Then he cleared his throat and tried to go back to sleep but the jangling wouldn’t let him. He felt her hand on his shoulder. “Honey?” she whispered. He woke up. “Uh?” “Telephone.” “Oh, my God,” he muttered disgustedly. He pulled back the covers and let his legs down to the floor. As he stood, he winced at the cold of the floorboards against his feet. “Who could it be?” he heard her murmur from the dark warmth of the bed. “God knows,” he said, yawning, and walked around the edge of the bed. In the living room the phone kept ringing. “All right, all right,” he mumbled. He picked up the receiver with sleep-numbed fingers. “Yeah.” “Bob.” Just his name; but the way it was spoken shook away the mists around his brain. “Yes,” he answered. “This is Stan, Bob I—could you cover over?” “What?” Bob’s voice rose in unpleasant surprise. “Could you—Bob, could you come over?” Stan’s voice was tightly urgent. Bob yawned. “What time is it?”
