Do it. You have to do it.

He couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed how quiet he’d been, hadn’t dug deeper than the one question. In fact, she’d talked all night, not in a domineering way, but energetically. Like they’d been apart for a month instead of an afternoon.

The waitress came by, picked up the decanter, and refilled their cups, first Anna’s, then his. “Interest you guys in dessert?”

“No,” Anna said, at the same time he said, “Yes.”

Both women laughed, and the waitress said, “How about I bring you the menu and you can take a glance?”

“Fine.” He fiddled with his chopsticks, picking at single grains of rice strewn on the serving board.

His wife looked at him across the table, cocked her head. “You still hungry after all that?”

“I thought you might want something.”

“God, no. I couldn’t eat another bite. You’re going to have to roll me home.” She turned sideways, pushed her belly out. “See? I look like I’m four months pregnant.”

He glanced up fast, expecting to see her face falling. It happened all the time, people firing little jokes they didn’t realize had barbs. Sometimes, like now, it was even one of them who slipped. But the smile on her face didn’t curdle. She caught his look, said, “What?”

“I…” He spread his hands.

She shrugged, her eyes still bright. “I’m tired of everything being a minefield.” Held up her sake cup in a toast. “To us.”

He raised his. Started to clink, then stopped. “Anna…”

“Wait.” She leaned forward, tapped her glass to his, then drank it in a swallow. Set it down but didn’t release it, her fingertips rolling around the rim. She hesitated, then said, “There’s something I have to tell you.”

His first thought was that she was pregnant. He’d often imagined how she would tell him, how she would probably tease her way into it, surprise him. But the way they’d been drinking, it couldn’t be that. He sipped his sake and waited.

“I want you to hear me out first, okay?” Her words echoing the ones he had planned to say himself.

“Sounds serious.”

“It is. It is and it isn’t. I guess that’s why I’ve been talking like an idiot all night. I’ve been afraid to tell you. It’s going to sound like a bad thing at first. But it’s not.”

Feeling nervous, he said, “Okay.”

She took a deep breath. Looked up from the table. “I lost my job.”

“What?”

Anna held up a finger. “Let me finish, okay?” She waited for him to nod, then continued. “You know I’ve been missing a lot of work. All the appointments and everything? Well, I guess today was the last straw. Lauren called this afternoon. She said she was sorry, but that she had been getting complaints from the client. The agency promised we’d deliver this quarter, but we’re way behind schedule. The truth is, that’s mostly because of client delays, but you can’t tell them that. Lauren needed to hang it on somebody, and I’d missed a lot of work, so…” Anna shrugged. “She picked me.”

“Wait. They can’t just fire you. Not without a warning.”

“She did warn me. A month ago.”

“You never told me.”

“I know. I’m sorry. We were in the midst of everything with the doctors, and I just didn’t want to talk about it.”

He didn’t like that she was keeping secrets, but let it go. “Still. You could go to HR-”

“Let me finish.” She twisted her napkin in her lap, then caught herself, folded it, put it on the table. “Tom, I wasn’t happy there. I haven’t been happy for a long time. I’m sick of advertising. I work so many hours, and for what? To dream about Excel spreadsheets? To convince people in Wichita to buy cheap jeans they don’t need?” She shook her head. “You made me realize that the other day.”

“Me?”

“When you said you missed us. Missed the way we used to be.” She looked at him, her eyes a bridge she invited him to cross. “You were right. I’ve been working too hard. We’ve been working too hard. But before, we couldn’t do anything about it. With the house, the medical bills, the credit cards – there was no way either of us could take a breath, much less try and figure out what we really wanted to do. Now…”

She didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t have to. The words rang in his head. Now that we have the money...

The same thought he’d had this morning, he realized. As he sat through his stupid meeting, taking a beating that wasn’t his, he’d found comfort in realizing that the money gave him an out. He hadn’t taken it, but then, he hadn’t been forced to.

“I’ll get another job,” she said. “I’m not saying I want to stay home and eat bonbons. But now I can take time, a little, to figure out what I want to do. Maybe teach, or go back to school for nursing. Something where the work matters, you know? Now that we’re okay financially, think how much better this could make everything. We’ll be able to spend more time together, to get back to being the people we want to be. You and me against the world. Like tonight.” She smiled, then reached across the table and laid her hand on his, slim fingers cool, the diamond on her ring alive in the candlelight. “It will even help us conceive. Stress is one of the big factors. If I’m happier, more relaxed, it’s going to make the odds better. This could turn everything around for us, baby.”

His head was a whirl. He understood everything she was saying. It all made perfect sense. He knew that she had stopped enjoying her job a long time ago, that she was doing it for the mortgage, and the health insurance, and the bills that came every week. They had both been sacrificing the present to the future.

And, man, how she glowed tonight. Smiled and laughed in a way that he had feared lost forever…

He thought of the man in the suit and his bodyguard. Of wet lips and white teeth and a big black gun. Of the call already placed to the detective, the message he couldn’t take back. He had to tell the truth. He had to. Even though it would kill her.

“What do you think?” Her face traced in candlelight, a hint of cheekbone, the delicate hollow of her throat. He remembered one time kissing that hollow, telling her he wanted to pitch a tent and spend the rest of his life there, and her laughing, laughing against him.

“Tom?” Her lips slightly parted, as if she were preparing to smile, or to cry.

“I think it’s great,” he said, and squeezed her hand.

THE LADDER WAS THIN and wobbly and impossibly tall, and he was at the top. The whole thing swayed with every breath, then swayed further when he tried to compensate. He smelled dust. Put his hands up to brace against the ceiling, but the motion only made the ladder lean further. A long, creaking shudder. The wood groaned. Everything started to topple. He scrabbled for purchase, fingers tracing slickness, straining to hold, but the weight was too much, and the ladder tipped, falling toward the surrounding dark.

And as it went, as he lost all hope, as his calves and the inside of his pelvis shivered with the electric anticipation of falling, and even as his body tumbled free, deep inside and delineated by fear, Tom Reed felt something like relief.

His eyes snapped open. The pillowcase was wet, and Anna was beside him, her breath faintly sour with sleep. He took a breath, flipped the pillow, and turned on his side.

Doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out.

After dinner, they’d grabbed a cab. Anna had taken his hand and held it the whole ride, smiling to herself. He’d opened the window, and the rush of air and blur of lights and pressure of her hand had combined to allow him to forget everything but sensation. A moment outside of time, and for the brief ride home, he let himself soak in it.

But after they trudged up the steps and opened the door, the alarm had given its quick succession of beeps, and every fear had tumbled back into his head. They brushed their teeth and fell into bed, too tired and buzzed to talk or make love, and she had drifted off almost immediately.