He raised it toward me, his smile wide and steady.
“To forty years of keeping each other’s secrets, Diane.”
I lifted my glass, the cool glass stem smooth between my fingers, and held it to my lips without letting a single drop pass them.
Arthur took a deep, appreciative sip of his wine, then set the glass down with a satisfied sigh.
“Excellent year,” he said, turning back to carve the meat.
I tipped my glass slightly toward the floor, letting a tiny splash spill onto the dark wood of the table, then wiped it quickly with my napkin.
“I should check the mail before we sit,” I said, stepping toward the hallway.
“At six in the evening?” he asked.
“I thought I saw the carrier late today,” I said.
I walked into the dark hallway, my heart striking hard against my ribs.
The silver-rimmed glass was still in my hand, the golden liquid inside shifting with my movement.
I set the glass on the hallway credenza and stood in the shadow of the stairs.
From the kitchen, I heard the rhythmic slide of the carving knife against the sharpening steel.
It was a sound I had heard a thousand times, but tonight it sounded like metal on bone.
I reached into my cardigan pocket and felt the cold metal of the safe-deposit key on my ring.
I needed to call Martha, but her line was always busy around this hour.
I walked back into the bright light of the kitchen and sat down.
Arthur placed two thick slices of beef on my plate, then sat across from me and took another long sip from his glass.
“You are barely touching your wine,” he said, nodding toward the glass I had left on the table.
“I want to save it for the meat,” I said.
He smiled and cut a piece of beef, his movements slow and deliberate.
