I hadn’t told the landlord a crazy story: we really are fighting arctic storms. “Shut the door!” Jess wraps herself in blankets. “Come to bed!” I jam a National Geographic magazine under the door to keep it closed. Then I return to my laptop. “I hope there are no elephants in that magazine,” Jess says. “If the lock is broken, how are we supposed to keep out burglars?” “We have nothing to steal,” I reply. “That will keep out burglars.” On the laptop I try her account, but I can’t get in. “Did you change your password?” I look up from the screen, waiting. “Maybe.” “You never change your password.” “You haven’t known me very long,” she says. “I changed my password all the time before I met you.” My fingers are still waiting. “Two years is a long time. What’s your new password?” She tells me it’s a secret because she doesn’t know mine. But I did tell her, that night in the taxi, when we were stuck in the snow. She had decided she wanted to know everything about me.
