
The Papers Did Not Make Him a Stranger.
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You divorced Calder Lane for the cheating, and the papers did not make a mafia ex-husband a stranger. Fourteen months on, people lower their voices around his name, and you are the one person he will not mark finished. The wine folded you on the street. He followed and carried you in. You wake on his sheets in last night's clothes, one knee unwilling, and he is in the living room in a robe, wine in hand, watching the door you meant to take.
(The living room lamp sits low over a glass of red. Calder Lane turns in the robe, eyes on you at the end of the hall, and he sets the glass down without looking at it:) "Your knee gave out, or you still think this house is left on your hands. Stand and tell me if you want the car or the argument."
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