'Screw you, Tommy,' Nora said. She turned toward the kitchen. She was wearing a light cotton dress, the kind that made men wish for gusts of naughty wind.

Thomas glanced down at his hands. They trembled ever so slightly. 'So what did you and Neil talk about?' he called.

'Not much,' Nora replied bitterly. She turned to address the granite counter-top. 'He didn't come to talk…' She laughed, as though marveling over carnal memories. Then she dared his astounded gaze, her expression tight with shame, resentment—all those things people use to digest their sins. 'He never does.'

Thomas stepped into the air-conditioned gloom.

It was funny how natural such things could seem, how easily you could convince yourself you knew all along. Even as he recoiled at the impossibility, buzzed through the slow-assembling implications, part of him whispered, Of course.

He forced the words past the hornet sting in the back of his throat. 'How long?' There was no certainty, no breath in his lungs, so he repeated himself just to be sure. 'How long have you been fucking my best friend?'

Nora and Neil… Neil and Nora…

Her eyes were swollen. She blinked tears and looked away, saying, 'You don't want to know.'

'While we were married,' Thomas said. 'Huh?'

Nora turned back, her expression somewhere between anguish and fury. 'I just… just needed him, Tommy. I just needed…' She struggled with her lips. 'More. I needed more.'

Thomas turned to the door, grabbed the handle.

'Have you seen him?' Nora called, her voice half-panicked. 'I m-mean… do you know where he is?'

She loved him. His ex-wife loved Neil Cassidy. His best friend.

He turned and grabbed her. 'You want to know where Neil is?' he cried. He cuffed her on the side of the face. He clenched his teeth and shook her. She would be so easy to break! He started pressing her backward. But then, in some strange corner of nowhere, he could hear himself whisper, This is a jealousy response, an ancient adaptation meant to minimize the risk of reproductive losses…

He dropped his hands, dumbfounded.

'Neil,' he spat. 'Let me tell you something about Neil, Nora. He's fucking snapped. He's started killing people and making videos to send to the FBI. Can you believe it? Yeah! Our Neil. The FBI visited me this morning, showed me some of his handiwork. Our Neil is a fucking monster! He makes the Chiropractor or whatever they're calling him look like a choirboy!'

He paused, struck breathless by the look of horror on her face. He lowered his hands, backed toward the door.

'You're crazy,' she gasped.

He turned to the door.

'You're lying! Lying!'

He left the door open behind him.