“We’ll use my water glass.”
He lights her up, then his own. Smoking in bed, like when they were first married and thought they’d have a couple of kids and live happily ever after. Twelve years later, there are no kids and Wilson is feeling mighty mortal.
“You’re not going to tell me you want a divorce, are you?” He’s joking. He’s not joking.
“No. I want to tell you why I’ve been so fucking grumpy and hard to live with since this spring.”
“Okay…”
She puffs her cigarette but doesn’t inhale. “I’ve been wobbling.”
“I don’t know what that means, Sandi.”
“It means I’m in menopause, Frank. Do you know what that means?”
“Are you sure?”
She gives him a sour look, but then snorts a laugh. “I think I’d know, don’t you?”
“Babe…you’re only thirty-nine.”
“In my family we start early and end early. My sister Pat went into the change when she was thirty-six. My emotions have been all over the place. As you may have noticed.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because then I’d have to admit it to myself.” She sighs. “My last period was four months ago, and that was just spotting. Since then…dry.” A tear rolls down her cheek, just the one. She drops the half-smoked cigarette into the waterglass and covers her eyes with one hand. “I feel dry, Frankie. Old and used up and unlovable. I’ve been a bitch to you, and I’m sorry.”
He douses his own cigarette. He puts the glass on his night table and takes her in his arms. “I love you, Sandi. Always have, always will.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
She reaches past him, her breast pressing his cheek, and turns out the light. For a moment, no more than a second, the screen of his cell phone flashes red.
In the dark, Sandi Wilson smiles.