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beat, I’d just end up sitting at the foot of the bed, watching the two of you.”
    â€œThat’s all you’ve done the last few times, anyway.”
    That came out harsher than I wanted. Frank ignored it and looked back down at his papers. “Really, Danny, it’s fine. I’m exhausted. You go have fun. I’m honestly looking forward to sleeping a good solid nine hours.”
    I just stood there in the doorway. There was silence.
    â€œFrank,” I said finally. “It’s my birthday. I don’t want to spend the night with Ollie if it means I spend it without you.”
    â€œThat’s very sweet of you to say, baby.” He looked up and gave me a genuine smile. “But, of course, you want to spend the night with him. He has an ass you can bounce quarters off, remember?”
    â€œI’m serious, Frank.”
    â€œOh, baby.”
    He stood, placing his hands on my shoulders. We were nose to nose. Once, Frank had been a few inches taller than I, but no longer. Somewhere over the last two decades, he had settled, like the frame of a house. His joints had retracted; his bones had curled inward ever so slightly. I studied him now at close range, observing the dark circles under his eyes, the mosaic of brown spots etched across his high, shiny forehead.
    â€œAre you really too tired?” I asked him.
    He nodded. “You can’t disappoint him, baby. He drove all the way in from Sherman Oaks.”
    I leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips.
    Frank smiled. “We’ll take a drive up to Joshua Tree tomorrow, go for a hike.” He took my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Just the two of us. Maybe we’ll even finally spot a bighorn sheep after all these years.”
    â€œFrank—”
    â€œLet me finish this syllabus, Danny. And leave a note in the kitchen for Randall, if he comes back at all, that all he has to do is pull out the bed here in the office. I’ve already put sheets on for him.”
    He sat down at his desk again. I remained unmoving in the door frame, watching him.
    â€œGo,” he said, not looking up at me. “Skedaddle. Have fun.”
    I stood there for a moment longer, then turned away.
    One of the wonderful things about properties in Palm Springs was the casita—the “little house” on the grounds, which could be used for guests. Ours had a Spanish tile roof and beige stucco walls, accessed by a zigzagging stone path through a garden of cacti and creeping rosemary. Passing the kidney bean–shaped swimming pool, I could see the blue glow of the television from the casita’s windows reflected on the water. I looked closely and caught a glimpse of Ollie through the sheer curtains, lying on the bed, shirtless and barefoot and in jeans, the remote in his hands. I think he was watching America’s Next Top Model. I wasn’t sure, because he snapped off the TV as soon as I walked in.
    â€œHey,” he said.
    â€œHey,” I replied.
    The California king bed was so massive that it took up nearly the whole casita. There was no room for any other furniture except the flat-screen television hanging on the opposite wall. A small bathroom and medium-sized walk-in closet completed the casita. “Perfect for in-laws,” our Realtor had said—or, in our case, our boy toy from L.A.
    I leaned over the bed and gave Ollie a quick kiss on the lips.
    â€œHappy birthday,” he said.
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œI got you a gift.”
    Indeed, at the end of the bed sat a small box wrapped in blue- and green-striped paper. A white ribbon was tied around it in a clumsy bow.
    â€œYou shouldn’t have gotten me anything,” I said.
    â€œWell, I saw it at the mall….”
    Ollie worked at a Ritz Camera at a mall in Studio City. He’d worked there since he was eighteen. He was twenty-six now.
    I opened the gift. It was a cinnamon-scented candle in a glass jar from Yankee