Dolly thrust back her shoulders, feeling suddenly quite sober. You can do this, she told herself. She had to show him—using the cutest, most circuitous language—that he couldn’t desert her this way and, moreover, that everything he would ever need was right there in their little bungalow.

She had to make him believe it, so she could believe it, too.

Just then, an ice-blond woman with red lips and a tight blue dress showing off her prominent curves sashayed out of the rear hall of the bar—there was a door back there that led to a parking lot—and went directly to Byron and Roy’s table. Dolly ducked behind a tall man who was standing between tables talking to another man. She peered around him, watching.

The blond woman had one hand on her hip, and leaned the other on Byron’s table. She obviously knew Byron and Roy well, and they introduced her to their friends. All the men were clearly charmed by her. Roy couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her breasts, as she withdrew a cigarette from her purse and leaned over so that Byron could light it for her.

Dolly fumed. Watched as the woman reached out with her red-taloned hand and nudged Byron’s shoulder. Something was raucously funny. Byron’s visible ear turned bright pink.

The woman tipped back her head and blew out smoke.

Just then, the man whom Dolly had been hiding behind noticed her. He looked down at her and grinned. “Hi there,” he said. “You all alone here?”

Dolly pinched her face at him, and slunk away to the end of the bar near the front door, where Byron and Roy wouldn’t see her. But when she turned and looked back toward Byron’s table, she was just in time to see the ice-blond woman leading him away by the hand. They disappeared down the back hall, Byron’s ears glowing pink.

Dolly’s hand shot to her mouth, as she tried to keep the cry that was rising in her throat from escaping. She whirled, and ran outside.

There was only one place she could think of to go.

“JJ? JJ!” she cried, again pounding on the back door of the Mickelson house. Only a couple hours had passed since she had last knocked—and she had thought things were bad then, with Byron running out on her for his friends. Now her worst fears had been realized: There was another woman. She felt old, suddenly, and all used up. She supposed her mascara had made black tracks down her cheeks. She wiped at them haphazardly with the back of her hand, but really, she didn’t care.

“JJ!” she called again, still pounding. But there was no answer.

She decided to go in.