The heavy Persian rug in the upstairs hallway muffled her progress. She approached the bedroom door. How outlandish everything seemed. She was a foreigner in her own home. On its stand by the door, the big blue Chinese vase was still filled with the same willows and reeds she had arranged three weeks before, dried and dusty now, looking like plants arranged by some other woman’s hands, the new woman of this house.

She used the knife to push open the door. In the dusky light, Mike was lying on his back, snoring lightly, asleep. Rachel lay on her stomach beside him, her lower leg and bare foot free of the covers, her right leg looped over his, her beautiful long hair covering her shoulders.

She looked at them for a long time, clutching the knife in her hand, struggling to accept the proof of her eyes so that she might finally allow the umbilicus that still tied her to Mike to disintegrate, feeling the shaky instability that comes when death is very close.

Mike’s eyes opened. He had always been a light sleeper, awake at any sound. He didn’t move. Neither did she. For a long moment they stared at each other.

Then, while Rachel slept on, he carefully pulled the covers off himself and got out of bed, not taking his eyes from Lindy’s. In the dimness his bulky nakedness shifted like a shadow among shadows. Bending down, he picked up his old wool robe from the floor, pulled it on, tied the belt. He stepped into slippers. Lindy watched, hypnotized.

He came to her and touched her. That corporeality of his touch, the blanket-warmed fingers, shocked her out of her reverie.

“Mike?” she said softly.

“Who else?” he whispered, and she wondered if he was smiling.

She took in the familiar smell of his body.

He nodded toward the door. Then, holding on to one of her wrists, he drew her out of the room. In ghostly procession they drifted down the stairs, back through the kitchen, out the back door. Sammy picked them up at the door and followed close behind.

Out on the path, where they could hear the lapping of the lake, Mike looked at the knife, then at her face. Standing across from him she saw again how well they fitted together. It was as if their bodies had been molded exactly in reverse, so that her curves disappeared to accommodate the knobs and slopes of his physique. After a moment, while the breeze hushed and the sounds of the lake receded, she reveled in their mutual awareness. Breathing deeply a few times, she thought about the knife in her hand, not wanting to give it up.

“What’s the plan here?” Mike asked, sounding so much like his old self, she almost melted.

“No plan.”

“All action, no talk,” said Mike, teasing gently. “The knife, Lindy. Give me the knife.”

“No.”

“Lindy, if you don’t give me the knife, you’re going to have to use it. You don’t want to hurt me, do you?”

She didn’t know what to say to that. He stood there patiently, fearlessly, the breeze ruffling his robe, looking the same as he did in the ring years ago, not a care in the world in spite of the tough punk across the way wanting to rip his heart out. Deciding, she lifted the knife from her side and raised it so that the tip just brushed his stomach. He didn’t move, didn’t even blink. This was the Mike she knew. She turned it around so that he could take it by the hilt.

He dropped it into a low bush beside the path. She buried her head in the scratchy wool, and his hand came up to stroke her hair.

“I’m having a hard time, Mike,” she said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Lindy,” Mike answered, like in the old days when they had just met. They went down to the beach, clear of the forest, while he half-supported her, and they crumpled to the sand together.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “So sorry. I think I was dreaming about you.”

“Won’t you-will you please-”

“It isn’t right-”

But her hand was pulling at the tie around his waist and the robe fell open.

“Please,” she said.

“Oh, Lindy.”

She put her arm around his neck and drew him onto her, and after lying there with her for what felt like a long time, his hands tugged at the zipper on her pants, then pulled them down to her shoes. He lay on top of her for a moment, his heavy weight lulling and comforting her.

Then he gave her his love, like he always had.

Afterward, when they were dressed again, sitting together and supporting each other, looking out at the lake, he said, “I’m ashamed. I should have known better.”

“Is there-any chance-”

“I’m marrying Rachel.” He spoke without malice, sounding almost as confounded by his own words as she felt.

“She’s so young.”

“It’s a fresh start. I looked around one day, and everything looked different. It was like another man was living my life, doing all the usual things, paying bills, making love, on the phone, and I was outside looking in through a window at him, mixed-up as hell. I couldn’t hear the words anymore. I didn’t like what I saw there, this old face and these wrinkled-up paws of mine.” He held his fists up. They both inspected them in the dark, until he dropped them again. “They were…” He thought, but couldn’t come up with the word he wanted.

“Beautiful, Mike.” She had told him that many times.

“You remember? Like bowling balls, smooth to the touch, cruising down the alleyways… fast.”

“Oh, I remember.”

“Now, see that?” He tried to flex. “I can barely bend the fingers. I got arthritis in them, I think. I’m just so tired…”

“Of what? Of me? The business?”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel the same as I used to about anything.”

“I just can’t believe it.”

“I still care for you.”

“You have such an odd way of showing it.”

“Don’t leave yet, Lindy. We may never get to talk like this again. It’ll always be the lawyers, the reporters…”

“The money,” Lindy said.

“I’ll take care of you like I always have.”

“Was it you taking care of me, Mike? Or me taking care of you?”

He shrugged.

“We worked so hard. Remember when we started up the first exercise studio in Lubbock? I called everybody in town to find somebody, anybody for you to instruct. I got that phone slammed down in my ear so many times I still don’t hear right.”

“We put everything we had into it.”

“Why didn’t you ever marry me, Mike? I proposed to you lots of times.”

“I don’t know.” He lifted a handful of sand and let the granules sift through his fingers. “Were you going to kill me with that knife?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, thank you. That you didn’t kill me.” They both laughed a little. “You’re such a wild thing, Lindy. Remember what you did to Gil before the divorce, when you two broke up? Sixty-two stitches. I know I haven’t forgotten.”

“Don’t remind me. But he really had it coming. That shitheel married me for the sole purpose of getting his hands on my savings. He plotted to rob and humiliate me. Anyway, who knew that vase would break all over the place like that?” Lindy said.

“I guess that’s your biggest fault, and maybe the cutest thing about you, too. You’re just reckless, and I never knew anyone else that could blow a gasket like you do.”

“I do have a temper, but I’m not mad now. I’ve been thinking about the first year we were in the black. Now that was a Christmas. You in your Santa Claus suit, making love to me on the dining room table. You can be so funny.”

“You think I’m happy about what I did to you? And what you’re doing to me? Ah, Lindy. Things took a turn.”

“So you’re getting married.” Lindy blew into her hands to warm them. “You stupid bastard. I doubt she cares about you. She sees the money. She’s following the dollar signs.”

“She says she loves me. Maybe there will be a baby.”

“I gave you the business. That was our baby.”

“It was my business. I started it. My fists and my hands made everything happen.”