"I wasn't ranking you," Sondra said. "I was starving in a specific way and I let the wrong meal become a habit."
"Don't ask me to thank him for his manners."
"I'm not."
He remembered, suddenly and with humiliating clarity, a Thursday in June. He had come home early because a showing canceled. Scout had barked at the back door before Reggie even turned his key. Sondra had met him in the kitchen with wide eyes and a story about a raccoon in the yard. There was no raccoon. There was an open window in the guest room and a damp towel that was not theirs. He had believed the raccoon because believing was easier than becoming the kind of husband who searched his own house for evidence.
"I almost caught you in June," he said now.
Sondra went still. "The early day."
"The raccoon."
She nodded, miserable. "He went out the back. I thought I would die standing there inventing wildlife."
"I went outside with a flashlight like an idiot."
"I know."
They cleared the table together because the dishes did not know about affairs. Reggie washed. Sondra dried. Their shoulders did not touch. When they finished, she went to the bedroom. He went to the couch. Scout hesitated in the hallway, looking from one to the other, then chose Reggie again with a soft whine, as if apologizing to both of them for the limitation of having only one body.
***
On the third day Reggie drove to Cheryl's place after work without texting first.
Cheryl opened the door in paint-stained jeans, took one look at his face, and said, "Come in before you fall down."
Her kitchen smelled like garlic and coffee. He sat at her table and told her everything in a voice that stayed almost steady until he got to Evelyn Stokes and the word brother, and then his throat closed and Cheryl reached across and held his wrist the way she had when they were kids and their father had been drinking in the garage.
"I'm so sorry," she said.