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“I spend my days picking up his and Gia’s laundry, going to the bank, and walking the dog. Why wouldn’t he think I’m boring?I’mbored just telling you all this.”

“There’s more to you than what you do all day. Jim doesn’t care about that stuff.”

“What if he does?”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“Yes, we’ve had the conversation more than once. He says he’s stressed about work, and he’ll try to be better, and sometimes he is, but it doesn’t last. I think it’s more than work, and he doesn’t want to tell me.” I reached in my pocket and pulled out a tissue and tried wiping my eyes, although I knew it wouldn’t help much.

“All marriages go through ups and downs. Your mother and I had many,” he said.

“You and Mom never fought.”

“We did, behind closed doors. There were times we didn’t like each other. Sometimes, I’d sleep on the couch.”

“You said you had a bad back.”

He shrugged. “Parents say a lot of things to their kids.”

The clouds had cleared, and now the sunroom was bathed in light. “It’s really nice in here,” I said.

He stared out the window, then looked at me quizzically. “Why are you here on a Sunday?”

I crumpled the tissue up and looked at him. “Uh, Jim went shooting with Sam.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said.

He began to cough again, this time much harder. I gently patted him on the back until he stopped and got his voice back. “You’ll see, things will be better soon,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. I hoped he was talking about himself as well as my marriage.

JIM

The gun bucks as I hit the center of the target. The feel of the cold steel in my hands and the concentration it takes to shoot straight are helping get my mind off my problems. It feels good to be doing something entirely for me. Sam’s talking to me even though he should know I can’t hear him through my noise-canceling headphones. His mouth is moving, and he’s gesticulating wildly. I pull the headphones off one ear.

“What?” I ask a little too loudly because now my hearing is off.

He pulls his headphones down around his neck. “Wow, you don’t normally shoot this well. Remind me not to make you mad today.”

“Don’t worry, you aren’t at the top of my list.”

“And here I thought I was your best friend,” Sam says.

I met Sam in middle school. I hated him at first because the way he dressed made me think he was one of those preppy kids from a rich family who vacationed in the Cayman Islands. The truth was, he’d been in foster care from the time he was three, and all his clothes came from Goodwill. My mom loved Sam because she thought he was rich, which to her meant he had more class then the other kids my age, who she was sure were all doing heroin. When my mom found out the truth about Sam, she magnanimously overlooked his previous circumstances. Even though he was only three when he went into foster care, she wondered what he’d done to get kicked out of his house.

“Want to get a drink?” I pull the wire with my target on it so I can get a better look at my prowess.

He looks at his gun as he pops out the clip. “Sure. I always need a beer after I shoot a gun.”

“I wonder if cops feel that way,” I say.

Sam pulls his target in and compares it to mine. A criminal would have nothing to worry about if he were the one shooting at them. “Maybe if I’d had a beer before I got here, I would’ve shot better,” Sam says.

We leave our car in the parking lot and head across the street to a dive bar called The Dead Duck. The faded sign in the shape of a duck hanging from its beak now only saysThe Dead Uck.

Sam grabs us a couple of beers while I look for a table that might have been cleaned in this century. The moment I get the beer in my hand, I down it and order another one.

“Slow down, I promise it won’t be the last beer you’ll ever have.”

“I’m thirsty, and it could be my last. You never know what life will throw at you.” The bartender brings over another beer and I down half of that one too. After a few minutes, I pick up some darts, and from my seat at the table, I throw one at the dartboard, which is about ten feet away. My throw goes wild and sticks in the wall. Sam gets up, takes the darts out of my hand, and puts them on the table.