The hour when neon begins. Sudden, subtle. Few notice except those who have been waiting through the long, glaring day.

And of neon it is blue neon that most excites.

Driving past the Blue Moon Café. No reason to be driving past the Blue Moon Café, for she is due home within the hour …

Except: blue neon has entered her bloodstream like a powerful stimulant. Her senses have become alert, alive to the point of pain. She feels the quickening heartbeat, the pleasure of anticipation.

A rush of sensation, a profound thirst. And the anticipation of quenching that thirst.

“Just one. To celebrate.”

Though (surely) it would be better to celebrate with Patrick, who is her coconspirator in this venture.

Though (certainly) it would be wiser not to celebrate alone.

“Just once.”

Blue Moon, blue neon. Just the sight of it, a shot of adrenaline to the heart.

She won’t stay long. She won’t make it complicated. No glancing up. No locking eyes.

If asked Are you alone?—the reply is Yes. Until my husband joins me.

Good to be a stranger at the Blue Moon Café. Always easier to navigate neon if you are not known.

Always easier if you don’t make eye contact. Even in the mirror behind the bar, where (you’d be inclined to think) eye contact doesn’t count, exactly.

In the funny, funky-glamorous sequined bag she carries into the café—oversize handbag signaling girl with a sense of play, doesn’t take herself overseriously—she has secreted an instrument of self-defense.

Not offense. Never would she strike the first blow. Rather, self-defense, which would be, however, as swift, unerring, and lethal as if it were a calculated offense.

In this sequined bag, in which her wallet, car keys, cell phone, iPad and ear buds, lipsticks, hairbrush, tissues, and much other miscellany have been crammed, at the very bottom, wrapped in gossamer-thin fabric, is an ice pick six inches in length, its point kept very sharp, sparkling clean, for though Juliana has been carrying it secretly with her for months, possibly years, it has yet to be used.

And Juliana’s other secret: she is pregnant at last.

A secret less than an hour old. A secret clamoring to be shared.