At home, Diann has begun a marinara sauce. She’s making spaghetti and meatballs. I pour myself a glass of chianti, then leave Chip in the kitchen washing lettuce while I go into my office to check messages. Four. The first is from Grace, who says she is keeping her baby, and could I make a visit tomorrow instead of Monday because he stares so much at the light coming through the window and is that normal and do they make sunglasses for babies. Next, Marvelous, telling me she agrees with her doctor that she’s all right without me, but she would like me to come to lunch any time. She has tomatoes from her daughter’s garden coming out her ears. We can have BLTs, she says, and you can bring the B.

The next message is from a soft-spoken concierge at the Four Seasons, wondering when I would like a room, and telling me with what I can only describe as restrained glee how very happy he will be to accommodate any date, any date at all. The last message is from Chip’s doctor, who says that he understands there’s been a change in plans, and am I sure this is the wisest course. For me, he means, he’s thinking of me. Call him tomorrow and let’s talk about this. I stand for a long moment before my desk, swirling the wine that’s left in my glass. Then I go ahead and drink it.

Chapter 11

I awaken to a crack of thunder that shakes the house. Rain is wild on the roof, against the windows. Frank, who is terrified of thunder, is nowhere to be seen. I get up, kneel at the side of the bed, and raise the dust ruffle. He’s squeezed under there, shaking. “It’s all right,” I tell him. He stares at me, wags his tail apologetically. “Come here,” I say, patting the floor, but it’s no use, he won’t come out.

I shut my windows, then remember that most of those downstairs are open as well. I come out into the hall, turn the light on, and see Chip on his way up the stairs. For a moment, I feel embarrassed about my sleepware—my gray T-shirt and many-times-washed striped bottoms. But Chip is in his T-shirt and boxers—I’d call us even. “Are you going down to shut the windows?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“I just did.”

“Oh. Thank you. Did any water come in? Anything I need to wipe up?”

“A little. I got that, too.”

“Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

We stand there for a minute, listening to the rain, and then Chip says, “Myra, would you check my bood pressure or something?”

“I—now, you mean?”

“Yeah. I feel weird. Kind of dizzy. And just … weird.”

“Sure, let me go and get my cuff. Maybe you should lie down. I’ll be back up in a second.”