I refrained from making any jokes because I feared she might take a green day away from me. When we crawled into bed, I told her about going to Comanche River. “And don’t worry,” I said. “I already consulted the chart. It’s a green night.” She smiled. “That sounds . . . nice. Your parents will watch Carly?” “Of course.” She pressed into me, her legs entwined with mine. “Then I look forward to a green night with you away from home.” We switched off the lights, and I fought off the guilt about having another motive in going. I rationalized it by telling myself that I probably wouldn’t find anything while we were there, that it really would be just about me and her. I tossed and turned, trying to convince myself. Julianne was out the door the next morning, just as I was stumbling down to the kitchen. I sat at the table, waiting for the coffeepot to refill—Julianne always emptied an entire one before leaving for the office—and for my eyes to unglue. The laptop was still on the table from the night before, and I pulled up my e-mail.
