I smiled at Dad. “I need to go around and say hello to everyone.” Couples had begun to fill the house, and if I understood anything, I understood the social graces required in the Broome home—they were the same ones required in my home.

“Hey, baby.” Rusty ambled toward me wearing a crisp pair of khakis, a golf polo shirt, and a smile—his uniform.

I smiled at my husband and he hugged me, slipping his hand into mine.

“You look great tonight,” Rusty said in a voice just loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to suggest that he was trying to be heard.

He leaned up against the counter, waving to someone across the room. Sara Matthews sidled up to us, hugging simultaneously—one arm for each of us. “How are y’all?” she asked with a big smile. Her lips had grown since the last time I saw her, and the left side of her mouth was larger than the right, making me tilt my head.

“Good,” I said. “You?”

“Great,” she said, looking at Rusty and lifting her eyebrows, although her forehead didn’t move at all with the motion. “And y’all?”

Rusty took her hand. “How’s your dad?” Sara’s dad had a triple bypass the week before, and Rusty remembered this.

Sara’s eyes filled with tears. “Not good.” She pouted with her crooked lips.

Rusty kissed the back of her hand. “Please give him our love, and let him know we’re keeping him in our prayers.”

“What?” I said this before I knew the thought had formed itself into a word and been born on my tongue.

Sara glared at me. “He said y’all are praying for my dad.”

I looked at Rusty. He is a man who prays only that his golf ball makes it in the hole for par; he doesn’t pray for men who’ve had bypass surgery. I walked away, headed to the hallway bathroom, leaving Sara and Rusty to stare after me with the concerned look of the superior. I slammed the door shut and stared into the porcelain sink, which was hand painted with tiny yellow and pink butterflies.

What was wrong with me? I didn’t want Rusty anywhere near me. I’d just begun to realize that the awful feeling of love having left our marriage wasn’t going to pass. Something was desperately wrong with me. This had to be my fault, because if you can’t love your husband, who, my God, can you love?

If I really looked at our life—we were the lucky ones. We had it all.

I would fix this just as I fixed everything else in our life. I would repair these feelings the same way I did a leaking faucet or a broken cabinet door. I turned on the sink, splashing my face with cold water.

Sadie called from the other side of the door. “You okay, Ellie?”