Seeing how she was dressed, Glen asked if she was going out.

She didn’t answer his question, just said that her thesis was almost done, and it felt like her life was ending soon. She knew she was making the situation worse and worse. The note was crumpled in her hand.

Glen said it was so late, maybe she should just stay home.

She could hear the awkwardness in his voice.

She said, “Who says I’m going out?”

“I don’t mind you going out. Why are you so defensive?”

“How am I defensive? Anyway, it wouldn’t make a difference if you minded. I don’t need your permission to do or not do anything.”

Her voice was tight, and all sorts of mistakes were creeping into her English, but she didn’t care.

Glen stared at his wife in surprise. So she could bare her teeth too. Why was she so agitated? Look, look, that frenzied grin again.

“Well said,” Glen replied. “And so your defensiveness is unwarranted.”

“I’m telling you, I’m not defensive at all.”

Don’t be like that, she thought, letting annoyance turn into anger. It’s undignified. But she couldn’t help using the secret talker as a shield. With him around, she wasn’t scared of Glen.

He said, “If you insist on going out this late at night, I’m coming with you.”

She suddenly screamed, “I’m not going out!”

“I don’t mind you going out.”

She threw up her hands in resignation, as if she was giving up ever being understood by him. She felt rage against Glen, and tenderness toward the secret talker, who understood her so well, even though they were so far apart. In that moment, she felt duty bound to love this person. She didn’t want to be with this husband, standing right in front of her yet separated by such a gulf of communication.

Seeing her start to weep, Glen came over and tried to hug her, but she stepped aside. His arm immediately shrank back respectfully. She waited for him to come closer and ignore her protests, wrap his arms around her. At these times she didn’t know what to do. She needed Glen to be a big brother, to protect her unconditionally, to force her to think before acting, to help her to understand that taking one step back would return her to safety and forgiveness. Right now she wanted him to pull her back, prevent her from falling into an uncertain embrace.

But Glen just stood there. He would never get it or give her what she wanted, what she needed.

Finally he said in a reasonable tone, “You wrote me a note. May I read it?”

So he’d seen the crumpled scrap of paper. It was too late now anyway. The Blue Danube was closed by now.

She slapped the note down on the table and said, “I’ll go pack.”