Why would I say such a thing, particularly at that point? Was it just pure spite? When I look back, I suppose it was superstition. Much as I rejected it, the accepted narrative, however awful, was safer than a far-fetched theory. Immediately, contrition replaced anger. Jep and I never went at each other with verbal broadswords, and it was a miserable, lonely feeling. That mood had to be popped; one of us had to do it. When I said, “Let’s stop, now. We’re better than this...”

I expected that Jep would immediately cross the kitchen and take me in his arms. But he didn’t. He nodded, and gave me a tight little smile, and then carefully made a plate of salami and cheese on rye toast. These last months had been so filled with event, by contrast with the past couple of years of leaden sameness, anyone would be at a loss. Under enough relentless stress, even steel breaks.

“He’s going to leave me,” I said to Julie on the phone. “I have to tell him about Esme, but then he’ll really leave me.”

“Thea, he is not going to leave you. You two have just been jumping from one rock to another for years, trying not to fall into the river and drown. You need to go to a family therapist. I have a...”

“A list, oh sweetie, of course you do.”

“Hal and I have gone to counseling.”

“How could you possibly ever need counseling? Your life is blessed!”

But she was right, there were always things in a marriage—not so lurid as the things that beset us, but all kinds of petal-tender doubts and lacks.

I told her, “The truth is, I can’t do anything until this is over.”

Julie asked then, “Have you heard from Esme?” I hadn’t and it was driving me mad to have to wait on her whim. “She’ll call,” Julie went on. “When she does, you’ll be ready. And maybe the detective has already found her. He could be talking to her right now. You don’t know. So just keep on with whatever you’re doing.”

It took me another entire day to find the resolve to call Jill.