L. BASCOMBE: So, it was boring? You didn’t click? You didn’t have much to say to each other?

ME: All of the above.

L. BASCOMBE: Then why would you want to see him again? So you can spend another boring evening together? Why go back for more?

ME: It was my fault that we had so little to say to each other. I need to try harder. I need to be better.

L. BASCOMBE: Why wasn’t it his fault?

ME: Why do I have to explain this to you? He’s a vegan. He is the best-looking person I have ever seen off a movie screen. He has a great Instagram account. It’s grainy and raw and real. He knows people who work in television. Obviously it’s my fault. How could it be otherwise?

L. BASCOMBE: Perhaps he is just dull.

ME: Then why does he have so many followers? Why does he hang out with cool, beautiful people? I have a small life. He has a large life. Finis.

L. BASCOMBE: In your quest for another dull evening, have you contacted him again?

ME: No. I don’t want to seem clingy.

* * *

I finished my op-ed for The New York Times and sent it off. Moira read it and thought it was very good. I expect to hear from them soon.

While I wait, I fork peaches out of the tin into my mouth and do line edits for publishers. After an unprecedented spell of going out, I slip back into staying home. It is easily done. There is not a ripple on the surface of the pond to indicate that I ever left it.

But I get a call from the insurance company. This means I have to go out again.

“This is Jono from Very High Premiums Insurance. Am I speaking to Lucy Lurie?”

“You are.”

“I am processing the householder’s insurance claim for Mr. David Lurie. I see you signed the form detailing items lost in the fire. I wonder if I could speak to you about that?”

“Go ahead.”

“I’d prefer to do this in person. I can come to your house if that would be convenient. Or any other location.”

“Let’s meet for coffee.”

We arrange a time and a place. My sins have found me out. I am going to be questioned about nineteenth-century stinkwood dressers. I will be revealed as a liar.

I phone my father to tell him about this development. He won’t be happy. Anything that might delay or diminish the payout causes him distress.

He is quiet as he absorbs the disappointment. “I was expecting this.”

I don’t think he was, but he likes to maintain the illusion of control.

“Yes, it was only a matter of time. They are simply being conscientious. There is a lot of money at stake, and they want to be sure of dotting their i’s and crossing their t’s.”