You must. Actually, you’ve never fully believed that I was a woman. This evening at eight I’ll wait for you at the Blue Danube. If you want to tell me to go to hell, you might as well come say it to my face.

10

The Blue Danube coffee shop was where the students hung out. The restaurants on either side closed at nine each night, after which they could come here for a $1.80 soup or a mini pizza for two bucks. Almost every night there’d be students here performing jazz or chamber music. She accepted the secret talker’s invitation. What could anyone do in the Blue Danube? Eight o’clock was the busiest time, and every table would be packed.

She got home early from the library and, seeing Glen’s leather shoes at the front door, called out, “Hello.” Alarmingly, she sounded like a madwoman. Glen called back from his study, “Hello,” as if he hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. She changed and put on an apron, yelling that she’d be in charge of dinner.

She got some vegetables and a half carton of frozen shrimp from the fridge. There wasn’t enough time for it to thaw, so she tossed the frozen brick into the sink, intending to fill the carton with hot water. An ominous thud. When she looked, there were numerous tiny cracks in the sink’s white porcelain surface.

Bad things were starting to happen.

She turned on the faucet, and water spurted out, splashing her full in the face. She twisted her head left and right, wiping her face dry on her shoulders, and found she was laughing crazily.

Time to set out the plates, cutlery, and napkins. She dashed back and forth, into the dining room, opening the kitchen door, then forgetting what she’d come to get, climbing the pantry ladder, then forgetting what she’d wanted. Yet she found a lightness and agility she seldom possessed, chopping vegetables with balletic grace. Turning around, she saw Glen at the kitchen door, smiling silently at her. He looked like he’d been watching her for quite a while. She quickly sobered up. There was still time to cancel her appointment with the secret talker, but she knew she wasn’t going to do that. She simpered at Glen, despairing at her own shallowness.

Every girlish smile has its consequences. Glen came over and hugged her. She said, “The stove . . . the fire . . .”

A clap of thunder. A long, long time ago storms had loved this place, then there’d been a six-year drought. Now, bit by bit, the rain was coming back.

As if he knew about her secret assignation and was trying to prevent it, Glen hugged her more tightly. She gently stroked his fingers, her mouth full of soothing words. There was no choice—she had to make this appointment, and neither Glen nor the weather would stop her.