His accent had always given clichés the patina of wisdom. I set off along the perimeter, groping in my pocket for the light. “Speak for yourself.”

•  •  •

Antonio followed me back across the tank. Our lights found the chrome bar of the door at the same time. We propped it back open. When we passed the desk, the guard gave us a sharp look but didn’t stop us. As we climbed the stairs to the third floor, I tripped and had to lunge for the railing. Antonio put his hand out but did not touch me. He’d done the same thing when I broke down that first night and told him about Maddy. On that occasion he had stopped short of touching me out of confusion and respect. Now he was letting me know that his body was no longer available to me. From the gallery came the hum of voices. I fumbled with my coat. The sleeve seemed to have been sewn shut. I pushed at it with my fist, panicked that someone would come out and find us there. Antonio righted the sleeve and held it for me from behind. I wanted to sink back into him and be indulged and forgiven, but he had already moved away.

“I’ll walk you to St. Paul’s.”

“You’re going in the other direction. I’ll be fine. Really.”

“No,” he said. “I will.”

We crossed the bridge and the two intervening streets, and circled the empty steps of the cathedral. The dome above was dark and remote and looked to be carved from solid stone. It was the station entrance around the corner that was alive, lit up and noisy, sucking passengers in from every direction. We stood at the top of the stairs. In Antonio’s eyes I read puzzlement, pride, and something more sorrowful. In all likelihood I would never see him again.

“I’m sorry, Antonio.”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Well.” I tried a smile. “We can both be sorry.” The uselessness of words! I cast my eyes over a darkened coffee shop and a lit-up pub, refuges barred to us now, and waited for him to speak. Antonio had removed himself from our drama already and was waiting for the moment when he could take his leave without giving anything away.

After a minute, I said: “I saw them, you know.”

“Saw who?”

“Your boys. I went to their school.”

He shot me a look of warning.

“Don’t worry. They didn’t know who I was. Neither did your wife.” People in dreadlocks, torn jeans, suits, and stilettos detoured around us and down the stairs, scowling at the obstruction we made. I risked a glance up into his angry face.

“You wait ’til now to tell me?”

I said nothing.

“You got me to say the name of their school. Didn’t you?”

I shrugged. “Maddy would have loved a brother or two.”

“Was that a good thing to do, Eve?”