“I brought it up a few times while we were gone, but she didn’t want to talk about it. Then I pressed her on it again this morning; she told me she’s going through some emotional stuff, and sex is too intense for her when she’s emotionally overwhelmed. She asked me to give her space. I said sure, and then I asked her if she could elaborate on what kind of emotional stuff; she told me that agreeing to give her space means agreeing to stop asking her questions.” Cal shook his head. “The last time I used that line, that I needed space, I’d married a woman I hardly knew and was screwing my ex-girlfriend behind her back.”

Apprehensively, I said, “Have you asked October specifically if there’s someone else?”

“See, this is where it gets complicated. I can’t ask her that. I’m not allowed.”

“I don’t understand.”

It was getting cold out, and I zipped up my jacket. Cal didn’t have a jacket. He dropped the last remaining twig, put his hands deep in his pockets, and hunched up his shoulders.

“We have this arrangement,” he said. “Since we spend so much time apart. We’re supposed to be allowed to see other people, as long as it’s a no-strings-attached sort of thing. You know, casual. Believe it or not, it was her idea. I went along with it because in theory it sounds awesome, right? And because I was in love with her and wanted her to think I was open-minded and all that shit. But I’m not, really. Anyway, not asking each other about our extracurricular activities is one of the rules. It’s the biggest rule. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Our relationship is like the fucking army.”

Thank God for that, I thought.

It was almost fully dark, and Cal said, “You know where we are, yes?”

I could see Beanstalk up ahead and nodded. “Less than a quarter mile from the house.”

Cal was looking at me like he was waiting for me to give him advice, but I was at a loss and ended up asking him a question that was more pertinent to me than to him. “So, you see other women then?”