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about her that drove him crazy.
    They both gasped for air afterward, their skin moist with perspiration in spite of the night’s biting cold. She fell limp against him and he embraced her with weak arms. Their scents mingled—his cologne, her perfume, their sweat. The air in the cab was heavy and warm, and the tinted windows had fogged up.
    Vanessa laughed between gasps. “That was hot,” she breathed. “So hot.”
    â€œ You’re hot,” he said, his voice trembling just a little.
    She laughed again. “We sound like Paris Hilton.” She put on her goofy Paris Hilton face and spoke in a breathy, brainless voice: “That’s hot.”
    It made him laugh. That was the other thing about her that drove him crazy—she was smart, and she made him laugh a lot. He put his mouth to her ear and whispered, “You do it to me, Vanessa, I’m serious, I’ve never known a woman who’s done to me what you do.”
    They sat there for a long time, winding down, their breaths steadily coming slower, their heartbeats gradually slowing down.
    Hugh lifted his left arm and looked over Vanessa’s shoulder at his digital watch. It was eight forty-nine. Emily usually got home from her club by nine fifteen, nine thirty.
    â€œIt’s late,” he said.
    He flicked the switch on the door that rolled down the window, but nothing happened.
    â€œWhat’re you doing?” Vanessa said.
    â€œTrying to roll down the window to check on the kids.”
    â€œIt won’t work unless the ignition’s on.” Vanessa slowly rolled off of him to his right, until she was sitting beside him. “What time is it?” she said.
    He told her. “We should wrap this up.” Hugh sat up and reached down, pulled up his pants. He raised his hips off the seat, pulled them all the way up, and fastened them, zipped up the fly, fastened the belt. Then he slowly buttoned his shirt up.
    â€œI need to shower before she gets back,” he said.
    â€œSure you don’t wanna try to go one more time?” Vanessa said.
    He laughed. “You kidding? My dick is raw.”
    She leaned over and kissed him, then started to pull herself together.
    Inside the house, the phone sounded its high, shrill, chirping sound.
    â€œOh, shit,” he said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThat’s probably for me, and the kids will come looking for me.”
    â€œRun in and get it, then. I’ll wait.”
    Hugh opened the door and got out. As he walked to the front door, he checked the windows. The vertical blinds were still closed—no one peered out at him.
    The phone continued to trill.
    He broke into a jog, went up the front steps, and into the house.
    Annie was heading for the phone.
    â€œI’ll get it,” Hugh said. He picked up the receiver, put it to his ear. “Hello?”
    â€œIs this Hugh Crane?” a woman said. Her voice was pinched and she sounded officious.
    â€œYes, it is. Who’s this?”
    â€œYou’re married to Emily Crane?”
    Hugh frowned. “Yes. Who is this?”
    â€œI’m calling from Sisters of Mercy Hospital, Mr. Crane. Your wife is here, in the Emergency Room.”
    His forehead relaxed and the crooked frown lines disappeared as his face went slack. His eyes widened a little. “Oh, my God, is she all right?” he asked, then realized what a stupid question that was if she was in the Emergency Room.
    â€œWhy don’t you come down here, Mr. Crane? She’s been asking for you.”
    â€œI’ll be right there.”
    He dropped the receiver back in its cradle, then stood there a moment. A list of possibilities scrolled through his mind—a car accident, a shooting, a heart attack, a stroke, on and on they raced through his head, bringing with them pangs of guilt that shot through his chest like ice-cold bullets.
    Hugh turned around and clapped his hands once. “Okay, kids, get your coats,