Tomorrow, then, Hal comes again. Satisfaction is not requital, and once is not enough.

Luke's intentions toward his nephew have been misinterpreted, and maybe this is a mercy.

"It's Karen," she says hopelessly in the middle of his doorway like he wouldn't know her a thousand other ways. The whiff of perfume on her, Viktor & Rolf Flowerbomb trapped underneath a thick smear of booze, or the sound of her shoes on the hard tile floor. She's drunk already; her breathing is faint and thready. Her face is too hot.