We walked beneath the trees in silence, five minutes from home. At first I wasn’t angry because she had caught me off guard by using a word like affront. But then I thought about it more and started to get pissed even while knowing I should let it go. What she had said was partly true—hell, maybe all of it was. But no, to hell with that, because I wasn’t that way all the time and she was giving me far less credit than I deserved. To say otherwise was to completely disregard all the good qualities I believed I possessed.

“Yeah? And what about you?” I asked when we were two blocks from home.

She shook her head. Her eyes misted over and I knew that an angry, frustrated cry was on the way, which had the effect of frustrating me.

“Yet another thing you always do,” she said, shaking her head.

“Great, another thing. Can’t wait to hear this one. Enlighten me, darling.”

“You always justify being an asshole by pointing out other people’s flaws. Always, Stratton. And you’re so friggin’ judgmental about them, even faults that a person has no control over. Why don’t you just deal with your own shit and leave other people alone.”

“Right,” I said as we made it back. “More bullshit. Since you seem so keen on spouting it, why don’t you tell me where in the hell you really stayed last night?”

It was boiling inside the apartment, and the smell made me sick while my mind returned to the August months of my youth and to the raw stench of manure that, at times, grew so heavy I could hardly stand it.

Carolyn dropped her purse and sat on the bed. She shook her head. A tear slowly trickled down her cheek. I crossed the room and leaned against the desk.

“Everybody tries to make you happy, don’t you see that?” she pleaded, lifting her hands and dropping them on her thighs while completely ignoring my question.

“Like hell,” I said, in no mood to be criticized and upset that we could no longer make it through a day without fighting.

“Everyone does so much for you, but you’re so goddamn busy feeling sorry for yourself that you never even realize it. Everyone! Gene. Me. Even Linda. But no, you hold on to your pride and your pity and keep on playing the victim card. Hold on to it all, Stratton. It seems to have gotten you this far.”

“Right,” I said. “The victim card. You have me figured out perfectly.”

She shook her head again. Or maybe she had never stopped. “You only think of yourself. It’s always you. You, you, you. You don’t even listen to half the things I tell you. If it doesn’t concern you, then you just glaze over and go someplace else.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”