I thought the point was made, but I hadn’t reckoned on his determination, his sense, now that he was aroused, of how serious the problem was.

“I stopped in next door on my way home and asked Jeannie.” Jeannie was blonde, too plump, had four children and I didn’t like her because she let her children play in the front yard and had to yell at them to get away from the street, and I thought, “What if someday she isn’t looking and one of them gets hit, just because she had her back turned and didn’t yell.” I thought she was irresponsible about her children.

“She’ll take care of Elliott tonight. We’ll just drop him over there on our way out,” Stephen said, “and pick him up when we come back. It’s no big deal, she’s got enough kids to know what it’s all about. You don’t have a monopoly on motherhood, you know.”

I fought, fought hard, and in the middle of it Elliott woke up and cried. I started to go to him but Stephen caught my arm, made me stay with him, and for a moment we both stood there, rigid, listening; and then he stopped crying and Stephen took his hand away, and I looked at him as if he had betrayed me, which at that moment I thought he had.

“Go and get ready,” he said, and his voice was hard. I had never heard him speak that way before. I was too startled, and frightened also, not to do what he said, but I didn’t do it gracefully, slammed around the bathroom and the bedroom getting ready, and I refused to go with him when he took Elliott to Jeannie. “It’s your responsibility,” I told him, stony and furious.

Once we were on our way, just the two of us, Stephen tried to be entertaining and amusing, but it made me more angry, that he could be light-hearted even knowing that something terrible might be happening to Elliott at that very moment. I was sullen, withdrawn, slapped my menu on the table and told Stephen that since he was in charge of the evening, he could order whatever he thought I should have. But I was surprisingly hungry; I remember he ordered a steak for me, and when it came I thought I couldn’t possibly eat it, but I started and then I didn’t stop until it was gone.

He waited until the meal was finished before he asked. “Do you see what’s been happening to you?” I took a breath, ready to defend myself, but he left no opening, attacking now.

“You’re obsessive, you’re completely neurotic about the baby. Now I know it may not mean much to you, not in comparison with having a son all your own, but you are in the process of losing a husband at the same time.” He was bitter, so bitter; he had stored it all for months, and he sounded venomous and foreign. I couldn’t answer him, just stared. I had not realized.