She was clever and polished and entirely aware of the effect she produced in a fitted red gown, and tonight she produced it at full strength, one manicured hand resting on my husband’s arm as though it had grown there.

I had watched that hand for the better part of a year, at one function after another, and I had learned to read it the way you learn to read a barometer.

When it rested lightly, things between them were smooth.

When it gripped, they had quarreled.

Tonight it rested with the easy ownership of a woman who believes the contested thing has been decided in her favor, and I almost felt sorry for how wrong she was about to discover she had been.

I noticed the earrings before I noticed anything else about her.