I took the blue aerogram, folded it, and sealed it. I put it on my mantel, and the next day I took it to the post office on Corlett Drive, and sent it to London.

I felt a lightness. I no longer had a secret, or I had one secret less. Eric, free and far away from everything, in London. I should have told him long ago.

THE NEXT MORNING I went to my studio and took out my canvas, my painting on its easel, and moved it into the best spot, the best light. And it had a clarity that morning, that I hadn’t seen before. I thought of Eric: he would be so pleased. I would push on. I would finish the painting one day, after all.

I had days then of great happiness, it seemed to me. I paid more attention to the children, I was more generous to Howard, I asked him how work was, I was sorry he had so much work. I called my mother and told her about Helena’s ballet progress. I told her about Stephen and his swim team. I even found myself joking with Josias in the kitchen, the kind of jousting with him that was Howard’s way.

I listened sympathetically to Emily about her troubles in Alexandra, and suggested she take an extra day off the next week. She was very pleased.

And the morning newspaper: I looked with renewed excitement for the reports, because they were Joseph’s work, such important work. Was it my imagination that incidents — explosions — in random towns, were becoming larger, and more serious? But I knew the clampdown would be harder, more serious too. I, though, I was stronger. It would be fine.

I thought of Eric as my distant, essential, friend. I waited for his next letter from London.

And I went to see Joseph. I took him a bar of special chocolate that Howard had brought from his office, a gift from a client. I think he was amazed, he opened it and broke a piece of chocolate off right away, and laughed. You’re in a good mood, Jacqueline, he said. I am, I said. Perhaps everything will be alright, I said. I’m painting again, I said. Oh, that’s wonderful, he said, and I felt he truly understood what that meant to me.

Come out and walk with me in the garden, I said, come on. He laughed. Are you crazy, he said. What’s come over you, Jacqueline? How I wanted to walk with him in my garden, his arm in mine. To sit on the white bench that was well back, under the trees.

I’ll walk freely one day, he said. Don’t worry about me, I go out at night. Sunshine, sunshine, I said, in a playful, singsong voice, you need sunshine. He shook his head. I wanted to put my hand against the side of his face, such a beautiful face. I would feel the bristle of his beard against my hand. How I feel it, as I’m talking to you now.