her。
She melted butter in the frying pan； diluted the soup with milk； and then
poured the beaten eggs into the pan。
A sudden feeling that someone was standing behind her； reaching for her
throat。
She wheeled around； clutching the knife。 No one there。
（！ Get ahold of yourself； girl！）
She grated a bowl of cheese from the block； added it to the omelet； flipped
it； and turned the gas ring down to a bare blue flame。 The soup was hot。 She put
the pot on a large tray with silverware； two bowls； two plates； the salt and
pepper shakers。 When the omelet had puffed slightly； Wendy slid it off onto one
of the plates and covered it。
（Now back the way you came。 Turn off the kitchen lights。 Go through the inner
office。 Through the desk gate； collect two hundred dollars。）
She stopped on the lobby side of the registration desk and set the tray down
beside the silver bell。 Unreality would stretch only so far； this was like some
surreal game of hide…and…seek。
She stood in the shadowy lobby； frowning in thought。
（Don't push the facts away this time； girl。 There are certain realities； as
lunatic as this situation may seem。 One of them is that you may be the only
responsible person left in this grotesque pile。 You have a five…going…on…six son
to look out for。 And your husband； whatever has happened to him and no matter
how dangerous he may be 。。。 maybe he's part of your responsibility； too。 And
even if he isn't consider this： Today is December second。 You could be stuck up
here another four months if a ranger doesn't happen by。 Even if they do start to
wonder why they haven't heard from us on the CB； no one is going