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Billings.”
    After a considerable pause, Clare wrinkled her nose. “That drab little thing? God, I can barely remember her. That was his great romantic downfall? No wonder Honora could never bear to tell us—it’s shameful, to lose your husband to someone like her. I remember going over to Rachel’s and seeing her in the rattiest bathrobe I’ve ever seen.”
    “I remember how frail she looked. I was afraid she’d blow away in a storm.”
    “Maybe it would have been better if she had. How did Honora seem when she told you?”
    “Fine. It didn’t seem to upset her at all.”
    “So much time has passed.” She slapped my forearm. “I’m jealous she told you instead of me. She must be taking your role as the Swift Observer very seriously. She’s not confiding in her daughter, she’s confiding in an entity.”
    “Maybe that’s true. Heaven knows we’ve been trying to get it out of her for years.”
    “Why didn’t you call me the minute you heard?”
    “I was going to—the day I invited you for lunch and you threw me over for swimming lessons.”
    “I almost wish I didn’t know. Now I’ll always have to picture Dad kissing little Mrs. Billings. It’s a letdown in a way—I used to imagine him with an Elizabeth Taylor type.”
    “So did I. Knowing her true identity makes it seem more real, I think. I feel worse for Honora.”
    “I don’t. It’s too bad Dad cheated on her, but it’s not the worst thing that could happen. Honora has always drummed it into our heads that men are scheming sex fiends, ready to leave you at the first opportunity. No wonder you’re paranoid about Nick.”
    “I’m not exactly paranoid,” I said, beginning to hear the faint hum of the plane’s engine.
    “Listen, the fact that you even doubt him is ridiculous. Donald says Nick begins dreaming of coming home the second he gets into the plane in the morning. Give him a break and don’t have affair attacks anymore.”
    “I’ll try.” The plane banked into sight, the port and starboard lights now clearly visible. “I’m not really worried anyway.”
    “Bullshit,” Clare said, smiling at me. Then we held hands and said “Safe landing” at the same time, a ritual we followed whenever we were together as the plane came in. The plane chattered across the glassy bay.
    “When does Nick’s firm have its summer outing?” she asked.
    I had nearly forgotten about the annual summer party for lawyers and spouses. “Sometime before the end of June. Next week, I guess. How about Donald’s?”
    “Next week also,” she said, making a face that reminded me of one of Pem’s.
    Nick and Donald stepped onto the jetty. The ferry to Orient Point chugged along the horizon. Dark clouds had gathered over Plum Island, covering the early stars. Nick came toward me. He held me close. “You feel wonderful,” he said.
    “Say it like you mean it,” I said, and he bent me over backwards, supporting my shoulders with one arm, and kissed me hard. Then we stood up.
    “Let’s have dinner. I’m starving,” I said. We said goodnight to Clare and Donald. With our arms around each other we walked up the stone walk, across the porch, into our house.

    THE DAYS OF EARLY summer passed quickly. My first report to the Avery Foundation submitted, I now worked on the second. It gave me pleasure to work each day before the heat came, filling the air with white mist. One day I called every woman whose engagement announcement appeared in the
New London Day
, to ask questions about love, family, what she wanted from life. The answers ranged from thoughtful to absurd. “We just want to be together,” said Judy Delancray, with shy pride in her voice. “I got to get away from my parents,” said Marlene Arturo. “We want to fuck with the church’s permission,” said Noreen Jackowski in a voice so deep that I suspected I had reached her brother or a male cousin, someone grabbing the opportunity for fun on the telephone. I laughed with him,