“The strike was huge,” I said. I never uttered the word cobalt or said that substance was in high demand as the essential metal in every serious battery on earth. I never mentioned how much money I was making. I explained that my contract included a sharing clause. It meant I had to make a personal investment on the front end, but I would profit on the back end, if we were successful.

And so it happened. It was still early but the cash flow was considerable, which was the reason I could go home more frequently. But I had stayed away too long. I came home to a different house, to a wife I scarcely recognized, and—sadly—one who scarcely recognized me. I could see the upset in Gabe, obviously torn. Vita had worked on him. He was different, too—sad, confused, watchful and, when I tried to hug him, squirming out of my grasp. The worst of it was that he had been accepted to law school, and I could not share his joy.

My great strike in Idaho, Vita now a wealthy wife, and successful in her own career, Gabe on the Dean’s List—three great developments. I felt we had every reason to be happy.

That was the situation when Vita pushed the door open and said, “Got a minute?”

I happened to be busy mapping a further Idaho claim, but I put it aside because of this delicate time and said, “Sure. Have a seat.”

“I’ll stand.” She folded her arms.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Did you get a message from Frank?”

I smiled, hearing her speak his name, because whenever I heard it I was on my guard.

“Yes, a week ago, after you suggested it, he e-mailed me about lunch.”

“You didn’t reply.”

“I’m—ah—crafting a response,” I said. It was a typical Frank expression, like his others, In this fashion and At this juncture and I’m thinking it over mentally. Then I said, “How do you know I didn’t reply?”

“He’s waiting.”

“Okay—I’ll tell him. I’m not going. I’ve heard enough from him.”

“You really ought to go, Cal.”

I remembered his message: Be there. And Vita was repeating this command, punctuating it with my name.

As a geologist in seismic locations I knew that shaky ground was something actual, and undesirable, and often dangerous. I’d just had another great commercial success, but I’d returned to uncertainty in marital terms. And with Vita standing there, and my fearing a long discussion that would become a harangue possibly ending in tears, I knew what I must do. I wanted to stay happy.

“Okay, I’ll go.”

“You might learn something.”