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232 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2005
"It's our job, after all, the one we signed up for."
"I guess so." Alan was struck by the conventionality of her rhetoric, as if Jane were quoting the minister of her parents' church, as was possibly the case. It occurred to him that something was lacking from this conversation. Jane had not said that she loved him or had missed him, and he had not said it either.
"We have to try, that's all." She did not look at him, but at the oiled butcher-block surface of the kitchen table, and her tone wavered, almost as if she were about to start crying. Moved by a combination of affection, pity, and good manners, Alan crossed the kitchen floor and awkwardly put his arm around her.
"Mm, hm," he said. Over Jane's shoulder he saw her suitcase slumped against the fridge by the back door. That could be a construction too, he thought. The fridge, the broom and dustpan hanging on the wall, the open door, the wheeled carry-on suitcase with its rectangular handle echoing the shape of the door.