So, with Audrey still inside, Michael walks across the lot to the Chrysler. He opens the trunk, goes to his bag, and pulls out an old bat. A Louisville ash, on the heavy side. He liked to use it against curve ballers. Michael returns to the Cadillac and stands in front of the car. He adjusts his grip, steps into his stance, and takes a deep breath before starting into a strong, arcing swing.

The first contact breaks a headlight. The second, square in the middle of the hood, knocks the silver shield out of its seating. Michael can feel the knob of the bat dig into his palm. He knows his hands will be flaring red by the time he is done, but that doesn’t stop him.

The third hit takes off the side-view mirror, the fourth shatters the driver’s-side window. Michael feels a spray of safety glass ricochet off his blazer and sprinkle down to the asphalt. He swings again and pops out the door to the gas tank. Spider-webs the back windshield. Keeps hitting the rear of the car until both taillights are shattered and he’s knocked the back bumper halfway off. Peels the antenna from the frame, dents in the rear passenger door handle until there is no way that thing will open.

Michael doesn’t notice Audrey come out, but then she is there, gaping and gasping like a goldfish out of water. He stops, puts his bat on his shoulder. She doesn’t say anything as he walks over to her. The red-wine flush is gone from her cheeks; her skin is the color of bone. Her blue eyes are wide, sparkling with the kind of wet that comes after a sudden blast of Wisconsin’s winter wind.

His lovely wife. “You good?” Michael asks her, the blood loud in his ears.

She replies not with words, but with her head bobbing along the high collar of her coat. Maybe she nods yes, maybe she shakes her head no; in that moment, he can’t tell the difference.

“Okay, then.”

Michael takes Audrey around the waist and starts walking them toward their new car. Others have come out of the restaurant; Michael hears a waiter calling after him. But he doesn’t pay him any mind. What is done is done. As Michael weaves between the sports cars and luxury SUVs, he holds the bat in one hand and Audrey in the other. Is he holding her up, or she him? He can’t say. But Michael can feel his wife tremble in his grip, and it just makes him hold her tighter.

SECOND