Lydia had been wrong about Louisa, of course. Back then, on his daughter's birthday, James would have laughed at the very idea; the thought of anyone other than Marilyn in his bed, in his life, was preposterous. But back then, the thought of life without Lydia had been preposterous, too. Now both of those preposterous things have come true.

When Louisa shuts the apartment door and returns to the bedroom, James is already buttoning his shirt. "You're going?" she says. Inside, she still clings to the possibility that Marilyn's visit was just a coincidence, but she is fooling herself, and she knows it.

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