her。

She　melted　butter　in　the　frying　pan；　diluted　the　soup　with　milk；　and　then

poured　the　beaten　eggs　into　the　pan。

A　sudden　feeling　that　someone　was　standing　behind　her；　reaching　for　her

throat。

She　wheeled　around；　clutching　the　knife。　No　one　there。

（！　Get　ahold　of　yourself；　girl！）

She　grated　a　bowl　of　cheese　from　the　block；　added　it　to　the　omelet；　flipped

it；　and　turned　the　gas　ring　down　to　a　bare　blue　flame。　The　soup　was　hot。　She　put

the　pot　on　a　large　tray　with　silverware；　two　bowls；　two　plates；　the　salt　and

pepper　shakers。　When　the　omelet　had　puffed　slightly；　Wendy　slid　it　off　onto　one

of　the　plates　and　covered　it。

（Now　back　the　way　you　came。　Turn　off　the　kitchen　lights。　Go　through　the　inner

office。　Through　the　desk　gate；　collect　two　hundred　dollars。）

She　stopped　on　the　lobby　side　of　the　registration　desk　and　set　the　tray　down

beside　the　silver　bell。　Unreality　would　stretch　only　so　far；　this　was　like　some

surreal　game　of　hide…and…seek。

She　stood　in　the　shadowy　lobby；　frowning　in　thought。

（Don't　push　the　facts　away　this　time；　girl。　There　are　certain　realities；　as

lunatic　as　this　situation　may　seem。　One　of　them　is　that　you　may　be　the　only

responsible　person　left　in　this　grotesque　pile。　You　have　a　five…going…on…six　son

to　look　out　for。　And　your　husband；　whatever　has　happened　to　him　and　no　matter

how　dangerous　he　may　be　。。。　maybe　he's　part　of　your　responsibility；　too。　And

even　if　he　isn't　consider　this：　Today　is　December　second。　You　could　be　stuck　up

here　another　four　months　if　a　ranger　doesn't　happen　by。　Even　if　they　do　start　to

wonder　why　they　haven't　heard　from　us　on　the　CB；　no　one　is　going