She went out. He closed the door. The room could be anyone’s, he felt so strange, sick, and hurting. He turned on the light and looked harder at the bed, not getting nearer, wondering if she had used it. There was no reason to think that she had kept faith on any level. He did not know what to believe, even that she had let Stephanie see her—he could not finish the thought. He turned to the dresser, untied his tie, and retied it as perfectly as he could. He knew that he was trying not to think. When he was done he picked up her brush and brushed his hair. He was afraid to look at his own eyes; it would be like stepping off the world. He thought of how close he had come to sleeping with her now, and that it was likely that he never would have the chance again. He considered it, as witless as Punch. He wanted her. His desire for her was as heavy and naked as a stone. He turned out the light and opened the door.

She was not finished dressing. He went to the kitchen and set out the cups and saucers. When he had the coffee hot he sat down and waited, and finally she came out.

“Thank you,” she said.

He did not know where to start. He did not even know if he wanted to learn what had happened. He could feel his mind evading the name she had put on him and the things that could have been seen by people who knew them. Instinctively he did not want to make it worse. He did not want to attack her. Even now she was the only person who could protect him from the pain of this thing—but he did not want to ask her if he was still in a position to help her.

“Do you want a divorce?”

“I don’t know, Joe. I don’t know what I want.”

“Are you going to tell me about it?”

“There’s nothing to tell. I was attracted to him.”

“You’re right,” he said suddenly. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“You—”

“I know, but be quiet. I don’t want to hear that stuff. Not now.”

“I thought I was attracted to him.”

“Are you still seeing him?”

“I told him I’d call him after I’d seen you. Spoke to you. But I wasn’t sure that I was going to speak to you about it. Or call him. I don’t know.”

“Who is he?”

“A professor from school.”

“The one who said I needed you?”

“No, he’s an old man. Another one.”

“When did it start?”

“Last spring—May. Joe, do we have to go through this? What do you want to know?”