She forced a laugh. The faux-laugh became real almost immediately as she realized the simplicity of her solution, how easy this action would be to explain away, and soon she was clutching the counter. “I’m so sorry,” she said between convulsions. “I must be a little drunk. On an empty stomach, you know. I thought you were my husband.”

I had a hard time looking up from the stack of papers when I was done. I pretended to be reading for much longer than I actually was. I didn’t know what to do with the fact that I liked the story—that I somehow felt deeply sorry for the woman in it, though there was no reason to feel that way.

A thick envy welled up. Stronger envy than when I thought of her and Carlow together. It made me wonder what I could’ve achieved, with everything she was handed. I don’t know why exactly, since the only thing I wrote were lists and maps—endless notes for a nonexistent project, a project of which I had no concept. Her talent made me certain somehow that I could’ve eclipsed her, if only I’d had the time and resources.

She must’ve been able to tell that I was just scanning the same sentences over and over. “Is it that bad?” she said.

I looked up and saw her son crawling on her. She ignored him, though he was pulling her hair hard enough to make her head jerk to the right. Her face was filled with a genuine sort of shame I wasn’t expecting. That expression made it impossible to tell her anything but the truth.

“I like it,” I said.

Her face didn’t relax. “Really,” I said. “I think it’s very good.”

“Shut up!” she said.

“No?” I said. “I won’t?”

She laughed then, in a way I’d never heard before—a sort of startled yelp that caused her to clasp a hand over her mouth in embarrassment.

“My opinion should mean nothing to you,” I said. “Why would you be nervous in the first place?”

“I never stop being nervous,” she said. “It means so much to me, it’s the most important thing, even though I always let everything else get in the way. I never share it with anybody, not James, not Carlow, not anybody.”

I smiled, my feelings of envy transforming so easily into a sort of happiness. As always, I was happy to be in on one of her secrets.

“Also, you’re a writer, aren’t you?” she said. “You’re always scribbling in that notebook of yours. And I always see you reading when Billy naps.”

I thought I’d been careful to hide the notebook from her. I took it out only when she was gone, or in the office with Carlow. It unnerved me to know I’d slipped up without even realizing it.