He spoke with deep, absolute conviction, as though passing judgment on the kind of criminal that other criminals were likely to beat the tar out of. “The absolute worst.” “Mmf?” Sherri looked over at him from where she stood at the bathroom sink, toothbrush in mouth. A white dab of foam showed when she pulled the brush out and pointed it toward him. “That’s because of the light thing. You know, there’s less light now than during summer. It bothers some people.” She leaned toward the mirror, grimacing for a moment to examine her incisors, then rubbed them with the tip of one finger. “Seasonal affective disorder, I think it’s called. I told you to get some of those full-spectrum light bulbs.” “I don’t think that’s it,” said Bryan. He stood leaning against the side of the bedroom doorway, watching his wife get ready. Ordinarily, that was a process that he enjoyed watching, even if what she was getting ready for was a three-day, out-of-town business trip. Putting on her clothes including her panties and bra was the last thing she did, which made all the steps leading to it that much more interesting.
