“Did you get my voicemail?” I say, even though it seems pretty clear that he hasn’t.

He looks puzzled.

“What voicemail?”

His obliviousness makes me want to scream. Instead I just hold up the digital reader lying on my nightstand and his mouth widens into an O shape.

“You’re ovulating?” he stage whispers.

Seconds later his pants are on the floor, he’s pulling his T-shirt over his head.

“Oliver…”

“Let’s do this,” he pants. “You’re ovulating.”

I wince.

“Can you just, I don’t know, brush your teeth first?”

He stares at me like I’m the one who just ruined the moment, and sulks off to the bathroom. When he comes back I will myself to forget the evening it’s been, and the fact that my husband has turned into a bleary-eyed frat boy. Business not romance, I tell myself. Maybe tomorrow we can have romance.

But after about ten minutes, Oliver rolls away from me, panting.

“I’m sorry,” he wheezes. “It must be the beer. I…yeah, I don’t think this is going to happen tonight. I’m sorry, Gill.”

I close my eyes and lock my voice down in my lungs so this feeling inside me doesn’t emerge in a neighborhood-waking scream.

“Gillian?” His breath is hot on my chin. “Gillian, it’s not that big a deal, we’ll try again tomorrow, okay?”

I turn away from him. I’m afraid of what would come out of my mouth if I spoke. The feelings inside me—humiliation, anger, disappointment, and who knows what else—have fused together in some lava-hot ball. But Oliver, on the other side of the bed, doesn’t seem to notice. Soon his heavy breathing lengthens, and I lie there, alone, seething in the darkness like a fire.

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

I wake up to an empty room and silence in the house. I roll over and check my phone to see I’ve slept much later than usual. I guess my rage-filled tossing and turning caught up with me at some point.

It’s not like I’m expecting an email from Abigail, but still my stomach sinks when my inbox reloads and there’s nothing there from her. I hesitate, then hit Compose.

New Year’s Eve is tomorrow, I type. Don’t you think Sam deserves to have you home?

I don’t know if they’re doing any good, these attempts to guilt my sister into a homecoming, and I suppose it’s possible they’re doing harm. But what can we do? I wonder if the stop on her credit cards is active yet. I know it won’t magically fix things, but I’m so relieved that Dennis will be home in two days.