She lifted her head, and although her cheeks were wet, her jaw had a stubborn set to it. “He just married a twenty-year-old data-entry clerk named Pamela. When he left me, he said, ‘I’m sorry, Jane, but you don’t excite me anymore.’ ”

Considering Dr. J’s, basic uptight personality, Jodie couldn’t exactly blame him, but it had still been a shitty thing to say. “Men are basically assholes.”

“That’s not the worst part.” She clasped her hands together. “The worst part is that we were together for six years, and I don’t miss him.”

“Then what are you so broke up about?” The coffee was done, and she got up to fill their mugs.

“It’s not Craig. I’m just… It’s nothing, really. I shouldn’t be going on like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’re thirty-four years old and somebody gave you a Jiffy Lube gift certificate for your birthday. Anybody would be bummed.”

She shuddered. “This is the same house I grew up in; did you know that? After Dad died, I was going to sell it, but I never got around to it.” Her voice developed a faraway sound, as if she’d forgotten Jodie was there. “I was doing research on ultrarelativistic heavy-ion collisions, and I didn’t want any distractions. Work has always been the center of my life. Until I was thirty, it was enough. But then one birthday followed another.”

“And you finally figured out all that physics stuff isn’t giving you any thrills in bed at night, right?”

She started, almost as if she’d forgotten Jodie was there. Then she shrugged. “It’s not just that. Frankly, I believe sex is overrated.” Uncomfortable, she looked down at her hands. “It’s more a sense of connection.”

“You don’t get much more connected than when you’re burning up the mattress.”

“Yes, well, that’s assuming one burns it up. Personally…” She sniffed and stood, slipping the tissues into the pocket of her trousers where they didn’t presume to leave a bump. “When I speak of connection, I’m thinking of something more lasting than sex.”