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“We need to talk out here. I don’t want to wake up Gia.” I follow her to the doorstep, and we sit. “Are you getting drunk because of me? Because I was so upset about my father when I showed up at your office?” She puts her hands in the pockets of her parka.

“No. I wish I could’ve been there for you when you needed me.”

“Me too, but I shouldn’t have come to your office when you were working.”

“You were upset, and I didn’t handle it well. It’s all overwhelming, your dad’s illness, knowing Gia’s leaving soon, my. …” I stop because I’m not sure I want to tell her, but I know if I don’t, things will only get worse. A dog howls in the distance, which sets off a chain reaction of howling neighborhood dogs. If I howled with them, would she get distracted enough to forget that I was talking, or would she put me in a mental ward?

“Your what?” she asks.

I take a breath and confess. “My job. I don’t know how much longer I can do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to lose it if I have to listen to one more person’s problems.”

“So when I came to you with mine, you must’ve wanted to run away.”

“You’re my wife, and I want to be there for you, but I also feel pressured to fix things.”

“You can’t fix anything. I just wanted you to listen.” She stands up and pushes her sleeve over her hand and then wipes cobwebs off the sconce at the front door. “Do you want to quit?” she asks without looking at me.

“I want to take time off.”

“But what about your patients? What would you tell them?” She finishes with the cobwebs and moves over to the dust on our front door.

“That I’m taking a sabbatical.”

“What if you lose all of them?”

She wasn’t making this easy. “I’d have to deal with that,” I say.

“And what would you do on this sabbatical?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been putting a bucket list together. Maybe I’d backpack through Europe, volunteer for Habitat for Humanity, or run a marathon in every state.”

“You hate running,” she says, which is true but not the point.

Then she bombards me with questions; Am I sorry that we got married and had Gia so young? Is this an excuse for me to leave her? What is she supposed to do while I’m out having these adventures? Her voice gets slightly higher in pitch with each question. She’s panicking, and when I tell her I haven’t thought things through, it only makes her question me more.

“Should I try to get a job? We’re going to need the money,” she says.

I wish I wasn’t sobering up, because reality is setting in, and nowI’mstarting to panic. “Ignore me. I’m just tired and drunk and upset about your father. I’m not going to quit.” I can’t put her through this. She doesn’t deserve my stress on top of hers. I stand up, open the front door, and put my arm around her shoulder. “Let’s get some sleep,” I say. She nods, then exhales loudly as if she’s been holding her breath under water. By tomorrow she’ll be telling Ellen she thinks I’m having a midlife crisis and she hopes I snap out of it. I follow her as she walks inside. I feel more trapped than before I told her.

CHAPTER 13

Early the next morning, my brain began ruminating even before my eyes were open. How could Jim say he wanted to quit his job? I hoped it was the alcohol talking, since he’d never said he was unhappy at work before. I assured myself that it would all go away because I couldn’t deal with anything else right now. Maybe if I got dementia, I’d forget it.

Gia came in my bedroom wearing pajamas and bright red lipstick. She asked what I thought of her new purchase. As long as she was living at home, I got to nix anything I thought was inappropriate, and ruby-red lips fell into that category. I cautiously asked her to get rid of the lipstick and braced for her reaction. She immediately took a tissue and wiped it off, then went back upstairs. That was not the reaction I expected. She must be up to something.

I pulled out my phone and texted:Hi.

While I waited for Michael to get back to me, I got the bag with my new red chemise and robe. I didn’t have scissors in my closet, so I tore the tags off with my teeth. I remembered how Michael had bit off the string on his shirt the first time I met him. It was another thing we had in common, being opposed to scissors.

My phone dinged.Hi.

So I didn’t look too eager, I counted thirty Mississippi’s before I wrote back:What’re u up to?

Writing an article.