I think back to our most recent trip this past June, and remember that Marino and Dorothy started driving together to pick up takeout food. He rented a Harley and took her for a ride, and I recall Benton making a comment. When I’m with my family in Miami and also dealing with Lucy, Janet and Desi, I can be very distracted. But it’s also true that what Benton is alluding to is something I wouldn’t want to notice. I wouldn’t want it to be true. I can’t think of much that’s more frightening than the idea of Marino and my sister together.

The waiter slides out the cork with a soft pop, and hands it to Benton. He lifts it to his nose and watches as a small amount of the pale cold Chablis is poured.

“You do the honors.” He hands me the glass, and the wine is sharply clean, waking up my tongue.

Benton nods for the waiter to pour us each a taste.

“Happy Wednesday.” Benton touches his glass to mine in a toast, and this is the second time in the past hour that I’ve felt that an insect is in my clothing.

My phone vibrates in my jacket pocket.

“Now what?” I set down my glass as I check who’s calling. “Speaking of … It’s Marino again.”

After all that’s gone on, even he wouldn’t interrupt dinner unless there was a good reason. Now Benton’s phone is buzzing.

I catch a glimpse of a 202 area code before he says, “I’ve got to take this,” and he answers, “Wesley here.”

“Hold on,” I tell Marino without saying hello, and Benton and I are both getting up from our chairs. “You know where I am so it must be important. I assume I need to get somewhere I can talk.”

“Do it now.” Marino’s voice is hard.

“I’m walking out. Hold on,” I say to him as Benton and I collect our briefcases.

We drop our napkins next to our barely touched salads and glasses of wine. We leave as if we’re not coming back.

CHAPTER 9

WE’RE CALM AND RESERVED as we walk with purpose through the dining room, avoiding the curious glances of other couples being seated.

Benton and I are together but separate, each of us on the phone. To look at us, you’d never know anything out of the ordinary was going on. We could be talking to our Realtors, our bankers, our brokers, our pet sitters.

We could be a well-heeled couple getting calls from our adoring children, and Benton would be the rich handsome breadwinner. While in comparison I’d be the hardworking rather peculiar and difficult wife who always looks shopworn and halfway blown together. Our eyes are slightly downcast as we weave between tables, and I recognize the fixed stare, the flexing of his jaw, the tenseness of his hands.