Kalea turns to Bryce. “You hear that, Bryce. That’s the kind of relationship I want.”

Bryce turns petulant. It happens quickly, as though there’s a switch that he can throw at will. “Yeah,” he says in a lilting sneer, “and just where is his wife?”

“At the hotel,” I say. “I’m afraid she’s sick.”

“And you’re getting medicine for her?”

“Kinda hard to do that when he’s sitting eating with us,” says Bryce.

“I figured I’d find her some white rice. Maybe a banana.”

“That’s sweet,” says Kalea, and she reaches out and touches my hand.

NAOMI GALLANT.

Tally was five years old when Mimi and I broke up. No particular reason. Just a series of annoyances and frustrations, angry words and callous actions. We were young, full of ourselves, with no real sense of what it meant to live a life together. We were apart for about six months before we decided to try again, before we began working on our relationship with a firm purpose of amendment.

“A firm purpose of amendment.” That was the crap phrase the Christian Brothers had taught me in parochial school. But it wasn’t religion that kept us from drifting away.

It was our daughter.

At first we asked the question, what would she do without us? And when we had gotten that bit of egotism out of our system, we asked the more important question: what would we do without her?

But in that time, in those months out of sight, out of mind, I had had an affair.

Naomi Gallant.

WHEN KALEA TOUCHES my hand, she reminds me of Naomi Gallant. It is an unexpected memory. It is also pleasant, and I don’t pull my hand away.

Bryce taps the table with his chopsticks. “Then I guess you better get going.”

“Yes,” I say, “I should.”

“Not yet,” says Kalea, and she squeezes my hand. “Maybe you can help us.”

“Come on, Kalea,” says Bryce, “we don’t need the advice of some stranger.”

“In all that time,” says Kalea, “you must have learned a thing or two about love.”

“You should ask Mimi about that.”

“But I’m asking you.”

Now I’m not so hungry. “Just take care of each other.”

“You mean respect each other.”

“Sure,” I say. “That’s always a good start.”

Kalea turns to Bryce and waits.

“I respect you,” he says, but he’s too slow off the mark, and it sounds as though he has had to think about it.

“Doesn’t feel that way much of the time.”

“Who wanted to come to Prague? Did I say no?”

Kalea turns back to me. “Your wife is sick, and you go out to find her something to eat. That’s love.”

I shrug.

“And have you ever had an affair?”

Bryce’s face turns red. “I told you I was sorry. Jesus, you don’t need to tell the world.”