“Are you still angry?”

“I’m not sure about that, either.”

He attempted a smile, but it faded in the silence.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He almost whispered.

“Do you?”

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

I couldn’t even manage a smirk. I was too hurt and angry. “Why the sudden compliance, Frank?”

“I just don’t think we should let an argument come between us.”

“Why are you so nervous?”

Another attempted smile. “Honey, I don’t like arguing. It depresses me.”

“And what do you do for consolation when you’re . . . ‘depressed’?” He cocked his head questioningly. “Do you call someone up for a little reassurance?”

“What do you mean?”

“Since you’re not going to tell me, I’ll tell you. I just passed your little friend on the stairs. It was pretty obvious she’d been crying. From hearing your side of things, no doubt.”

“Irene!”

“One argument, and she’s back in the picture.”

“It’s not that way! She just dropped by—”

“Out of the sky.”

“Honey, please! She came by about two minutes after you left. She was upset and so was I. I guess I was a little abrupt with her. She had a problem with one of her roommates again—I’ve told you about that. I was too distracted because of us; I really couldn’t concern myself with someone else. I didn’t tell her we’d had an argument, but I did tell her about you. I kind of wanted her to meet you but not under tonight’s circumstances, so I guess I rushed her out of here.”

“Quite a rush to make her cry.”

“She wasn’t crying when she left.”

“And quite a coincidence.”

“But it was a coincidence.” He made a fist and held it between his head and the doorjamb. “It was a coincidence.”

I started to slip past him, but he spread his arm to block me.

“Don’t, Irene.”

“Let me past.”

“Don’t keep running out on me.” I nudged against his arm. “Can’t you be angry and stay?”

“Let me past.”

“No.” He put his arms around me and pulled me to his chest.

“Don’t, Frank.” I tried to wriggle free, but his arms tightened.

“Honey, please, how can you think—”

“Let me go.”

“I have to tell you something. I’m a . . . freak.” That’s all he said for a moment. His chest quivered, then his whole body trembled, but his arms grew even tighter around me. I couldn’t believe it: he was crying. “I—I love you much too much, I know that. I love you more than it’s healthy to love someone. I try to hold it back so I won’t smother you and— Jesus! I know it’s my fault if I’m so afraid of losing you, but I never thought I’d meet anyone like you who would . . . want me too. I’m guilty of that and probably a lot of other things, but don’t accuse me of even thinking of someone else. That’s not fair, Irene, it really isn’t.”