“He has a good memory,” I said.

He smiled.

I could hear how the answer sounded: affectionate, ordinary, the sort of remark nobody would think about again.

To me, it carried a question.

How many things had he remembered to keep from me?

The dining room glittered with candlelight and crystal.

Conversations crossed the table about promotions, travel, renovations, a contractor who had gone over budget, and a restaurant someone insisted we all had to try.

I had participated happily in these evenings before.