"No." He brushed her aside. "I can make the d.a.m.n coffee. Conroy, if

you don't shut up I'm going to tie your tongue around your neck."

In defense, he took the chips and set the bag on the floor for the dog

to enjoy. "What time is it?"

Emma cleared her throat. She decided it would be unwise to point out

that there was a clock on the coffee maker. "About twelve-thirty."

He was scowling at the coffee scoop in his hand. Obviously, he'd lost

track. As he began to add more, Emma lifted her camera and shot. "I'm

sorry," she said when he glared at her. "It's reflex."

He said nothing, but turned to root through the cupboards again. His

mouth felt as though he'd dined on chalk. There was a jazz combo

jamming gleefully in his head. He was sure his eyes had swollen to the

size of golf b.a.l.l.s, and, he discovered, he was out of tucking cereal.

"Michael ..." Emma trod carefully, not because she was intimidated,

but because she was deathly afraid she would laugh. "Would you like me

to fix you some breakfast?"

"I can't find any."

"Sit down." She had to clear her throat again as she pushed him to a

chair. "We'll start with coffee. Where are your cups?"

"In the kitchen."

"Okay." After a search, she found a package of Styrofoam cups, jumbo

size. She poured the coffee. It looked as thick as mud and just as

appetizing, but he guzzled it. As the caffeine kicked in, he saw her

with her head in his refrigerator.

She looked great, absolutely great, with a little cropped blouse and

breezy summer pants in pale blue. Her hair was loose. He liked it best

loose so he could imagine running his hands through it. But what was

she doing with her head in his refrigerator?

"What are you doing?"

"Fixing you breakfast. You have one egg. How would you like it?"

"Cooked." He drained the cup and hobbled back for another dose.

"Your bologna's green, and there's something in here that might be

alive." She took out the egg, a hunk of cheese, and a heel of bread.

"I've never seen things move in a refrigerator before. Got a skillet?"

"I think so. Why?"

"Never mind." She found it eventually and with a little invention

managed to fix him an open-face egg-and-cheese sandwich. She settled on

a flat ginger ale and sat across from him as he ate. "Michael, not to

intrude, but could I ask how long you've been living this way?"

:'l bought the place about four years ago."

"And you're still alive. You're a strong man, Michael."

"I've been thinking about getting it cleaned."

"Think bulldozers."

"It's hard to get insulted when I'm eating." He watched her take a

picture of Conroy, who had gone back to sleep with his paws crossed over

the bag of chips. "He'll never sign a release form."

She smiled at him. "Feeling better?"

"Almost human."

"I was out-decided it was time to start working again. I thought you

might like to tag along for a few hours." She felt shy suddenly. It was