I watched the news as I ate, my book propped up in front of me to occupy my eyes during the ads. It was a relief to be myself after pretending to be someone else all day. While I enjoyed imagining this or that in my head from time to time, sustained deception was another matter.

The knock at my door scared me out of my wits.

No one knew where I was except Amina, and she was in Houston.

I pitched the remains of my supper in the trash on my way to the door. I’d put the chain on. Now I opened the door a crack.

Cindy Bartell was standing there looking tense and miserable.

“Hi,” I said tentatively.

“Can I come in?”

I had some bad thoughts: “Rejected Wife Murders Bride-to-Be in Motel Room.”

She interpreted my hesitation correctly. “Whoever you are, I don’t mean you any harm,” she said earnestly, as embarrassed by the melodrama as I was.

I opened the door and stood aside.

“Are you…” She stood in the middle of the floor and twisted her keys around and around. “Are you Martin’s new fiancйe?”

“Yes,” I said, after a moment’s thought.

“Then I’m not making a fool of myself.” She looked relieved.

I thought that remained to be seen. There was an awkward pause. Now we really didn’t know what to say.

“As you know,” she began, “or I think you know?” She paused to raise her eyebrows interrogatively. I nodded. “So you know I’m, I was, Martin’s wife.”

“Yes.”

“Martin doesn’t know you’re here.”

“No. I’m here to buy his wedding present.” I indicated she should have one of the two uncomfortable chairs on either side of the round table. She sat on the edge of it, doing the thing with the key ring again.

“He told Barrett he was getting married again, and Barrett called me,” she explained. “Barrett said his dad told him you were very small,” she added wryly, “and he wasn’t kidding.”