She could only look at him.
He crossed the small living room. He walked without hurry. He stopped at the coffee table. He placed the white paper box of sweet treats on it. He looked at the couch and arranged himself on the couch with comfort.
Marion walked in a daze, unsure what she just heard, or was this dumbhead Mafia guy messing with her?
She did not, in the uneven seconds between the door and the chair across from him, register the floor beneath her feet. The wall clock that had signalled the start of her afternoon went unnoticed by her. She did not register the children upstairs.
She sat down across from Binge.
She placed her hands in her lap. She put them down with care. She did not, at this moment of her life, trust any other part of her body to remain still.
