“How was it?”

“You mean the sex?”

“Yeah.”

“It was wonderful.”

“Oh.”

“Really special.”

“Sorry to hear it, Bern.”

“But it wasn’t a major love affair. I had hopes that it might turn out to be, but deep down inside I think I knew it wouldn’t. We didn’t have that much in common. I figured it would run its course and resolve itself with some sort of bittersweet ending, and years from now she’d be one more tender memory for me to warm myself with as I slid off into senility. So I was fully prepared for it to come to nothing, but I didn’t think it would happen so soon, or so abruptly.”

“So you’re essentially okay about it, Bern?”

“I’d say so.”

“You’re stunned but not devastated. Is that about it?”

“Pretty much. I feel stupid for having misread the situation so completely. I thought the woman was crazy about me, and all the while she was getting ready to tie the knot with somebody else.”

“He’s the guy to feel sorry for, Bern.”

“Who, the bridegroom?”

“Uh-huh. A week and a half before the wedding, and his wife’s rehearsing with somebody else? If you ask me, you’re lucky to be rid of her.”

“I know.”

“Lettice. What kind of name is that, anyway?”

“I guess it’s English.”

“I suppose so. You know, ever since you started seeing her I’ve been good about resisting the obvious jokes. Like, what kind of a name is that for a tomato? Or, has she got a sister named Parsley? Or, I hope she’s not the original Iceberg Lettice.”

“She’s not.”

“I don’t know, Bern. She was cool as a cucumber the other day. Who’s the lucky guy, anyway? Did she tell you anything about him?”

“Not a word.”

“Or where she met him, or anything like that?”

I shook my head. “Maybe she just walked into his store,” I said. “That’s how she met me. She picked out half a dozen books by Martha Grimes and Elizabeth George, and we got to talking.”