When his alarm went off the next morning, Will sat straight up in bed, still in his shirt and tie. His reflection in the window looked hung‑over, and for a moment he figured it was Saturday.
Then he remembered the girl. His back was sore from carrying her. He realized he'd been dreaming about her. He'd dreamed he was standing with her on a vacant dirt lot, possibly a soon-to-be construction site, watching her throw rocks at bottles.
He went to the bedroom door. He opened it a crack and looked out into the living room. Sure enough, she was still there on the couch, breathing spastically, like a wounded animal.
He went into the bathroom and showered and dressed. He stuffed a silk tie into his pocket. When he came back into the living room the girl was still asleep. He went to try and wake her, but kneeling beside her found himself awash in the same wave of pity he'd felt the night before and couldn't raise his hand to shake her. So he left her sleeping, a box of Hostess powdered donuts and an explanatory note on a yellow legal pad on the coffee table beside her.
"Oh my God. You're insane," his cohort Jay said at lunch.
"Seriously, Will," Rebecca said, gazing at him huge-eyed over her tuna sandwich. "Jesus Christ. She's probably got a, a U‑Haul over there right now, cleaning the place out. You've gotta go home."
He slurped from his empty drink cup. Melissa was also staring at him in amazement. "Hey," she whispered. "What if she dies?"
Jay said, "Will? Hello?" But Will just shook his head. "I'm not worried," he said cryptically.
