“I said, it’s over with . . .”

“I heard you.”

“I thought you’d be . . .”

“What? Overjoyed? Relieved? I don’t trust you, Peter. You cheated on me and you cheated on our marriage and although you didn’t know it, you cheated on this baby.”

“I knew you’d overreact.”

Now, there was the Peter she recognized. It was as though he was torn between the mean person he real y was and the kind, conciliatory person he was trying to be.

Melanie smirked. “Right. I’m sure you did. Get out of here, Peter.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry, sorry.” He leaned forward and gave her a look that could only be described as beseeching. “I love you, Mel.”

“You do not.”

“I do. I want you to come home.”

“I don’t want to come home. I’m happy here.” She took a breath and counted to three, the way she did each afternoon before she plunged into the ocean. “There’s someone else.”

“There is?”

“There is.” Melanie’s stomach made some weird squelching noise, loud enough to offer some comic relief, but Peter’s expression remained shocked, incredulous.

“Who is it?”

“It’s none of your business,” Melanie said. Already she was chastising herself—Josh was secret from everybody, and that meant secret from Peter, too. But Melanie couldn’t help herself. She had wanted to tel Peter about Josh since the first night of her and Josh together, in the garden of the ’Sconset Chapel. She wanted Peter to know that she had settled the score. She had a lover, too!

“Wel ,” Peter said. “Okay then.”

“Okay then,” Melanie said.

“He stays with you here?” Peter said.

“No,” Melanie said. “But that doesn’t mean that you can stay here.”

Peter held up his palms. “Say no more. I get the picture. I’l book myself a room. Maybe at that place out by the airport.”

Melanie tilted her head. She was torn, too, between the nice person she real y was and the mean, spiteful person she wanted to be. “They might not have anything available.”

“I’l check.”

“Why don’t you just go home, Peter?”

“Oh, no,” he said. “I’m not giving up that easily.”

“This isn’t a game, Peter. I’m not a trophy you can win back.”

“I know that,” he said. “But I’m not leaving this island until you’re certain with every cel of your body that I love you. I’m a genuine person, Mel.”

“You are not.”

“I am genuine in this,” he said. He came around the table and folded himself in half to embrace her. The hug was awkward, but like the kiss, there was something distinct about it, something earnest.

“Let me take you out,” Peter said. “Anywhere you want to go.”

This was the old Peter talking. Let me spend money on you.

“No,” Melanie said.

“So, what are you saying? I get to see you for five minutes and that’s it? You won’t even eat with me?”

“That is correct.”

“Oh, come on, Mel. I took off from work. I flew al the way up here.”

“No one asked you to. If you had cal ed, I would have told you to stay home.”

“You have to have dinner with me. Please?”

“You don’t get it, Peter. You hurt me. You broke my heart. You destroyed my trust in you.”

“I know, Mel, I know. I’m trying to tel you it’s over and I’m sorry. That’s why I’m here. Just let me stay and have dinner with you. That’s al I’m asking for. Dinner with you. Please, Mel.”

“Fine,” Melanie said. “But we eat here.”

“With Vicki? And . . .”

“Her sister, Brenda. Yes.”

“Ahhhh,” Peter said. He didn’t want to have dinner with Vicki and Brenda, of course he didn’t, but this was the first test. “Okay. Sure thing.” He hoisted his overnight bag. “Would it be okay if I changed my clothes?”

“Peter!”

Melanie ground her molars together as Blaine launched himself into Peter’s arms. Here was something Melanie hadn’t considered. Vicki and Brenda might not mention Peter’s presence to Josh (she would ask them not to, for what reason, Melanie had yet to conjure)—but Blaine would tel Josh immediately, first thing.

Peter laughed. “At least someone is happy to see me. How’re you doing, buddy?”

“Good,” Blaine said.

Peter set Blaine down. “You’re getting tal . How old are you now? Seven?”

Blaine beamed. “I’m four and a half.”

“See? You’re so tal I thought you were seven.”

“Did you come with my dad?” Blaine asked.

“No,” Peter said. “I came by myself. I wanted to see Melanie.”

Blaine looked puzzled. “What for?”

“Melanie’s my wife. Remember?”

“She is?”

“Wel . . . ,” Melanie said.

“What?” Peter said. “You are my wife.”

Vicki and Brenda were as quiet as thieves in the kitchen as they pul ed dinner together. They had been shocked by Peter’s presence, but Melanie couldn’t tel if they were happy for her that her husband had come back, or if they were angry and disapproving. Brenda had been more visibly stunned, Vicki more openly cynical with Peter, but she had known him a long time.

