“Tell me about the rain. You know.”

“It is raining very hard outside. Everything is cold and wet,” Rafe said obediently.

“What else?” He yawned.

“In the forest the small animals are trembling with cold as they dig under leaves and the earth to get warm. The birds have placed their heads under their wings.”

“Aw.”

“But are we cold and wet?”

“No,” the boy murmured.

“Why?”

“A tent.”

“That is absolutely right.” He kissed the still baby-soft cheek and began to touch his son gently between the thin shoulder-blades, half pat, half stroke.

In a little while the quiet, even breathing told him the child was asleep. Carefully, he disengaged, then crawled out and disassembled the tent and returned Miguel to his bed.

In the living room Liz was still lying on the couch.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.

“What?”

“Bathe him. I would have given him his bath in the morning.”

“I don’t mind bathing him.”

“He’s never neglected. I am some things and I’m not some other things, but I am a good mother.”

“What’s for dinner?” he said.

“I have a casserole. I just have to turn on the oven to heat it.”

“You stay there,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Waiting for the food to warm, he thought that a drink would revive both of them. He was searching for the bitters in a kitchen cabinet when he saw the Beefeater’s bottle behind a round oatmeal box. It was still cold when he touched it, having obviously been in the refrigerator until just before he came home.

There comes a time, he thought, when you face things.

He placed the bottle on a tray with two glasses and carried it into the living room.

“Martini?”

She looked at the bottle but said nothing. He poured the drink and handed it to her.

She sipped. “It should be colder,” she said. “But otherwise I couldn’t have made a better one myself.”

“Liz,” he said, “why the scene from The Lost Weekend? You want to drink during the day? Drink during the day. You don’t have to hide the bottles from me.”

“Hold me,” she said in a moment. “Please.”

He lay down beside her and held her in his arms, balancing on the edge of the narrow sofa.

“Why have you been drinking?”

She leaned back and looked at him. “It helps,” she said.

“With what?”

“I become frightened.”

“Why?”

“You don’t need me anymore.”

“Liz—”

“But it’s true. When I first met you, you needed me terribly. Now you’ve grown very strong. Sufficient unto yourself.”

“Must I be weak to need you?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m going to spoil things, Rafe. I know it. I always do.”

“That’s nonsense, Liz. Don’t you see how silly that is?”