So this is what her life has become, Sylvie is thinking, games with the dog as she makes the bed she sleeps in alone, more games with the dog as she makes the bed in which her husband sleeps alone, this same husband who at the moment she wishes would disappear for a few months — enough time for her hurt and disgust to dwindle, enough time for her to make some sense of what has happened and construct a new future. Of course she feels betrayed, all wives would. Leonard has betrayed her and lied to her for their entire marriage. But not for the first time, she reminds herself that though she might be better informed now, Leonard has not changed. He’s still the same man she met and fell in love with, and, as hard as it is to admit it, if he had been a different sort of man she might not have been attracted to him in the first place.

Given enough time, she can deal with disgust and betrayal, but more difficult is her sense of having been short-changed — by Leonard, certainly, but more so by their marriage. Their long marriage has allowed him freedoms denied to her; their long marriage has been far more generous to him than it has been to her.

Christmas came and went. Despite the strain between them, Sylvie and Leonard managed. Thirty years of a good marriage provided a sturdy foundation, and the rituals of the season produced a slew of safe, familiar, and time-consuming tasks. The larger than usual group for Christmas lunch, with Galina as a first-timer, also helped.

They saw in the new year — 1988 — as they usually did, at the same beachside house they rented with Maggie. Andrew joined them for a few days, as did a parade of Maggie’s children and friends. They were rarely alone, and when they were, they treated each other with care. The days were filled with hours on the beach, long walks, and raucous picnics and barbecues; most evenings they played a new game called Trivial Pursuit, played it endlessly and uproariously. By the time they returned home, Sylvie and Leonard had an acceptable excuse for wanting peace and quiet.

They spoke when necessary, always politely, but mostly in different keys. During the day, they went their own ways; in the evenings, they filled the silences with light and forgettable rented videos containing little romance and even less substance. Butch occupied the couch alone, while the two of them sat on opposite sides of the room in single armchairs. When Leonard decided to return to work earlier than usual — some large orders to attend to, he explained to Sylvie — she wasn’t fooled about the real reason, nor was she sorry. She felt helpless in the current situation. Helpless, tattered, and old.