She dropped the last omelet on a vintage transfer-ware platter and placed it under the heating lamp. It felt good to use the dishes she usually saved for special occasions. She would begin her redemption right here, right now, and not stop until she had earned it.

She climbed the stairs, her high heels clicking on the hardwood, to the guest room door. She turned the handle; it was locked. She knocked gently.

“Yes?” His voice called from the bedroom, like an echo from far away.

“I cooked breakfast . . . I want you to come down to breakfast.” Amy used a voice she hoped sounded normal, maybe even cheery.

Phil opened the door, his hair sticking up on one side, dark circles under his eyes, the impact of her betrayal on his face. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“I made . . . made breakfast.”

He rubbed his cheeks. “I’m really not hungry. I have an early staff meeting.”

“Can’t you eat just a little? Sit down with me and Molly?”

“The staff meeting is a breakfast, Amy. You know—every Friday morning.”

“Oh, yeah. Why do you have to be there so early today? Usually you don’t have to go until seven or so—you have time to sit with us for a second.”

“No, I have to lead the meeting. I have to be there early, and I’m already running late.” He shuffled toward the guest bathroom. Her heart fell to the pit of her stomach in one long lurch as he entered a bathroom meant only for those who were transient. He turned his back on her and anything she had to say.

“You have to head up the meeting?” She wanted to hang on for one more minute, talk him into staying—maybe even listening.

“Yes. I got a promotion last week—head of the division.”

“Oh, Phil.” She leaned toward him, instinct taking over; she reached to hug him. He stood with stiff arms, then patted her on the back.

“Congratulations. You didn’t tell me. You—”

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Okay. I’ll cook us a huge celebratory dinner tonight. What do you want? Steak, shrimp, tenderloin? I’ll whip up your favorite buttermilk pie. Jack’s coming home tonight for the weekend. We’ll have a big family dinner.”

“I’m taking Jack camping tonight . . . I promised him.”

“Well, then we’ll all go. Family camping. We haven’t done that in . . . years.”

“No, Ame. I’m taking Jack. Listen, I have to shower. I’m late. Really . . . I’ll talk to you after work today.”

She went back to the kitchen and slumped in a pine ladder-back chair and listened to the whistle of the guest bathroom shower, to the opening and shutting of closets and doors. She knew the sound of each pipe, each creak of floor.