How do you want to cook this fish? How do you want to cook this fish? Harris asked.

What?

Claire heard: How do you want to cook this fish?

Breaded, she said.

Fine, Harris said.

What?

Fine!

We have not slept together for three hundred nights, she thought. We have not slept together for three hundred nights.

His rough, tender hands not wrapped around me.

Lawnmower. His rough, tender hands wrapped around the handles of the lawnmower. Not around me.

What?

Where did you hide the bread crumbs?

What?

The bread crumbs!

Behind the Cheerios!

Claire telephoned her mother. Her mothers counsel was broccoli, mostly, but who else was she going to talk to?

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