“A wife’s first duty is to her husband’s peace of mind, Clara.

Everything else is secondary.” I said of course, and the words were sand in my mouth.

“Go on up to bed, Clara,” Jonathan said, and his hand slid onto the back of my neck.

His fingers were cold, and they pressed just firmly enough to keep me where I stood, not quite holding me and not quite letting me choose.

“My mother and I will finish the seating chart.” I have thought a great deal since about that hand on my neck, and about how a gesture can be almost gentle and still be a leash.