Graham comes at the event from a completely different angle. She comes in to find him at the kitchen counter, fiddling with a small piece of electronic equipment. She doesn’t bother asking what he’s tinkering with; she’s too tired. His paranoia now seems ephemeral and elective. Like her own worries before. Before.

“The lab called. They said you can stop taking the meds.”

“Great! That means he tested negative. If HIV is the worst thing in the world, the pills are the second worst. I won’t go into detail.”

“Can I get something for you? Espresso?” A new, Italian machine has found its way onto the counter. Nice, but she hopes not a sign of him settling in.

“What’s toasting?”

“Cranberry crumpets. You can get them from this place in London. Frick and Frack. You know. Crumpeters to the Queen. Something like that.” Since he’s been living here, Graham has become expert at ordering expensive everything from everywhere.

“You know, when T. E. Lawrence was eight years old, he became convinced his destiny was to save a captive people. That seems unbelievable, but I do think some people have a clearer path than the rest of us. Along those lines, I think what you did was inevitable, a moment all your previous fine moments were paving the way to. You were there for a reason. Because you could take care of it.”

“Graham. I mean thanks, but I don’t think anything about it was foreordained.”

“Remember when we were first married? That heat-wave summer the temperatures were in the hundreds. The power was out? And you were bringing bags of ice up to old people in high-rises?”

“Are you kidding? Everybody was doing that. And truthfully, that’s one of the things in my life I feel worst about. I only got up fifteen floors. I’ve always worried somebody on sixteen died of heatstroke.”

“Well, that’s one way of looking at it. The penitent path. Go sprinkle sand in your sheets, put pebbles in your shoes. You’re still my hero.”

“So, I’m not sure I want to ask, but are you still seeing Eleanor?”

“She’s been in Fort Lauderdale doing that new Doll’s House. So we just Skype.”

“Often?” She’s hoping for once a week.

“Just at night.”

Not a good answer.

“Do you want me to put some guava jam on your crumpet?” he says, changing the subject. “It goes great. With the cranberries in the crumpets. There’s this guava orchard in Honduras. You can only get it in certain months. And only one jar per year.”

night shift