I didn’t hear the alarm go off. Did I forget to set it? Impossible. Today, of all days, that wasn’t going to happen. I must have just been really tired . . .
From his side of the bed, in a whisper, the broadband radio box was saying, “. . . indicating that Typhoon Lupit has weakened to category two and may have shifted track enough to miss the Philippines. Russia today deploys the first of its new Sergey Gorshkov class frigates, a move that State Department sources says carries significant implications of a change of Russian defense strategy and power projection in the Middle East. And the state of Arizona gets back the capitol building it sold off in the depths of the Great Recession with help from a prominent citizen who describes his move as ‘all just part of the game.’ It’s Friday, June 19, 2015, and this is Morning Edition from NPR . . .”
Dev opened one eye, turned his head. On the far side of the bed, snoring gently as usual, was Mirabel. She lay on her side, the pillow all bunched up under her, one hand under her chin in that little-girl way she had, the way that always made Dev wonder why she didn’t sleep in some more comfortable position.
Dev quietly rolled over in her direction and experimentally opened the other eye. He’d left the bedroom blinds across the room open when he’d come to bed, intending to have the morning light wake him, ideally before the alarm went off. But it was still too early for that. The only light visible was the very faint blue glow from the mood-light submerged in the water feature out in the garden. The sky was still dark. And I got exactly how much sleep? Dev wondered, rubbing his eyes and moaning softly to himself. Today when I need it most. Oh, never mind . . .
On the other side of the bed, Mirabel stirred and muttered a little in her sleep. Dev leaned back against his pillow for just a moment more, looking at her with an affection so deeply ingrained that after ten years it seemed like it had been there forever. The blonde hair, straggling across the pillow, heading for the endless tangle of knots which she would later curse as she teased them out one by one; that pretty little round face with the buttony nose—eyes seeming almost purposely squeezed shut, as if with an effort. Dev could remember the party where Phil—ages ago it seemed, when their company had first hit its stride—had said to him, and not entirely in jest, “Miri’s not the usual kind of wife for somebody on the Forbes Five Hundred list. You’re supposed to have some kind of trophy babe.” Dev had found himself staring at Phil as if he’d just fallen into that party from some other planet. The casually dropped line had told Dev more, maybe, than he was willing to know about Phil at that point. Not that I wasn’t already having my suspicions . . .
Dev grimaced to himself. This peaceful and unfortunately brief interlude was not one to be cluttered up with such thoughts, which wormed their way into too many of his daylight seconds as it was. Dev spent a few moments more just looking at Mirabel, watching her breathe. Then he pushed the covers back, yawning, and got up as quietly as he could, intent on not disturbing her. Carefully Dev pulled the covers back into place, waved the broadband radio off, paused to hunt for the briefs he’d dumped on the floor last night, pulled them on, and then softly headed over to the window.
Down in the courtyard, two stories below, nothing moved except the ripple of water from the cascade that ran down into the central rock pool, glittering in the glow of the blue accent light at the pool’s bottom. Dev yawned again, stretched again, and turned away from the window. The master bedroom was relatively small because Mirabel liked it that way. Outside it, though, the size and openness of the master suite’s private lounge area more than made up for the relative coziness of the bedroom. The picture window that ran the full length of the room was smart glass, frosted over and grayed down at this time of day. “Clear up,” Dev said to the room’s control system. The glass cleared, revealing its view down into the central compound. Flagstone paths worked their way among