t have sex with him?”

She looked at him quizzically. “You’re still worried about that. Why? Would this be repugnant to you then? Would it be like incest?”

“You could say that,” he admitted.

“Well, don’t worry. It wasn’t like this.” Sitting up, she drew her knees up under the covers and rested her face against them. Hook went over to the bed and sat next to her. He reached out, barely touching her, but it was as if he had hit her with a cattle prod. Immediately she was out of bed on the other side, pulling the sheet with her, wrapping it around herself. Going to the window, she opened the drapes a few inches and a slab of sunlight divided the room.