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all . . . wet.”
     
    “Nah, I’m sayin’ that because you’re better than her. Much better.”
     
    I dragged my weary body toward the elevator. “Now, that’s what I needed to hear. Good night.”
     
    He was still watching me as I entered the golden doors. I paused before pushing the button to take me up. “What’s your name?”
     
    “Ruben.” “Ma’am” was gone from his vocabulary now. He looked out into the night, wondering if anyone else would be returning late.
     
    “Think you can keep quiet about all of this tonight?”
     
    He licked his full lips. “Yeah.”
     
    “Good.” I pushed the button to take me to the third floor. The doors responded, closing. Before they sealed completely, I pushed the button to stop them. As they reversed, Ruben sprang to attention.
     
    “Ma’am?” he asked, not sure if formality was back in session.
     
    I smiled seductively, leaning against the elevator’s railing. “Know how to eat pussy, Ruben?”
     
    He locked the front door, grinning as he walked over to answer my question.
     
    Well, all right then.
     

3
     
    BIANCA
     
    M om is going to be mad.
     
    I repeat it to myself over and over. Rocking and swaying in the chair where my feet can’t touch the floor. It’s another rainy day in Seattle. The sun’s taking a nap and I want to as well. The diner is crowded, loud. Smells of strong coffee and sweet, sweet maple syrup jar my senses, repulsing and attracting me. A paper turkey on the wall reminds me of the Thanksgiving picture I drew for Mom, but have yet to give to her.
     
    I want to go home.
     
    Mom is going to be mad.
     
    My dad doesn’t hear me, although he smiles and nods as if reading my thoughts.
     
    Soon. We’ll go home soon, his face reads.
     
    His eyes are on me, but his ear is somewhere else— captive to the lips of someone not my mom.
     
    Mom is going to be mad.
     
    Rather than sitting in one of the bar chairs like me, he stands. He likes it here. The people like him too. My mom says they like his hair, black and curly because he has Sicilian in him. I don’t know what that means. I just know it’s fluffy and shiny. I wish mine would shine, but that’s only when Mom puts grease in it.
     
    My dad delivers bread in a big truck. I guess to this place too. The pretty lady behind the counter, the one with yellow hair and dirty plates in her hand, smiles as he speaks. She’s amazing. I don’t know how she holds all those plates.
     
    Then she looks at me as she puts the plates down. My dad says something to her. She moves her hair, so different from mine, off her shoulders. She cracks a smile first; then I mimic her.
     
    I think she’s nice.
     
    “Honey, wake up! Look at me.”
     
    “Huh? Why are you so loud?” I groaned. Tanner hovered over our bed, staring at me in an unusual show of concern. My head hurt and my body ached. Probably coming down with something, I thought. My PJ top wasn’t even buttoned correctly, one button off at every hole. My tall husband crouched as if to scoop me up in his arms. “What’s wrong?” I asked, sliding toward the center of the pillow-top mattress before he could attempt it.
     
    “The dealership called me last night. They found your car by the river and had it towed in. I fell asleep at my desk, so I didn’t get the message until now. Lorenda said you were here, so I came right home.”
     
    “Oh. That,” I calmly answered. I’d begun correcting my buttons. Habit. “I’m fine. You know I never drive well in bad weather.”
     
    “Are you sure you don’t need a doctor? I could have one over within the hour.” He loved demonstrating his control of things. I’d seen that the day I first met him. The day he took control of my life.
     
    “I’m fine, Tanner. Really.” As his intensity subsided, I grasped his hand. He sat down beside me. “Now . . . how bad is my car?”
     
    “The shop said it’s totaled. At least it was at the end of its lease,” he lamely joked. He