Paul wore his emotions large and naked on his face; it’s something I’ve always found endearing, and sometimes teased him about when we watched movies. I laughed at the sheer panic on his face, but I also found it very touching. Paul had a rather rare heart condition for a man his age called compassion. He looked like ‘a big bruiser,’ as he would say, but when it came to his emotional intelligence, I would’ve put him in the upper one or two percentile of men I’ve encountered in my life. I’m sure his brothers characterized him as whipped and put upon, but then I would rather be waterboarded for eternity than married to any of them. I liked that my husband took up a nine-iron when he found me missing from bed. I recommend everyone find themselves a partner who picks up a nine-iron when they’re missing.

What the hell is going on?

I composed myself and shook my head wearily. I couldn’t sleep, I said.

So you thought you’d wander outside at four o’clock in the morning in your nightgown, he replied.

I didn’t know what facial expression I should be wearing, and I was too tired to even tell which one I currently had on, so I rubbed my hand over my face like an eraser. I’m trying to figure out where it’s coming from, I said. I told you—twelve, one, two o’clock I couldn’t sleep, I told you.

Paul closed his eyes, stuck his thumb and index finger into the sockets, and said, I can’t believe you’re still talking about this fucking hum.

And I can’t believe you can’t just shut up and listen.

Did he seriously not hear it, even now that we were standing outside in the quiet of the night? He said I could use his earplugs, and I pulled them out of my nightgown pocket and tossed them on the ground.

So what, you’ve just been out creeping around in the dark?

I chuckled again at the absurdity of it all, I couldn’t help it. A bit sinister, isn’t it? I asked.

Uh yeah, like a lot sinister, he said, softening.

He was standing right beside me now, his eyes glistening in the streetlight. I realized, in the surprise of his approach, that I had forgotten about the coyote. I considered telling him about it, but decided to keep it as a private revelation. He wasn’t in the right headspace. I looked down at the ground for a moment, and then back up at him; his face was still a big, sweet drawing of concern.

My hands were shaking, and I suddenly wished I had pockets to hide them in. I crossed my arms instead. Don’t dismiss this, I said.

I’m not.

Or think I’m exaggerating.

No, I just—

Then what?