“I think we should leave,” she said to Michael.

“Wait,” I said. “I thought you should keep in mind that for a month—an entire month—he was fucking both of us and I had no idea. He’s very good at keeping secrets, aren’t you, Michael? Doesn’t it make you wonder what he’s not telling you?”

Michael stood up. “Okay, that’s enough,” he said. He stepped between us. “We’re leaving. Go back to your table or whatever. Leave her alone.”

He put his hand on my arm, trying to steer me away from her. Under his hand my nerve endings bunched in protest.

“Don’t touch me,” I said.

“Charlotte, quit yelling,” Michael said. Still, he took his hand away. Sonja was standing up now, too, holding her purse and edging away from us. She looked stricken and pale.

“Go wait in the car,” he said to Sonja.

“I thought you wanted to be friends,” I said. I was about to cry.

Suddenly, magically, Peter appeared at my side.

“Eliza! There you are. Is this guy bothering you?”

“No,” Michael said. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I think you should leave,” Peter said. He was doing some kind of macho posturing with his hands on his hips, leaning towards Michael. It cheered me up immensely. I smiled at Peter. I liked being saved. More people should save me. I would like to be saved all the time.

“She’s not interested, fella,” Peter said.

Michael shook his head. “Y’all have a great night,” he said, disgusted. He went to the front door.

“I have your stuff,” Peter said. “You left it on the couch.”

I squinted at my purse, my phone, my pink sweater. I felt his fingers on my neck.

“When you touch me,” I said, “the room swims.”

“Who were those people?”

“Nobody. Are they gone?”

“Yeah. Want another drink?”

“No, let’s go back outside.”

Outside we smoked some more weed and he pushed me against somebody’s truck and kissed my neck until I shivered. I loved this part. Sex was so simple. I could give him what he wanted without having to worry about doing something wrong. He fumbled with the buttons of my blouse. The jukebox got louder as someone opened the door to the bar. After a while we decided to leave and Peter went in to close his tab. I tried to remember if I had brought the car or ridden my bike or what. I couldn’t see the cars very well, not until I got close enough to touch each vehicle. I groped from one to another, squinting at each truck and sedan to see if I recognized it. Not that finding the car would do any good—my keys were trapped inside my bag. I would never manage to get them out. They were as remote as winter. I gave up and turned away from the yellow Volvo I’d been leaning against. Peter came outside and put his arm around me. He walked me to a red car and unlocked it with a button in his hand.