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the best of people; trusted things would work out; saw setbacks as temporary blips. For Alice, who had spent much of her life poised on a knife edge of wariness and uncertainty, Duncan’s confidence in the general goodness of things had always been at once irresistible and irritating.
    Alice shrugged, tried to display a casual acceptance she did not feel. “Okay.”
    â€œThanks! I’ll call you.” Wren turned and darted away to find her friends, her dark ponytail bouncing behind her. And as much as Alice had chafed and despaired over those early years when Wren was an infant, for a moment she wished with all her heart that she had that little girl back again, safe under her own watch.
    Duncan looked at his watch. “Eight thirty,” he said. “We should get home.”
    â€œWhy?” Alice said. All at once she was sick of being polite, sick of pretending that there wasn’t a large elephant—or two, or three—sitting in the middle of her life, squeezing the breath out of her.
    Duncan looked at her in surprise. “What do you mean, ‘Why?’ ”
    â€œI mean why do we have to rush home? It’s Saturday night. It’s eight thirty. Our only child is at a party. Why don’t we go out for a drink? Or go to a movie? Do something?”
    â€œYou’re serious?”
    â€œYes, I’m serious.”
    The crowd had thinned now, and they stood alone at the side of the lobby, Duncan impeccable in his sport coat and khakis, Alice in the crisp, professional pants and silk top she’d worn that afternoon to teach. Duncan looked off into space, over Alice’s head.
    â€œHmm,” he said. “I have to think about that.”
    â€œThink about what?” The words Alice had wanted to say for the past month came bubbling up, spilling out of her. “About whether or not you’re willing to be seen at a restaurant with me? About whether you can stand to spend an hour with me in which we actually have to deal with each other?”
    â€œAlice.” Duncan looked around, to see if anyone had overheard her. “ Shh. This is not a conversation we should be having in public.”
    Alice looked up at him. She was tall, almost five-nine, but Duncan loomed over her at six-three. “Well then, where?” she said. “And when? Because honestly, I’d rather have you just kick me out and tell me you never want to see me again than go on with all this politeness. I can’t stand it anymore.”
    Duncan looked at her, his lips compressed in a thin line. “This is not the place for this conversation, Alice,” he said. He still held the program from Wren’s performance in his hand, and now he rolled it up, stuffed it in his pocket, and turned toward the door. “I’m leaving.” He walked down the hallway in long, angry strides, the heels of his oxfords tapping on the tile floor.
    Alice watched him go. She knew that, no matter how angry he was, he would get into the car and wait for her, because he was too much of a gentleman to leave her behind in the now-deserted school, the almost-empty parking lot. He would turn on the car engine, adjust the radio, look out the window to see if he could spot her coming out the big glass doors. And what could she do? She had disappointed him enough already. Alice walked down the hall as fast as her wedge heels would allow.
    They drove home in silence. Duncan pulled into the garage and they both got out. As they walked up the concrete path to the back door, Alice stumbled in her wedges. She felt her foot roll under her, a sharp stab of pain in her right ankle. She gasped.
    Duncan turned. “What is it?”
    â€œIt’s okay. I twisted my ankle a little. These shoes.” She tried to smile. She couldn’t stand to think about what she would do if she had a sprain. The one thing— the only thing —that had allowed her even a small measure of sanity over the last