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wasn’t ready for Harper’s propaganda. I put it down on the dining room table and went upstairs. As I transferred a load of whites from washer to dryer, I found myself drifting back to the week of Big Gerry’s funeral, my after-the-fact performance as Donald’s wife.
    The funeral itself was the easy part. I’m cool in a crisis; I think clearly under extreme pressure. As I brought drinks and plates of potato salad to various mourners, as I tipped the hearse driver because no one in the family remembered, I thought for a moment that the real problem in my life is not crisis management, but all that time in between crises, when none of my choices seem as sure or righteous. I realized that sitting in Big Gerry’s living room on the day of his funeral was the most contentment I had felt in a long time.
    That night we decided to forego cooking and drive into the city to get sushi. We drank way too much sake. Donald told me how much it surprised him to miss Starbucks and the way she would climb on his chest at night and suckle his neck. Donald started to slur his words a little.
    â€œYou want me to drive home?” I asked.
    â€œWhere is home, Casey?”
    â€œSorry—my house.”
    â€œI want it to be ‘our house’ again,” he croaked. “Maybe this . . . is why he died. Maybe it was to get it through our thick skulls that we have to be together.”
    I touched his cheek. “He died because he died, Donny. It had nothing to do with us. And what about Sasha? You love Sasha. You threw your world away for her. You had to do that for a reason.”
    â€œLet’s go home,” he said. “We’ll work it out.”
    We didn’t last the night. When we walked in the house, Donald nearly let Starbucks out. This is one of my hot buttons and one of my few house rules. Starbucks has never gone outside. Neighbors warned us from day one that there were coyotes in the woods nearby. Donald closed the door just in time, and I tried to tell myself he was out of practice, but the thought occurred: nothing will change if we get back together. He will let Starbucks out one day and I will lose her, and it will be just punishment for not being strong enough to move on.
    There were two voice mails on my machine when we got home. The first was Hannah inviting me to a farmer’s market in New Milford on Saturday, and the second, to my surprise and Donald’s shock, was Sasha.
    â€œHi, Casey, it’s Sasha Kiernan. I’m sorry to bother you at home, but I’ve been trying to get in touch with Donald. I’ve talked to his mom, and she said you left together. This is weird for me to call you, but he hasn’t called me back.”
    You’ll never trust him again. You will live your life looking over your shoulder. You will never be able to love this man without reservation again.
    â€œWhat is your actual status with Sasha?” I said.
    â€œTechnically, we’re engaged.”
    â€œTechnically?”
    â€œShe has a ring on her finger.”
    â€œIf we got back together a year from now, all the things that drove us apart would return. You know that, right?”
    â€œMaybe,” he said. He looked away from me. It was time to wrap this up. I smiled at him, a big friendly smile.
    â€œWe don’t love each other, Donny. We have a divorce decree that proves it. We love what we used to be for a short time, a long time ago. When we get scared, it’s easier to go back to what we know.”
    I didn’t know when or if I would ever see him again, but I felt at peace with either outcome. I had always heard change brought growth, that it was necessary. I never knew it could bring peace.
    The flashback ended when I woke up and realized I had not only fallen asleep on my bed covered with laundry, but had drooled all over a pair of clean khakis. I felt rejuvenated by the memory, and I knew what I had to do. I called Tynan.
    â€œHi.