“What can you do?” Suzanne said. She sipped her tea, wishing she could down her wine instead. It lingered, jewel-like in its stemmed glass. She hated what a saint you had to be when you were pregnant. When you were maybe pregnant. Maybe, probably. All of life’s sins taken away at once. She’d eaten a few bites of vegetarian chili just so she wouldn’t seem rude, but the smell alone gave her heartburn. What she really wanted was spinach. She didn’t ordinarily care for spinach, but these days she wanted it all the time, raw or steamed, puréed or sautéed. She would take a pregnancy test soon. This week, maybe, although she preferred not having confirmation. It was better to think she might still be in control of her body. To be in control of her life.

Maybe then she could gain control of her businesses and turn a profit she could keep, something she could grow into a fortune all her own. She felt a little bad for kicking Grant. Not awful—why would he embarrass her in front of the Millers? But he was right. So far she’d always sold her companies too late. If she’d been a little more savvy she would have had quite a little nest egg by now.

“Ready to be a stage widow?” Ted said.

“He might not get the part.”

“Oh, he’ll get the part.”

“It’ll be good for us. Get him out of the house.” She zipped her lips with her first finger and thumb. “I didn’t say that.”

He laughed, which made Suzanne smile. She couldn’t help enjoying the thought of silent evenings: Adam in bed, the house all hers. A play would be a positive distraction for Grant. And it would keep him from running so much, an idea that pleased her. Her feelings toward his running were admittedly schizophrenic. She didn’t want him to stop. She just didn’t want him to be better than she was.

Theater was a good hobby, an interest they didn’t share. Grant was a ham. His sisters told terrible stories accompanied by hysterical laughter about his childhood, when he dressed in a bow tie, slicked back his hair, and sang for their parents’ guests.

Their first date had been an odd one. She hadn’t even known it was a date. Grant gave Suzanne a ticket to a community theater production of Mame, in which he was playing Patrick. She sat alone in the front pew at the church. The usher grinned at her a lot. “You’re as pretty as Grant said you were.” As pretty? He was her lawyer, not her lover.

At the time she was working for a tobacco company, which was against her principles, but they were the ones who made the best offer when she graduated from Kellogg, and as earning a good living was among her goals, she accepted the job.