Page 48 of Lucky Night

I think many do, he says. And many more would, though they can’t admit it. Most people can’t even think about infidelity clearly. They’re too terrified ofit.

I take it you can think about it clearly.

I can. Enough to notice a contradiction, at least. Everybody agrees that cheating is wrong, it’s vile, it’s monstrous. And yet, he spreads his hands, it is also universal, persistent and indomitable. The most common crime there is, which all the social censure and moral opprobrium in the world haven’t come close to rooting out. To the point that you have to wonder: maybe it’s not the crime that’s the problem, but the prohibition.

So that’s how you do it, she says, fascinated. You reason yourself off the hook.

No way. I’m not off the hook. The prohibition may be ineffective and contrary to human nature, but for most people it’s still very real, and to escape it I’m lying. Intentionally deceiving my wife. Maybe we should all reconsider whether it’s so awful to want to sleep with people other than your spouse, but lying is unquestionably, categorically wrong, and the fact that I’ve chosen to do it is on me. What I won’t do, though, is excuse it, or explain it away,or somehow delude myself about what I’m doing. I may be lying, but I won’t lie to myself.

So you do feel bad? she says. Because the way you’re acknowledging what you’re doing, and just kind of accepting it…don’t youfeelguilty?

I do. But I limit it. By limiting this. There’s my life, right? Ordinary life, which is one thing, you know, one big thing, then there’s this. You and me. Completely separate.

Firm boundaries, she says. Even in your head?

Especially in my head. They have to be. It’s like what they say about the Titanic. It wasn’t the iceberg that sank it. It was the bad bulkheads.

The bad what?

Bulkheads, he says. They’re the walls between compartments in the hull of a ship. On the Titanic, the bulkheads didn’t reach the ceilings of the lower decks. So when the ship hit the iceberg, water spilled over from compartment to compartment, rather than being limited to the site of the breach. It couldn’t contain the damage. That’s why it sank.

She stares at him.

It’s a good analogy, he says.

If you’re the Titanic, what does that make me? she says. The iceberg?

Okay, forget the analogy. The pointis—

Never mind. What was your great disappointment in life?

Pass, he says.

She throws an M&M at him. You can’t pass!

Says who?

Fine. Why did you insist we spend a full night together?

He sighs. Jenny, can we not—

You kept bringing it up, she says, even though we’ve never done this before. You pushed me to add a day to my trip, you changed the date of your deposition so we’d overlap. Why?

He rises and moves to the window. Then the door. He returnsand grips the back of the chair with both hands, looking down at her. She’s still wrapped in her duvet, cheeks rosy from the bourbon.

Let’s be done with this, okay? This true-confessions bullshit? It’s making my skin crawl. You want to know how I avoid feeling guilty? By not thinking—not talking—about shit like this. I’m a man, okay, a typical man, keeping it all locked up, and that’s worked really well for me for forty-six years. So can we please stop with all the talk about feelings?

Sure, she says. Right after you tell me why you wanted a whole night.

Jesus Christ!

Fine. He sits down. When was the last time we saw each other?

She frowns, thinking. The Spencers’ Christmas party?

The last time wesaweach other saw each other, he says. Just the two of us. In a place like this.

Oh. Right. Was it…mid-November? I know it’s been a long time.

---