"Well, it's my job," repeats Daniel. He rubs each palm with his fingers balled into fists, spreads the sweat like a salve.

"I think you should tell them you can't be spending so much of your personal time on company business," says Judy. "It's my mother's birthday and we planned a small celebration. You have to be here." She has finished with the laundry and is standing like a wall between the dresser and the bed where the suitcase gapes, wonders, waits.

He is chewing his lip. He feels his fingernails cut crescents into his palms. She is the rock and is closing in on the cliche of hard place in his world.

Around them the bedroom swirls in airy blue peace, curtains stir like lazy white clouds in a spring morning breeze. Daniel feels hot.