“Manda, what are you doing, Babe? Nothing? Come out and talk to me.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me up. Catherine glances toward us, mumbles something, goes on with her assembling.

“So how are you?” he asks as we go outside.

“Okay.”

He still holds my hand. A vein shaped like a Y on the back of his hand jumps up. When he lets go of my hand the vein relaxes. I stare at the labyrinth of blue veins against his ruddy brown skin. There’s a mole on the back of his hand too.

He pulls his lounge chair up next to mine. What do we stare out at? Must be blue sky. Blue as his veins? When he grabs the arm of the chair, the Y shoots up again. Y=?

“Brazil treat you good? Must have. You look good. What were you doing there anyway?”

“Research.”

“New novel?”

“No, another travel book. Actually, a guide to the medicinal plants of the area.”

“Sounds interesting.”

“I want her to talk about the fellow she met.” Catherine enters sulking. “She never talks about her new fellows.”

“I told you I didn’t meet anyone special.”

“You’re a liar. You’re glowing. You can’t glow unless you’re in love. Isn’t she glowing, Ern?”

“Like a glowworm.”

“Who’d you meet?”

Ernest is standing behind Catherine, his hand on her shoulders.

“I’ve got to go,” he’s saying.

“You just got here.”

“I know, but I’ve been all day on that laser piece. I’m exhausted.”

“You’re spoiling things.”

“I’ll have breakfast with you girls tomorrow.”

“Manda’s here to protect you; you don’t have to be afraid of the dark.”

Ernest frowns, glances at me. My forehead feels like it’s made out of butter.

Catherine pouts, turns suddenly, kisses him. He disappears behind her head.

When his face appears again, his bottom lip is bleeding.

“I’ll get some peroxide,” I say, getting up from the chaise lounge.

“No,” he says.

“I’ll get some peroxide,” I repeat.

He starts past me. I grab his hand, reach into my pocket, take the cotton from an aspirin bottle, stand up and wipe his lip.

“Are you still taking that shit?” he asks, pointing to the aspirin.

“Yeah.”

“I thought you’d quit that shit. But you’re a grown woman. What can I tell you? You’re grown up.”

I dab his lip with the cotton.

When he leaves, I turn to stare at Catherine. I don’t have any more whys for her; I just stare and she stares.

“I’m going to fix dinner,” I say finally.

“He didn’t even stay for dinner. He could have stayed for dinner. Maybe he’s just afraid of the dark.” She sucks at her teeth, then says singsong, “Maybe he’s just afraid of me.”

“Is that what you like? A man to fear you?”

“You like it,” she says. “Every woman likes it. That cunt-shredder liked it. Doesn’t that sound just like the name of an appliance?”

We have no real knives, only plastic ones. We have plastic forks. Only the spoons are real. In the kitchen I make a chicken stew and jello with pineapple slices. Oyster crackers sit on a Chinet paper plate.