Gerry wagged his roll “no.” It was clear that there was some expected rejoinder, and yet for the life of me I could not supply it. So much had recently occurred, I thought—the concert, the guest lecturer, the death of my father! I did not have the capacity for this, too.

“Any more guesses?”

But we were out.

“Produce,” he said, shaking his head in amazement. “He said his kids won’t stop bugging him about avocados.”

It was clear that laughter was now expected, and I obliged, but the sound I produced missed the mark somehow, and I noticed that Ann had remained conspicuously silent.

Now she briskly margarined her own roll. “Well,” she said, casting a glance down the hallway to where, presumably, her daughter was lurking. “It’s true that we are very lucky in many ways, living in California, though personally I have never understood the big fuss about avocados. Don’t forget to call the hotel about the bag,” she added, as she rose from her seat. “Excuse me, I’m going to go make Stephanie a plate.”

When she had disappeared into the kitchen Gerry turned to me and shook his head with a long-suffering expression.

“All the avocados in the world would be wasted on that woman,” he said, in a lower voice. “She doesn’t even like Mexican food.”

I managed to produce a small, grim smile. What was it about being married to someone, I thought, that brought out these small pettinesses?

“Did you lose your bag?” I asked, without really considering what I was saying. I meant only to fill the silence, to head off any more talk with the whiff of the battlefield. Why had Ann been so snitty about the avocados? I wondered.

“Yes,” said Gerry. Suddenly he seemed very disinterested in the conversation. “In Bismarck.”

I had a sudden pang of longing for my own dinner table then, where, had the day gone differently, I could have at that very moment been sitting in peaceful silence, watching the fog roll in from the sea.

“You haven’t been here since the summer, have you?” said Gerry.

I shook my head no.

“So you haven’t seen the pictures from Croatia?”

I shook my head again.

“Well, we’ll have to remedy that,” said Gerry, with no trace of irony. “As soon as possible.”

He was efficient with the projector, and soon Gerry, Ann, and I were ensconced in the living room, glasses of wine in hand, facing the hearth. The creaky old machine whirred to life, and suddenly a sparkling blue sea appeared above the mantel.

“The view from the boat,” said Gerry.