She lay on top of the covers with the steel-gray satin sheath dress I’d bought at the Gap bunched up around her waist. “Oh, good. You’re here,” she said, her accent unmistakably Boston. “I’ve been dying for a friggin’ smoke.” “No time,” I said. I had stipulated no smoking until after her job was done, but I guess she’d forgotten. She shrugged away my denial. “So what now?” she asked. “Hang on,” I said. I took out my phone, tried to slow my breathing, and texted Ruby next door. I worried Andrew might get aggressive before Ruby had a chance to get him to take a shower. If she didn’t text me back right away, the plan was for me to go barging in, fists at the ready. The act might cost Winnie her life, but there was no way I was going to sit in the room next door while a drunk from the neighborhood bar raped my wife. Me to Ruby: What’s going on? Ruby: He won’t take a shower. I breathed a heavy sigh that the situation—at least for now—was under control.
