"But why?" Judy asks. She wrings her hands, pouts her lower lip.
"Wow," says Daniel. It comes out in a long whistle of held-in breath and he starts sweating, unwrinkles the lines in his brow. "It's my job," he says. He raises his hands in sync with a shrug of his shoulders, a downward curve of his mouth, a shake of his head. "I don't like it either," he says.
"You should tell them that you've got a life outside of their stupid company."
She is putting his freshly laundered jockeys and socks into the drawer even as he pulls a handful out and packs it into the open suitcase on their bed.