“Oh.” He turned on the bedside lamp, singeing her eyes and exposing all of her puckers and sags. She turned it off, and, after a few failed attempts with the matches, they were back in business.

It was very early. Not yet eight. That would have raised an eyebrow with Jillian. Why are you guys going to bed so early? Are you sick? But she was conveniently out, at the Conservation Carnival at the middle school, after which a friend’s mother would drop her off.

Ted had taken the sildenafil just after Jillian’s ride arrived, while he and Allison were doing the dishes. He’d poured himself a glass of water, opened the bottle, and popped four in his mouth. Then, for good measure, he took a fifth.

They looked at his crotch as if his penis might start rising there and then, erect and mighty, ready for service. But, well, it didn’t work that way, Allison had learned from the Internet. It still would need encouragement before it reported for duty.

Ted studied the medication vial. “Shoot.”

“What?”

“I think I took it too early.”

“Too early?”

“It only takes a half hour to an hour to start to work. It can last a long time, up to five hours, though, so we could wait.”

Nope. Allison wasn’t going to take any chances. She turned off the water, leaving the dishes unwashed, took his hand, and led him to the bedroom.

“No need for those,” she said after he’d gotten under the covers, and she proceeded to undress him, unbuttoning his pajama shirt and easing his arms out of the sleeves, inching his pants down his legs with slow and sexy precision. The faux Viagra seemed to work quite well, she was pleased to see. Soon he was lying on his back, his penis at attention, holding the sheet up like a tent.

“‘Let’s go on with the show!’” she cried, quoting a line from Annie Get Your Gun with a laugh. She felt so happy. He cared after all. She’d begun to wonder.

“Why are you laughing?” he said.

“It looks like a circus tent.”

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing at you. It’s just funny. It’s a funny image.”

He looked at the circus-tent sheet. “Why do I have to do this?”

“What?”

“Take medication. Why does what you want become what we do?”

She, who had been about to move down under the covers, taking matters to the next level, sat up. “What are you talking about?”

“Why do I have to take pills? Why can’t we just wait till I’m into it again?”

“We’re going to have a fight? Now?”

“All right, if you want to. Yes.”

“Don’t you care what I need in our marriage?”

“Don’t you care what I need?”