Only silence, interrupted by the hissing pop of expiring soap bubbles in the three-compartment kitchen sink, stretched between them. "I was standing between you and the ghost," Michael pointed out. "You were protected. Even when I knocked Liz to the floor." Angrily, Maria put one soapy fist on her hip. "Since I couldn't see the ghost, I guess I'm supposed to take your word for that." Michael thought about her statement. Like the previous question, whatever answer he gave was a minefield that could be turned against him. "You weren't hurt," he pointed out. "I could have been." "I could have been too," Michael said. "I wasn't. You weren't. We got off lucky." Maria shook her head. "I can't believe you. That's the best response you have?" "Maria, I thought about saving you." "You thought about saving me?" Maria asked. "Knowing you deliberately chose not to save me makes this even worse, Michael." Actually, Michael was of the opinion that things couldn't get any worse. Or that the change was so infinitesimal, he couldn't tell the difference.
