She pumped her arm in the air and twisted her hips to his lyrics. His eyes traveled up and down her body, stopped for a moment at her thick lips and curly hair. He broke their gaze and scanned the crowd. A throng of dancing, thumping people packed under the bright sun. The crowd screamed over his blasting horns.

Juliet and I swayed in front of the stage, holding our arms up, singing with him.

And then it was over. It was his last encore.

“God, I gotta pee,” Juliet whispered, and we walked toward the Porta-Potty and stood in line. Juliet stopped talking and stared at a woman exiting. She was attractive, about ten years older than us, and dressed in khakis, Dockers, a printed shirt, and a little scarf. When she saw Juliet, she came toward her and talked about the perfect weather for the concert when last year it had rained continually. “I have to get back to Tom. I’ll see you at the next hospital party.” Her lips were newly applied shiny red.

“Okay,” Juliet had muttered, her face flushed, her arms hung close to her sides. She was the awkward high school girl complaining about her too curly hair and making excuses about not having portrait pictures.

“Who was that?”

“You don’t want to know.”

LATER THAT WEEK we went for a walk around Gallup Park. Tara was in day care and I had given myself a break from studying to spend an afternoon with my oldest friend. We passed the place where the festival had occurred, now empty of people, blankets, chairs, booths selling Indian, Italian, or deli food, beer, wine, and soda. Instead of Al Green’s voice there was only quiet interrupted by an occasional squawking duck.

“Who was that woman?”

She instantly knew about whom I was asking. “Oh, God.” She clenched her eyes and swallowed. “She’s the wife of one of the doctors I work with.”

“And you hate him?”

She snorted and then lengthened her stride, her hair bouncing on her shoulders. “The opposite. We’re good friends.”

“You have a crush on him?”

“You might say that.” She continued walking, her long legs pushing through the summer air, her voluptuous breasts bouncing with her steps. I had to trot to keep up.

“Hey. Slow down.”

She slowed her stride. “Okay.” We walked together past a bench and around a bend. “Oh, God.”

“What’s up?”

“Shit. I haven’t even told myself yet.” She turned to me. “Promise. No one. Not ever.”

We stopped and faced each other. “Juliet. We’ve kept each other’s secrets for years.”

She nodded. “I … we’ve fallen in love, I guess.”

“You’re having an affair?”