“You can’t be serious.”

“It’s been two weeks,” she said, though she hadn’t given it much thought before now. It wasn’t like him to let things go this long.

“It’s cold.”

She put her lips to his ear and whispered, “It’s warm in my mouth.”

Contrary to his body’s reaction, he said, “I’m kind of tired.”

She pressed her body closer. “You don’t seem tired to me.”

“It’s gonna start raining any minute now.”

The sky was overcast, but Sara knew from the news that rain was a good three hours away. “Come on,” she said, leaning in to kiss him. She stopped when he seemed to hesitate. “What’s wrong?”

He took a step back and looked out at the lake. “I told you I’m tired.”

“You’re never tired,” she said. “Not tired like that.”

He indicated the lake with a toss of his hand. “It’s freezing cold out here.”

“It’s not that cold,” she said, feeling suspicion trace a line of dread down her spine. After fifteen years, she knew all of Jeffrey’s signs. He picked at his thumbnail when he felt guilty and pulled at his right eyebrow when there was something about a case he was trying to puzzle out. When he’d had a particularly hard day, he tended to slump his shoulders and speak in a monotone until she found a way to help him talk it out. The set he had to his mouth now meant there was something he had to tell her but either did not want to or did not know how.

She crossed her arms, asking, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” she repeated, staring at Jeffrey as if she could will the truth out of him. His lips were set in that same firm line and he had his hands clasped in front of him, his right thumb tracing the cuticle of the left. She was getting the distinct feeling that they had been down this road before, and the knowledge of what was happening hit her like a sledgehammer to the gut. “Oh, Christ,” she breathed, suddenly understanding. “Oh, God,” she said, putting her hand to her stomach, trying to calm the sickness that wanted to come.

“What?”

She walked back down the path, feeling stupid and angry with herself at the same time. She was dizzy from it, her mind reeling.

“Sara-” He put his hand on her arm but she jerked away. He jogged ahead a few steps, blocking her way so she had to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Who is it?”

“Who’s what?”

“Who is she?” Sara clarified. “Who is it, Jeffrey? Is it the same one as last time?” She was clenching her teeth so tight that her jaw ached. It all made sense: the distracted look on his face, the defensiveness, the distance between them. He had made excuses every night this week for not staying at her house: packing boxes, working late at the station, needing to finish that damn kitchen that had taken almost a decade to renovate. Every time she let him in, every time she let her guard down and felt comfortable, he found a way to push her away.

Sara came straight out with it. “Who are you screwing this time?”

He took a step back, confusion crossing his face. “You don’t think…”

She felt tears well into her eyes and covered her face with her hands to hide them. He would think she was hurt when the fact was she was angry enough to rip out his throat with her bare hands. “God,” she whispered. “I’m so stupid.”

“How could you think that?” he demanded, as if he had been wronged.

She dropped her hands, not caring what he saw. “Do me a favor, okay? Don’t lie to me this time. Don’t you dare lie to me.”

“I’m not lying to you about anything,” he insisted, sounding just as livid as she felt. She would find his outraged tone more persuasive if he hadn’t used it on her the first time.

“Sara-”

“Just get away from me,” she said, walking back toward the lake. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe how stupid I am.”

“I’m not cheating on you,” he said, following her. “Listen to me, okay?” He got in front of her, blocking the way. “I’m not cheating on you.”

She stopped, staring at him, wishing she could believe him.

He said, “Don’t look at me that way.”

“I don’t know how else to look at you.”

He let out a heavy sigh, as if he had a huge weight on his chest. For someone who insisted he was innocent, he was acting incredibly guilty.

“I’m going back to the house,” she told him, but he looked up, and she saw something in his expression that stopped her.

He spoke so softly she had to strain to hear him. “I might be sick.”

“Sick?” she repeated, suddenly panicked. “Sick how?”

He walked back and sat down on a rock, his shoulders sagging. It was Sara’s turn to follow him.

“Jeff?” she asked, kneeling beside him. “What’s wrong?” Tears came into her eyes again, but this time her heart was thumping from fear instead of anger.

Of all the things he could have said, what next came from his mouth shocked her most of all. “Jo called.”

Sara sat back on her heels. She folded her hands in her lap and stared at them, her vision tunneling. In high school, Jolene Carter had been everything Sara wasn’t: graceful, curvaceous yet thin, the most popular girl in school, with her pick of all the popular boys. She was the prom queen, the head cheerleader, the president of the senior class. She had real blond hair and blue eyes and a little mole, a beauty mark, on her right cheek that gave her otherwise perfect features a worldly, exotic look. Even close to her forties, Jolene Carter still had a perfect body- something Sara knew because five years ago, she had come home to find Jo completely naked with her perfect ass up in the air, straddling Jeffrey in their bed.

Jeffrey said, “She has hepatitis.”

Sara would have laughed if she had the energy. As it was, all she could manage was, “Which kind?”

“The bad kind.”

“There are a couple of bad kinds,” Sara told him, wondering how she had gotten to this place.

“I haven’t slept with her since that one time. You know that, Sara.”

For a few seconds, she found herself staring at him, torn between wanting to get up and run away and staying to find out the facts. “When did she call you?”

“Last week.”

“Last week,” she repeated, then took a deep breath before asking, “What day?”

“I don’t know. The first part.”

“Monday? Tuesday?”

“What does it matter?”

“What does it matter?” she echoed, incredulous. “I’m a pediatrician, Jeffrey. I give kids- little kids- injections all day. I take blood from them. I put my fingers in their scrapes and cuts. There are precautions. There are all sorts of…” She let her voice trail off, wondering how many children she had exposed to this, trying to remember every shot, every puncture. Had she been safe? She was always sticking herself with needles. She couldn’t even let herself worry about her own health. It was too much.

“I went to Hare yesterday,” he said, as if the fact that he had visited a doctor after knowing for a week somehow redeemed him.

She pressed her lips together, trying to form the right questions. She had been worried about her kids, but now the full implications hit her head-on. She could be sick, too. She could have some chronic, maybe deadly disease that Jeffrey had given her.

Sara swallowed, trying to speak past the tightness in her throat. “Did he put a rush on the test?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” she confirmed, not a question. Of course he didn’t know. Jeffrey suffered from typical male denial about anything relating to his health. He knew more about his car’s maintenance history than his own well-being and she could imagine him sitting in Hare’s office, a blank look on his face, trying to think of a good excuse to leave as quickly as possible.

Sara stood up. She needed to pace. “Did he examine you?”

“He said I wasn’t showing any symptoms.”

“I want you to go to another doctor.”

“What’s wrong with Hare?”

“He…” She couldn’t find the words. Her brain wouldn’t work.