Am I laughing at you. Darling, no. But I am wondering if you are laughing at me.

Ned Spires went away, his wife’s mother had died. All the family was gone to Milwaukee, Wisconsin, for eight, ten, twelve days.

In the Wild Goose, she’d waited patiently at her place at the bar. Drink before her, vodka on the rocks. A pack of cigarettes. (But she rarely smoked, allotting herself only seven cigarettes a week.) Shutting her eyes, loving the guttural Johnny Cash voice, words directed to her. Turn, turn, turn.

Wheel of fire.

Ned returned from the ordeal of death, burial. They saw each other again. He’d missed her, he said. His life was being torn in half.

She’d gone away, angry and hurt over a slight. No more than an intonation in the man’s voice. He had not pursued her into the parking lot and beyond, and so in desperation late that night she dared to call him at home—I think I love you. We’ve gone too far. You have caused this, Ned. The words were astonishing to Juliana, purely invented words, like froth on her lips. No idea what she was saying. Why she was even calling Ned; she’d promised she would never call him at home and only on his cell phone if the call was urgent.

How many times had she ever called a man, any man, at his home?—not ever.

Hearing Juliana’s voice, Ned was not so welcoming as she’d expected. Not so consoling, confiding. In a lowered voice cautioning her—I can’t talk now, Juliana. This isn’t good. Don’t call this number again, please. I thought I’d told you. Juliana was shocked by such a rebuke, she could not reply. In silence like a gaping wound, she broke the connection.

Had she been drinking—well, of course. But not drunk.

For hours then, the man would worry, lie awake and worry that Juliana might have injured herself. Done some violence to herself.

Some violence to herself that might involve him.

In her heart she hated the man. Had not the slightest intention of seeing him again, calling him again. Not the slightest intention of respecting his wishes, his marriage. Returning to the Wild Goose the next night, where she used a public phone so that he would not block her call.

Not that she cared about Ned Spires, she did not. Not really.

But her pride, her soul. As if he’d spilled a drink carelessly, making a joke of it.

Again the lowered voice. Chastised, frightened when he realized who it was.

… begging you Juliana, please don’t. I love you—I will always love you, but—you must know—this is a very difficult time in my marriage …

Juliana laughed. It was not her, this was not Juliana Regan, this furious person.

… your marriage! How dare you speak of your marriage! What of the marriage between us—you and me? We are married too …