Kingsley tapped the end of her nose to get her attention.

“You have a day off. Thursday, recall? A certain member of the clergy would have me in the Judas Chair if I dared interfere with your Holy Thursday ritual.”

Nora closed her eyes. Thursday…her anniversary with Søren.

“You know, King, you pretend to be all debased and amoral, but I think, deep down, you’re a romantic. You have to stop playing matchmaker. Leaving Søren was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Going back to him would be the only thing harder.”

“Mais oui,” King said and stood up. “But as you know, mon père was a Frenchman and I have a Frenchman’s heart. We French do love our romances.”

“Søren and I aren’t a romance. We’re just a fantasy.”

“Bien sûr, ma chérie.” Kingsley bowed to her as he backed out of the room. “You are the writer, after all. You would know your genre, I suppose.”

Nora reached out and turned off the light next to the bed. She lay alone in the dark.

“I was the writer,” she said to the ceiling. “And I don’t know anything at all.”

* * *

Nora stood outside her house and took slow, shallow breaths. They didn’t help. She walked to the edge of the porch, leaned over and threw up in the bushes. Life at Chez Kingsley was harder on her than it once was. She’d taken a few too many of her pills, drank more than she needed to, had done and seen things she wished she hadn’t. She wiped her mouth and took the house keys from her pocket. She hadn’t been home since Saturday. Five days gone and she already felt like a stranger breaking into her own house.

She said nothing as she passed Wesley’s room on the way to hers. She was single-minded in her destination. She went to her bedroom and brushed her teeth before sinking into the bathtub fully dressed. That was as much as she could do.

A few minutes later, she heard a gentle knock on the bathroom door.

“I’m in the bathtub,” she said.

“I’m coming in anyway.”

Wesley pushed tentatively through the door wearing a fretful look on his face. She glanced his way but couldn’t meet his eyes. He knelt next to the bathtub and laid his head on his crossed arms.

“You’re wearing clothes, Nora.”

“I know.”

“There’s no water in the tub,” he said with the slightest smile on his face.

“I said I was in the bathtub. I didn’t say I was taking a bath.”

“That’s true,” Wesley conceded. “Nice to see you again, stranger.”

“I’m a stranger to myself these days. Don’t take it personally.”

“Any particular reason you’re in a school uniform with your hair in pigtails and sitting in an empty bathtub?”

“Because I need a bath.”

“You look clean enough to me.”

Nora swallowed and started to rock slowly back and forth.

“I was with a bad person tonight,” she whispered.

The smile left Wesley’s face.

“Did he hurt you?” He paled at the mention of the idea.

“I hurt him. It’s what he paid me for. After he said thank you. He said…” Nora pulled her knees tight to her chest. “He said he’s in love with his twelve-year-old niece and it helped to have someone dress like her and beat it out of him.”

“Oh, my God,” Wesley breathed. “What did you do?”

“Nothing. I wanted to hit him but hitting a masochist is pretty pointless. Wesley?” She finally looked him full in his face. For a moment his brown eyes turned silver and she saw Michael’s face floating in front of her. “What if I’m a bad person, too?”

“You’re not a bad person. If you were a bad person you wouldn’t be sitting fully dressed in a bathtub with no water in it because you’re terrified you might be a bad person. The devil doesn’t worry about going to hell.”

“Only because he’s already there.”

Wesley sighed. He reached out, pushed down the bathtub stopper and started the water running. He took her shoes off one by and one and pulled her knee socks down and off her feet.

“What are you doing?” she asked as the warm water started to surround her.

“You said you needed a bath. So you’re gonna have a bath. Okay?”

Nora nodded. “Okay.”

Wesley eased the ponytail holders out of her hair and ran his finger through her long locks to loosen them. The water rose up to the top of her thighs. Wesley took some of her bubble bath off the ledge and poured it in. The scent of orchids filled the bathroom as the bubbles rose in a weightless white wave.

Wesley paused and seemed to steel himself. He started to unbutton her shirt as it was quickly getting soaked. She lifted her arms when he tugged to let him pull it off her. The water and bubbles were up to her chest now. Wesley pulled off his flannel overshirt and in his short-sleeved T-shirt he reached into the water and unzipped the back of her short plaid skirt. She raised her hips so he could pull it out from underneath her. He reached back into the water and found her panties. She tried to meet his eyes, but he looked only at the black-and-white tile as he slid her underwear down her legs and discarded the wet cotton onto the pile with the rest of her clothes. She laughed as he struggled with the clasp of her bra.

“You men,” she said. “The bra clasp defeats you every time.”