It was a long story. I started to tell it, but she looked bored right away. I could go on, I said. She opened her door. Please do, she said.

I was lonely, and far from home, and I called her and said, I love you, and she laughed loudly and said, Tell me more things you don’t mean.

She matched me step for step and I said hi and she said, You have lovely shoes, and we were both watching my shoes as I stepped in dog poop.

She knows she sees a mouse but she’s in therapy, she tries to imagine a lesser thing, she tries courage, then she complains about her weight.

Who are you to deserve a compliment? she asks me suddenly; I could tell that had been building up inside her. At least she was alive inside.

We were not where the cops said we’d been. But our denial sounded implausible. I felt lightheaded and faint. She held me steady. By the bum.