Gary shakes his head. “Here we go.”

Deirdre ignores him. “So what happened after Bird that would make you stop writing? Can you trace the source of your writer’s block?”

I shrug. “After the PBS series, I wrote two more books, but they both sank without a trace. So I guess I figured I should just stop.” My mind flashes back to an empty chain bookstore: I’m sitting next to a giant sign promoting a signing for my second book, then my third book, somewhere, in another city not my own, fondling a cup full of black Sharpies and staring into space as people walk by without stopping. I’m alone but for the bird on my head.

Gary shrugs. “I told her to do a sequel.”

“And I told him to keep playing gigs.”

“You’re a musician, Gary?” She checks her notes, as if she’s missed something.

“I was a musician. A bass player. Before and after I tried law school.”

“His band opened for Aerosmith. Right after college. Before I knew him.”

“Once. And it was all downhill from there.”

I ignore him. “He’s really talented.”

Deirdre looks up, impressed. “Really! So why did you stop, Gary?”

He folds his arms across his chest. “The venues we played were terrible.”

I sigh. “They weren’t all terrible.”

“I’d say The Barking Crab and The Lobster Claw were terrible. Although they had great clam rolls.” He turns to Deirdre. “I like a grilled bun.”

“Maybe if you’d agreed to leave the state once in a while you might have found some venues you didn’t hate.”

“I didn’t want to abandon Teddy.”

“Working isn’t abandonment!”

It’s when we start fighting about money that Deirdre makes the hand gesture for a time-out. Then she leans forward and clasps her hands together solemnly. She’s either going to tell us our time is up or ask us to leave and never come back.

“Lots of couples fail in their careers, but it doesn’t mean the marriage has to fail, too.”

Gary and I look straight at each other and then back at Deirdre. She’s now the one with a giant bird on her head.

“Wow. Okay,” Gary says, trying to collect himself.

Deirdre looks at him and then at me. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Kind of.” He’s vibrating as if he’s stuck his finger in an electrical socket. “I wouldn’t exactly say Judy ‘failed’ in her career. No one works harder than she does, and she’s had some bad breaks. And I’d hardly say three books is something to be ashamed of.”

Now I’m nodding. “And Gary didn’t ‘fail’ in his career, either. It’s not his fault he has these mental health challenges, and despite them he couldn’t be a more supportive spouse or better father.”

Deirdre tries to apologize but Gary shrugs her off. “We’re used to it. Everybody says the same thing. ‘What happened to Judy’s career?!’ ‘You should have just finished law school!’ There are no guarantees. Life doesn’t owe you anything. That’s why ‘failure’ is such a big topic for us.”