. . I never knew a massage could do that.” Her eyes are still locked on my torso, and I want to change the subject.“I don’t think you came to lo...k at my bruises. Why are you here?” Her eyes immediately drop back to her clasped hands, and I feel my frustration growing. What is wrong with her? I lean forward, place my hand under her chin, and gently turn her face up to me. She refuses to meet my eyes, but at least she turns.“I—You probably hate me, I know, but. . . I. . . What I mean to say is. .. )Did I talk in my sleep? Did I somehow give out subtle signals? When I came back from school two days later, just in time for supper, I walked into a wonderful odor emanating from the kitchen. Laura had made a small turkey dinner, with yams, and with a delicious apple pie, just coming out of the oven. And I asked, "For what is this great feast?"And she answered, "Just appreciation for my wonderful husband."As I helped her with the dishes, she set a place for a third person, and just about that. More

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