"Postponed," Ryan corrected her, then shook his head. "Whatever, it doesn't matter."

"What did you do?" I finally asked the question that had been hanging in the air since his arrival.

"Nothing. I swear I didn't think I hit him that hard."

"You hit him," Eleanor said as if she were a detective trying to take his statement.

Ryan got up and walked over to the sink.

"Would you like some tea?" Eleanor asked.

"No, he wouldn't," I said. I didn't want to waste any time with hospitality. I wanted to know what had happened.

"Yeah," Ryan said at the same time, and filled the kettle with water.

We all stopped talking, waiting for the kettle to whistle. When it did, Eleanor, Barney and I watched Ryan put three tea bags into a teapot and fill it with hot water. He opened the refrigerator as if he had lived there all his life and poured milk into a jug. He brought the milk, tea and three mugs over to the table.

"Do you take sugar?" he said to my grandmother, who shook her head.

It was all very surreally civilized. When Ryan sat down again and tea was poured, the break was over. My grandmother said again, "You hit him."

"Yeah. I walked back to the shop to find Nell." He looked down. "I saw the two of you." I felt guilty for a moment, then stupid, then just scared. Could Ryan really have killed Marc because of a few kisses?

"What did you do?" I asked again, with an impatience in my voice that surprised even me.

"I walked around. I went to some Irish bar on the next block and had a beer."

"Moran's," my grandmother clarified.

"I guess. I decided that I had to talk to you, Nell, to find out what was going on. So I walked back over to the shop. He was by himself."

"Marc," I interrupted. "His name was Marc."

"Okay. Marc was outside." I could hear anger rising in his voice, but just as quickly it was gone, replaced by tiredness and fear. "We started talking. He said something. I pushed him. I hit him. He hit back. I guess he fell against the building. He got a cut on his cheek. It looked bad. I just left him there." Tears welled up in his eyes. "I walked around for a while, trying to think. Then I decided I needed to know, so I went back to the shop to ask him." He paused and looked at me. "To ask him about his intentions with you."

I saw Ryan was waiting for a reaction, and I thought about commenting,but I decided it would only delay his story. "Then what happened?" was all I could get out.

"Well," he continued, "when I got back to the shop I saw an ambulance and police. I asked one of the cops what had happened, and he told me there was a guy inside who was hurt. He wouldn't tell me any more." Ryan sat back. "He was woozy. I should have called someone, but it didn't look bad enough to kill him."

"It didn't," said Eleanor. "He was stabbed."

Confusion, and then what looked like relief, moved across Ryan's face.

"Are you sure?" he asked her.

"Very," she said. "He must have gotten up and gone into the shop and someone came in and stabbed him."

"Come on," I said. "I get that Marc wasn't the town favorite, but are you honestly telling me that on the very day that a jealous boyfriend knocks him around someone else stabs him?"

Both Eleanor and Ryan looked at me like I was a stranger.

"Do you want me to have killed that guy?" Ryan asked.

"No," I said, and backed down. But I didn't exactly believe his story either.

My grandmother excused herself ten minutes later, saying something about her tired leg. Ryan and I stayed in the kitchen and cleared up. We didn't say anything, so the only sounds were running water and the clanking of dishes. Barney, who had stayed close to Eleanor since her return from the hospital, was now glued to my side. I didn't know what to feel standing next to Ryan-safe, scared, angry or just numb.

So while Ryan washed the mugs, I took Barney out into the night for short walk. We walked down to the river and stared out at the blackness. The rain had stopped but the weather hadn't improved. I could feel a frost around me, but despite the cold and the darkness, I didn't want to go back inside. Instead, I took Barney along the edge of the river.

A thousand years ago I was a bride-to-be. I had a man I loved who would always love me. I had a new apartment to decorate and turn into a home. I had a lover's knot quilt I would pass on to my children. Now what did I have? I looked out at the river, listened to the quiet and waited for an answer. None came. Resigned and feeling the cold, I turned back to the house.

Ryan and I went upstairs, with Barney following close behind. I walked past the open door to my room toward the office at the end of the hall.

"I don't know how comfortable it is, but there's a pullout bed in that couch," I said to Ryan.

"I'm sure it's fine." I could hear the exhaustion in his voice, and wondered if I sounded just as empty and tired.

"I'll get you some sheets and a quilt," I said.

Ryan grabbed my hand as I was about to walk out of the room. For a second we stood, holding hands, then I pulled away.

Once Ryan was settled for the night, I closed the door to my room and sat on my bed. I couldn't take it all in. What I knew was bad enough-I didn't even want to consider all that I didn't know. One minute I would reassure myself by saying that I knew Ryan, I knew he wasn't capable of murder. Then the next I would be reminded of the scene at my apartment just a couple of weeks ago when he blindsided me by postponing the wedding. Did I know him? My mind kept playing the question over and over. And then a more terrifying question crept in. Is there a murderer in the house?

Nothing would be solved, I knew, by my sitting on the bed, so I got into my pajamas, switched off the light and lay under the covers. I don't know how long I lay there staring at the ceiling, the image of Marc's lifeless body in my mind, but eventually I must have drifted off. At some point in the night I felt as if I had entered a nightmare. My room looked like my room, but a shadowy figure was moving toward the bed. I jumped up.

"I'm sorry." I heard Ryan's voice in the darkness.

I switched on the light. "What are you doing?" I snapped.

Ryan stopped where he was standing, a few inches from the foot of my bed. "I couldn't sleep."

"Ryan, it's just not a good idea…"

"Why not? All I want to do is sleep next to you." He seemed hesitant, nervous. "Is that okay?"

I took a deep breath and nodded. Just a few hours before I'd been wondering if Ryan was a murderer, but now I was relieved he was in the room. It didn't make sense, but nothing was making sense. One minute I wanted nothing more than to be Ryan's wife, the next I was imagining a life without him. A life that included kissing other men. In that second I realized that maybe it was unfair to be so angry at Ryan for being confused, when I was so confused myself.

I pulled back the sheets and made room for Ryan in the bed. He climbed in and lay down with an audible sigh. "Good night," I said as I turned my back to him.

But he was having none of it. "I have to touch you," he said. He moved his body close to mine, putting one arm under my head and the other over my waist, spooning me. I could feel his chest against my back, his legs against mine. I wanted so much to relax into his arms, but I also needed to guard myself. I stared straight ahead and tried to find no comfort from the way his fingers moved down my arm.

He moved his head so that his breath was just above my ear. "I love you, Nell," he told me, just as he had so many times before.

I couldn't bring myself to say anything. For a few minutes I just lay there staring at the hand that reached out from under my head, feeling his breath on my neck.