No telling what Barclay relayed to my husband, in other words to the FBI. After what Marino and I have been through with this scene, and the biggest damn threat is one of our own. The thought penetrates furiously as my heart pounds harder, and my eyes are watering. I take deep slow breaths, blinking several times, well aware that a common symptom of heat exhaustion is irritability. But knowing that doesn’t do any good once you’re caught in a vortex of uncontrolled fury.

“Hey Benton? Did Dorothy get in okay?” Of course Marino would ask sweetly, warmly about a woman who devours men like tartare.

Innamorato pazzo! as my father used to say.

Marino is crazy in love. Now that I’m looking for it, I can see it plain as day, and I pay attention while Benton tells him in a leaden voice that Dorothy is fine.

Other than one of her absurdly ostentatious oversize designer bags being lost, that is. I don’t say it out loud.

She’s landed safely with almost all her luggage, Benton informs us about my vain self-important inconvenient sister who’s always treated her own flesh and blood like shit.

“But she’s finally in the car at least?” Marino has to make sure about his intended paramour. “Because I’ve not gotten a text from her in the last couple hours. She stopped answering.”

Sotto l’incantesimo! my father would declare. Marino is under the spell. He and Dorothy have been in contact even as I’ve been by his damn side working this motherfucking scene, and he never let on. Then I’m horrified that I just said something so hideous as that out loud. Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I thought it but didn’t say it.

Marino’s not behaving as if I did. I look closely and suddenly there are two of him all in white like Pillsbury Doughboys. Neither seems offended. But I can’t tell and I close my eyes. Then I open them and Marino is by himself again and acting normal for him. I hope I didn’t say motherfucking. Not that I’m a prude. But I rarely talk like that. I’m not thinking straight. I’m about to erupt like a volcano. My electrolytes are in the toilet, and it’s bewildering.

“As long as she’s okay,” Marino is saying to Benton. “But the airport’s a nightmare because of the elevated terror alert and who knows why else.” He tries to be nonchalant about it and fails.

“She’s with Janet and Desi.” Benton’s eyes don’t leave me.

“Then she’s in the car on the way to their house?” Marino probes but Benton isn’t paying attention.

“We need to talk, Kay. I need you to come with me,” and I detect sadness beneath my husband’s iron will.