"Al--ice?"

Okay, logically speaking, his wife could be doing a lot of things in the guest bathroom. Women tended to do that; do strange things that would take a very long time in bathrooms and all the time he, Frank, never understood. And he wasn't supposed to, because it was a girl thing. He got that. But--- okay, whenever girls took forever, they never came out sounding worried, so why would Alice be writing to him, from in there? Sounding very worried, he might add, which made him worried because whatever made her worry made him worry because Alice was very level headed, therefore very keen into the levels of needing to be upset.

Frank threw his journal to his feet, and leaned into the side of the wall next to the door. What was he exactly suppose to say to her, when he didn't know what was going on. It couldn't be bad, because if it was something like that, then she would have told him already. Or--- she was waiting until now. No, no, that was silly; nothing was wrong. Alice was just probably feeling sick, and she needed him to bring her things to make her feel better.

That thought comforted Frank much more, and he relaxed a bit. "What's going on?" he said through the wall.