Diane is in the house, standing across from me with her jacket folded over one arm. There is a suitcase at her feet, and she’s smiling. She picks up my glass and the empty Johnnie Walker bottle.

“You look comfortable,” she says.

I am, but I know I won’t be in the morning.

I tell her this, and she laughs, then leans in close and presses her lips against mine.

“I love you, Jake. Some surprise this turned out to be, huh?”

The words don’t sink in right away. Diane’s skin is soft and smooth and achingly real.

“I miss you,” I say.

“Good night, Jake.”

She lets go of my hand, then turns off the reading light and slips away toward the stairs.

I tell her I’ll see her on Monday.

“You never know,” she says. “Maybe sooner.”

The next morning I walk into the kitchen and head straight for the coffee. Diane is standing at the sink with her back to me. The empty Johnnie Walker bottle is next to her on the counter.

“Tell me you poured that out.”

Diane laughs. “Sorry, that’s all you.”

“Jesus.” I turn away and take a drink from my cup. The coffee is strong and hot and I feel it all the way down. “Can’t believe I did that.”

“Do you remember me coming in last night?”

“I thought it was a dream. If I’d known you were coming home early, I would’ve been in better shape. I don’t know what possessed me.”

“Doug Peterson, probably. He’s a bad influence.”

“How do you know I was with him?”

“You don’t exactly have a long line of friends.”

She’s right, of course.

Diane comes up behind me and runs a hand along my back. “How are you feeling?”

I go through a mental list of every part of me that hurts and say, “I’ve been worse.”

“Good.” She leans in close. “Because I have plans for you tonight.”

I look at her, hopeful.

“I thought we could go out, somewhere nice,” she says. “It’ll give us a chance to talk.”