When he put it back in the wallet and bent to retrieve the flashlight, Gloria ran. She stubbed her toe against something in the dark. He could tell that by the way she stumbled and yelped. It slowed her down but she was still able to get into the bedroom and lock the door before he could reach her. That was stupid, trapping herself that way. Beaufort remembered other women in their bedrooms. No way out.

In another decade he might have pulled the phone line out of the wall. Unfortunately, there were now cell phones, and Gloria kept hers on her bedside table. Beaufort hoped she wasn’t doing anything stupid in there.

“Honey, let me in. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Oh, no problem, I’m okay.”

“You locked the door. Open it up so we can talk.”

“Okay, sorry. I’m coming.”

But of course she didn’t come unlock the door. He considered trying to break down the door, but flimsy as those things were he didn’t think it would be so easy. He remembered how they usually put those tiny wrenches at the top of the doorjamb in case you have to get in and the door is locked from the inside. He was just tall enough to run his fingers along the top of the door until he felt the thin piece of metal shaped like an L. The wrench had likely been there when they built the place, and it was still there.

He wasted no energy being silent about it, but jammed the wrench into the lock, felt the internal lever give, and opened the door.

She was being stupid in there. Gloria held her phone, which in the dark room illuminated the fear on her face. Her thumb, shaking, hovered above it, ready to summon help.

“You said you didn’t go to her house for dinner!” Gloria yelled. Good golly, could she yell when she wanted to.

Beaufort raised his hands palms out as he would to a skittish colt if he actually knew that much about horses. “Gloria. Babe. I didn’t.”

“I never said she said you did!”

“Did what?”

“Go to her house for dinner!”

Beaufort forced himself to walk smoothly and without apparent haste to the other side of the bed where she stood. He took the phone from her hand, and looked at it. The display read NEW LIFE. She wasn’t about to call the cops, but her therapist, life coach, what have you. He put his arms around her as if to comfort her. Her body was slick with her sweat and she slipped his grasp but didn’t run again.

Beaufort turned on the bedside lamp and sat on the edge of the bed, smiling now that the crisis was past, no real damage done, and they were having this argument in the nude. He pulled the sheet over his groin. “Honey, sit down a second.”