Jane stubbed out the cigarette in the glass ashtray by the bed and sat up against the puffy, vinyl headboard, clutching the blankets against her chest. He missed her. What he was really saying, without saying it, of course, was that he missed her and had been worried that she was out of town. He had been anxious and depressed, had felt cut off from her, and now that she had called, now that they were talking, he was starting to feel better. Tell me more, Gerald, she longed to say. Tell me how you hated to see me leave and you wished I’d been at the restaurant last night, even if my presence would have dumbed down your conversation with Thomas. But no, she’d take what she’d been handed already and quit while she was ahead.

“Gerald, do me a favor, sweetie, and ask your father to pick up.”

“I would like to, but he left early to visit Aunt Joyce and the baby. What’s the baby’s name again?”

“I think they decided on Clara.” The name had been Brian’s choice—God knows why—and wisely, Joyce had accepted it. Not the most attractive name, but unusual and interesting, and surely it was a good sign that Brian cared enough about his child’s future to have an opinion about her name. “Is Sarah there? Is she making you breakfast?”

“I’m making it for her.”

“I hope it’s delicious. I’ll talk to you later today.”

“That would be nice.”

“Nice,” she thought as she got out of bed. He thought it would be nice for her to call. At this moment, coming from Gerald, it sounded like a declaration of love.