Once or twice, the curtains would still be open, the lights on. And I’d see them inside, watching TV or talking. And I’d take Grendel up and down the street a few times, comforted just by being close to them. I never knew if they saw me. If they looked out and saw the guy walking his dog aimlessly up and down the street. I assumed they never noticed me because everything was so good inside that house. . . .

But maybe they saw me and thought I was a nut.

I should have known something wasn’t quite right with them. But I was so consumed by my assumptions about them, so taken by who and what I thought they were, I didn’t take serious notice of the subtle changes in that house.

I should have noticed that I saw them together less. That frequently when I walked by, one or the other of them would be home, but not both. I should have noticed that the household projects that were formerly performed together were suddenly being performed separately. If I’d been closer to the house—and I never went closer than the sidewalk and so didn’t see any real detail—I might have seen strained looks.

Instead the crack in their marriage shocked me.

On an early September night that was unseasonably hot, I walked Grendel up their street. The leaves hadn’t come close to turning, but the kids were back in school. Real autumn loomed on the horizon.

It had been a few days since I’d seen anything in the couple’s house. The blinds had been drawn, everything dark. I thought they might have gone away on a trip, and my mind conjured images of them in a tropical paradise, sipping drinks by the pool, snorkeling in blue water.

But the house was lit up. Every window glowed with bright light.

And the front door stood wide open. Not just the storm door, but the screen door as well.

As I approached, I heard them before I saw them. Voices raised, one male, one female. I thought someone had turned their TV up too loud. Or a car approached with the radio blasting. But the voices were not singing, the dialogue unscripted.

I saw them through the dining room window, facing each other. He spoke forcefully, poking his finger near her chest as he did. He moved closer and closer. And she refused to yield. She stood her ground, shaking her head. She gave it right back, poking with her own finger. He let her get it out, let her go on for a while.