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SAN LUIS OBISPO, 2:48 P.M.

Warmth. Bath. Taps. Hands shaking violently, Gwen struggled with the taps. She got them on, ran the bath. The water that came out of the taps felt cold. Both the hot and the cold faucet felt cold. She knew enough to know she was too chilled to feel the water, might scald herself. Using only her right hand, her left shoulder she knew was dislocated, she turned them off, picked the shower, turned it on, scrolled it to a high heat setting. She stepped in, felt the water gush over her from all angles. One of those high-end showers with multiple heads. She propped herself against the wall. Fifteen minutes and she felt colder than ever. And her shoulder hurt like crazy. She thought she might pass out with the pain. She stepped out, grabbed towels, staggered into a bedroom, ransacked the drawers; a sports nut, a tall man. She pulled on his layers, base thermals, mid-layers, overlayers. She found a ski suit in a closet, mittens, hat. She pulled them all on, shoulder screaming. Food. Tea. Kitchen. One handed, she boiled the kettle, made tea, dumped in the sugar she managed to find, spotted a jar of energy bars, ripped off the wrappers, ate five. In the bathroom cabinet she found Advil. Popped four. Then she got into bed, pulled the duvet over her whole body and passed out.