“Oh, David, I’m tired, too,” I manage, stifling a yawn. Tired of your shit. I smile, use my nice new wife voice. “You need to help me. We need to confront her tonight together. A united front.”

“It’s one in the morning. Nothing positive will come from surprising her at this time of night. Let’s go to sleep. We can talk to her in the morning. Coming?”

I stand up. “You’re right. Nothing positive is going on when your husband waltzes in the door after midnight, most nights. Don’t you dare walk away from me.” My tone is a bit icier than I meant it to be. But it’s late. I’ve been waiting so long and we’re on the final countdown to graduation. It’s time. I slip the knife into my back pocket. “We have more to talk about.”

He turns around. His shoulders sink, he pushes his hand through his still-damp hair. “I’d rather not. Let’s just get through this week, through Betsy’s graduation, and then we can make some decisions. Not now.” He stops near the bookshelves and I move between him and the path to our bedroom. That’s as close as he’s come to revealing his plans. He looks nervous, his eyes dart between me and the hallway I’m blocking.

Behind his head, on the bookshelf, a heavy geode props up my collection of ocean photography coffee table books. It’s a big rock. Drop it on someone’s head and that would be a deadly accident.

“I don’t want to wait another week, another day, another hour. I’ve had it, David. You brought Kylie to the memorial service, of all things. And then your parents brought Elizabeth. Are you just trying to make me furious? Humiliate me in front of everyone we know? What’s the endgame, darling?”

David keeps the couch between us, walking backward toward the kitchen holding his palms up as if I had a gun. I wish. “You’re not in a good state of mind tonight, Jane. I think you ought to get some rest. We’ll talk all of this through soon, but not now, not tonight.”

He’s reached the kitchen island. I’m following slowly.

“Betsy tells me you went to Volunteer Day at school. That was a step forward.” David’s hands are resting on the island, as if he and I are chatting about our days, casual-like. But he is tense. On alert. Almost as if he’s afraid of me. Weenie. The knife is just for my own protection, of course, in case I need to make something appear as self-defense. But I don’t want to hurt him. I have plans to execute.