She hesitated, eyes wide. "Oh?"
I reached over for an apple from the fruit bowl, rubbing it absently on my shirt.
"I never shut it tight, but it's wide open when I get up in the morning. I don't know what's
wrong with it. Get it fixed."
"Oh, I, ah . . ."
I frowned. She was all red—not just her usual pink-cheeked flush either. Her chest and neck were red and the color on her face was almost purple.
"What?"
"Your door isn't broken," she burst out, speaking fast.
"How do you know?"
"Because I open it."
It was my turn to be shocked. "Why would you do that?"
"It's, ah, quiet here."
"I don't understand."
She edged closer, her fingers playing with the edge of the magazines.
"I couldn't sleep the first night. Where I lived it was always noisy, from sirens, people, cars or something. In here, it was so silent that it was almost frightening. I was going past your door and I heard you—ah, you were snoring."
