Completely (New York 3)

He wandered into the bathroom and turned on the hot water tap. His flight attendant had given him a tour, pointing out the expensive toiletries, the toothbrush and toothpaste, the airline-branded pajamas he was welcome to wear after taking a hot shower.

Five minutes of hot water. She’d told him apologetically, as though five minutes of hot water would be some kind of hardship.

He washed his face, scrubbing with a cotton washcloth until his nose was pink.

He shaved.

He brushed his teeth, then took a shower and put on the pajamas. They were more comfortable than the clothes he’d bought in Kathmandu.

On the tray beside the sink, he found a spray bottle of aromatherapy oil. Sleep, it said in elegant script. He sprayed it into the air in front of his face, then inhaled.

He didn’t want to sleep.

Nineteen people were dead, with the search ongoing.

He wanted to break the mirror with his fist.

Kal looked at the provided slippers, lined with soft microfiber, and left them where they lay, padding to Rosemary’s compartment barefoot, sliding the door open only seconds after he knocked without waiting for her to answer.

The overhead lights were out, the room glowing blue, the sleep spray smell in the air. She sat up when he came in, pushing a silky black mask onto the top of her head. “What is it?”

“I woke you up.” He hadn’t even considered the possibility. He should go, leave her alone. He didn’t want to.

“No. I couldn’t sleep.”

He sat down on the leather sofa opposite her bed. Crossed his arms. Uncrossed them and wished he’d put his clothes back on. “Neither could I.”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “It’s strange, isn’t it? All this luxury after…I thought it would feel like a treat, but I don’t know.”

“I watched the news.”

“So did I.”

Her hair was down around her shoulders again, falling in long, obedient locks. At Base Camp, she’d always kept it pulled away from her face, tucked under a hat.

She wore the pajamas, too. She’d had her five-minute shower.

“Did you order food?”

She pretended the question wasn’t inane. “I had snapper.”

“I got the same thing.” Kal rubbed the bridge of his foot back and forth over the carpeted floor. “It was good.”

“It was delicious.”

“I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“No.” She looked past his right arm to a table where her laptop sat plugged in. “I don’t either. I’m afraid to turn that on. I keep telling myself I have to, if only to check in with people who must be worrying about me, but I think if I lift the lid I’ll be on Google in a heartbeat, searching for the names of…” She looked at him, tears welling up. “I keep trying to convince myself it’s possible I won’t know any of the people on the list, and then I feel terrible, because it’s no better, is it? Whether I know them or not, they’re dead.”

“I’m sure you knew them.”

That made her start crying.

He shifted to sit next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No.” She sniffled. “I have to accept it.”

“I didn’t need to be so blunt. It’s not cool to Doctor Doom you when you’re down.”