Evelyn’s pearls went still under her fingers.

Then I pressed play.

The speaker sat between the butter dish and my water glass, a black pebble the size of a cough drop.

Julian’s voice came out of it, easy and unhurried, the voice he used for conference calls with his feet up on the desk.

“I don’t love her.

I haven’t touched her since June, honestly.”

Frank set his fork down, and the click of it carried the whole length of the table.

“Chloe and I are getting married when this is finished,” Julian said from the speaker.