Please, God, let him telephone me now. Wen prayed in her mind. She shut off the shower. The sound of water reduced to a drip and stopped. She pulled the shower curtain to the side, stepped out of the tub, and walked over to the sink. She picked up her phone from beside the faucet, beads of water rolling down her back. Frowning without knowing, she lit up the screen. No messages. No missed calls. Maybe next time God would hear my prayer, she assured herself. She slowly set the phone down and started to dry herself off with an old towel. Outside the window, the city sky was a heavy, pale gray. A thunderstorm was forming. She retrieved her gaze. She’d better hurry up, if she didn’t want to get caught in the rain. She slung the damp towel on the rod, opened the cabinet, and took out her contact lenses. Her eyes met briefly with the empty pink bottle in the corner of the cabinet. That was the lotion she bought when she …