Her mother's voice grew thoughtful. “We’ve been out of touch…”

Rebecca felt instantly defensive. “Mom, I know … Do we really have to talk about that now, when all this --”

Sarah interrupted. “No, Rebecca, that’s not what I was going to say. I was just going to say that I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since I left your father. I’ve met some other women in some classes I’ve taken, and we’ve griped about relationships. Some of them have said they managed to ignore being cheated on, others tried to fix things and couldn’t make it work, others decided they didn’t want to even try. Almost all of them seemed bitter, once they really got to talking about it. I have to say, I’m glad to be away from your father, but I’ve decided from thinking about these stories what I would do if I ever got in this situation again.”

Rebecca sniffled, listening, and realized she was growing calmer. She had never heard her mother talking with so much equanimity about relationships. “Go on,” she said, curiously.

She listened silently for several minutes. By the end, she was smiling and nodding. “Thank you, Mom. That’s beautiful. I don’t know if that will work, but if anything can, I think this is it.” She drove around for a little longer to finish calming down, and to think more, then drove home.

Her husband still wasn’t back ... Rebecca felt halfway angry, halfway relieved. She fell asleep easily, but woke up when she heard his footsteps coming up the stairs. She pretended to be asleep, felt him kiss her lightly. Then, with distant surprise, she fell asleep again, with him right there next to her, and slept pretty well.

The next morning, Rebecca spoke to Andrew warmly, as though nothing were wrong. She stroked his neck, saw that he seemed normal, if tired. She felt she looked normal as well, and was a little amazed at this capacity. She had contemplated this option, of course, from the first moment she’d seen them in bed and never imagined she could pull it off, but her mother had helped with that. Sarah had said the point was not to pretend to herself things were all right -- no one can really do that, Mom had said, and it’s disastrous to try -- but to keep up appearances for long enough to get more information about his feelings without getting his guard up.

They talked a bit more as he got dressed for work. He seemed warm but a bit abrupt. There wouldn’t be time to talk in any detail until that night.

Rebecca found herself wondering, How does he keep up the façade as well as he does? Sure, he acts like he doesn’t have as much time for me, but he still feels friendly.

It’s almost as though there’s something pulling him away, like he wants to relax with me but he can’t … presumably because of this affair. I think his emotions are pulling him toward me while his conscience is pulling him away. Or something like that.

That’s at least partially good news, right? But … why had he cheated? His emotions obviously hadn’t all been in her favor.

The anniversary thing stung, but that could just be typical male obliviousness.

She had to know for sure. And now she had a plan, of sorts.

Andrew was not the type to talk about his feelings easily. He was passionate in some ways, but verbal expression was not one of them. She had told this to her mother. Sarah had said, “Don’t ask him directly unless things get a lot better and you feel safe doing so, or unless they get a lot worse, and you can’t take it any more and have nothing to lose. Otherwise, wait. Because if you ask him now and he lies, it proves nothing. Of course he’s bound to lie. The question is whether he’s doing so out of defensiveness or spite, on the one hand, or because he’s trying to somehow protect your relationship on the other. And if he thinks you know and does want to stay with you, he may get scared and do something even more stupid.

“So don’t be obvious when seeking more information about his feelings, and try not to get angry when getting more information. You can always get angry later.”

Rebecca had nodded. Then something had occurred to her. “Mom,” she said, pausing awkwardly. “I think I can do this stuff. But how on earth am I going to … you know … in bed …?” Her soul, her deepest self, whatever you want to call it, really came out there.

Most of what her mother had said about this was irritating. I should have seen this garbage coming, Rebecca groaned to herself. But one of the ideas actually made sense. “Have a cover story ready in case your anger really comes out. Have something else you can be angry about. You only want to bring up the affair on your own terms. Bide your time. Choose your moment.”

She was glad she felt she could do this, because she felt she could never ask her mother a question about sex again.

She got home early that afternoon. They talked on the phone. Andrew said he’d be home at 7:30. She began cooking early. She was usually impatient with cooking, but when she had time to kill it helped her think. Risotto was a favorite dish of both of them. She made that and some onion soup a huge Greek salad. Dicing the onions brought tears to her eyes and got her crying for a minute. She went to the bathroom and cleaned herself up. She felt better when she got back into the kitchen. Things smelled quite good, if Rebecca did say so herself. She sighed. I just need to know why, she thought. The only question is how to find out without his knowing that he’s telling me. Take it slow.

She felt better still when Andrew walked in at 7:25 with a gorgeous-looking bottle of white wine. He seemed somber, though, not celebratory. He said, “Happy anniversary, sweetie,” and kissed her. She said, “Happy anniversary, sweetheart,” and looked at him reproachfully.

“I know,” he said. “I’m a day late.”

They sat down. She sipped the wine. “Good choice,” she said, smiling. He smiled.

Here we go, she thought. She took a deep breath and got up to bring the salad to the table.

“Tell me about your day,” she said, casually, walking toward him. His face was relaxed. He shrugged. “You know…” he said, sighing, conveying that it had been a source of vague exasperation.

Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “I do not,” she said ironically. “Do tell.” He looked thoughtful for a minute. “I guess there’s been a problem. At work.” He paused. “It’s really nothing.”