“And the baby in here,” Peter said, patting Melanie’s bel y, “is my baby and Melanie’s baby.”

“It is?” Blaine said.

“Amazing,” Brenda said from the kitchen. Her voice was just loud enough for Melanie and Peter to hear.

Angry, Melanie thought. Disapproving.

“Peter brought some wine,” Melanie said. “Brenda, would you like some? Vicki?”

“Yes,” Brenda said.

“Yes,” Vicki said.

Melanie poured three glasses. She was dying to take a sip herself, but no, she wouldn’t.

Blaine said, “Want to go outside and throw rocks with me?”

“Sure,” Peter said. “I love to throw rocks.”

The front screen door slammed behind them.

“I’d like to throw some rocks at him,” Vicki said.

“Vick . . . ,” Melanie said.

“Sorry,” Vicki said. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“I don’t feel sorry,” Brenda said. “You spent so many weeks feeling miserable because of that jerk, I think we have a right to be angry. I mean, what is the deal with the show-up-out-of-the-blue tactics?”

“He knew if he asked, I’d say no.”

“You should have told him to go to hel ,” Brenda said.

“He’s not staying here,” Melanie said.

“He got a hotel?” Vicki said.

“I think he’s planning on staying out by the airport,” Melanie said, though she knew Peter had done nothing about booking a room. And not only that, but Peter’s overnight bag was resting possessively on the other twin bed in Melanie’s room.

“I see they gave you the nun’s quarters,” Peter had said when he walked into Melanie’s room. “Do you and your lover share a twin bed?”

“I told you, he doesn’t stay here.”

“I can see why,” Peter said. He’d proceeded to make himself comfortable, changing into shorts and a polo shirt right in front of Melanie. Watching him undress had seemed strange, and she’d nearly excused herself from the room. But he was her husband. How many times had she seen him undress before? Hundreds. Thousands.

“Who is it?” Peter said. “Some rich guy with a house on the beach?”

“I’m not tel ing you who it is,” Melanie said. “It doesn’t concern you.”

“It does concern me. You’re my wife. You’re carrying my child.”

Melanie poured herself a club soda. What would she do about Josh? Would she go to him tonight? Would she tel him? Was Melanie prepared to go back with Peter? She felt like the answer should be no, but he was her husband. Was she wil ing to raise this child alone, as a single parent, without a father?

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Melanie said to Brenda and Vicki. “And I’m going to ask you to respect that. I’m playing this by ear. I’m going to hear what the man has to say for himself. I’l think about it. I’l make him go home tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Vicki said.

“And there’s something else I want to ask you.”

“What?” Brenda said.

“Please don’t tel Josh that Peter came here.”

“Why not?” Brenda said.

“Why not?” Vicki said.

They were both looking at her.

Melanie took a sip of club soda and fervently wished for some vodka.

“Al the things I’ve said to Josh about Peter, he’d feel like you two do, but he’s young, you know, and he’s a guy. He won’t get it.”

“You have feelings for him,” Vicki said. Her eyes were so dead-on certain she could have dril ed holes through a two-by-four. “You have feelings for Josh.”

Brenda’s expression bloomed with what looked like childish delight. “You mean feelings feelings?”

Melanie could feel her face turning the color of the tomatoes in the Caprese salad. She forced a laugh. “For God’s sake, Vick. Would you please give me a break?”

“Am I wrong?” Vicki said. Her tone was more curious than judgmental, but that would change if she knew how far things between Melanie and Josh had progressed.

“Just please don’t mention it to Josh, okay?” Melanie said. “Please keep Peter’s visit between us.”

“Feelings feelings,” Brenda said. “I can’t believe it.”

“Brenda,” Vicki said.

“What? You’re the one who said it.”

The front screen door slammed. The women al turned. Peter said, “Oops, sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

There was conversation at dinner—Melanie may even have participated in it—but afterward, she didn’t recal a thing that was said. Her mind was whol y occupied with the enormous mess she’d made of things. It was a bal of yarn, tangled in her lap. Slowly, she thought, she would have to unravel it.

After dinner, Peter did the dishes. Vicki excused herself to give the kids a bath, read them stories, and put them to bed. Brenda lingered in the kitchen for a while, finishing up the bottle of wine, watching Melanie a little too closely. Final y, she gave up, much to Melanie’s relief. Melanie and Peter were polite to each other—washing the dishes, drying them and putting them away, wiping down the Formica, wrapping up the leftovers—