Caroline had been going on about the cats—they had three—in an overly detailed way that suggested she was using them to avoid talking about whatever it was that had made her call. When she finally grew silent and sighed wearily and sadly, Jane snapped back to attention, sensing that she was beginning to circle the field in preparation for landing. “Is everything all right, Caroline? You sound a little exhausted.”

“Everything’s fine. I don’t even know why I called. I shouldn’t be dragging you into this, it’s not fair. I’m going to hang up. I’ll call next week.” She inhaled sharply, let out two short breaths, and, in a voice that sounded close to tears, said, “You don’t have any idea how many times I sat here and dialed your number before I went through with the call. I know you’re the last person I should be calling about this. You’re the last person, but somehow . . .”

With anyone else, Jane might have said: What’s he done now? But you had to be gentle with Just Caroline; she bruised easily. “If you’ve been running it through your head for days, it’s probably not as bad as you think. I suppose it’s about Dale.”

“Oh, of course it’s about Dale. Everything’s about Dale, isn’t it?”

“Certainly in his mind,” Jane said, wondering why it was so satisfying to be thought of as an expert on the subject of her ex-husband.

“Well . . .” Caroline paused, and Jane heard her light a cigarette. Caroline had two saving graces: she smoked fiendishly and was insanely aggressive behind the wheel of her ancient Citroen. Without these steam vents, she probably would have blown someone’s head off a long time ago, most likely her own. “I don’t know why, I don’t have any proof, but I’m almost certain Dale’s having an affair. I don’t know, Jane, maybe he isn’t, but he’s been acting so strangely these past few weeks. I know you’re going to tell me to confront him, but I can’t do that. I’m not like you. I wish I were.”

Jane had begun to think of “I wish I could be more like you” as a frill people slipped over an insult to dress it up and try to pass it off as a compliment. You’re a no-good lying thief. I wish I could be more like you. You’re a hateful bitch. Oh, if only I were, too.

“Besides,” Caroline went on, “I’m the kind of person people always lie to. I suppose it’s something about my face.”