Don Juan glanced at Hudson, but decided to drink his second glass of water before he answered. He hated this question. He almost never remembered an entire night, no matter what he'd had; even sober he was often forgetful. But this question, often posed and only sometimes answered, always made him anxious that he'd forgotten something important and that he would spend the rest of the conversation on the backfoot, trying to catch up and making vague apologies for something he could articulate.

He drank his second glass of water more slowly. He set it in the sink and then picked his coffee up, wrapping his hands around the mug and leaning his back against the counter.

"I remember you were an angel," he said, cautious.

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