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—•—

The doctor assured Archie everything would be fine as soon as they got his blood sugar under control. It was good news. He came home with a gadget, The Pricker, we called it.

He'd never liked me to see him inject his insulin, but with The Pricker he was different. It was our project. He'd press the button and the pin would nip out and prick his finger. I'd take his finger and smear the blood on the treated paper and put it into the gizmo. While we waited for the reading, I'd guess how sweet his blood was.

—•—

At home, he read a novel, lying on the leather sofa in the den, an iced tea and a bowl of colossal olives on the end table. He turned on PBS. He called out, "American Masters is on—it's Irving Berlin."

I didn't move.

He refilled his iced tea, and said, "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

I listened to the sound of his slippers shuffling back to the living room.

In bed, he said, "I don't know who you are, but I want Jane back." He started kissing me. "What have you done with my Jane?"

I laughed.

"Ah, well," he said. "Any port in a storm."

—•—

He called in his blood-sugar results, and the doctor adjusted his insulin dosage. We waited for the big change. He was still supposed to monitor his blood sugar. I don't know when he stopped. I found The Pricker way in the back of the pantry, behind his supply of syringes.

—•—

We spent weekends at his farmhouse in the Berkshires. The first time I saw his car, a white Lincoln Continental, I couldn't believe it. I said, " It was nice of your father to lend you his car."

"It's very comfortable," he said, making his voice creaky and old.

It was like riding in a living room.

—•—

His farmhouse was a century old, and the walls slanted and sloped, the kitchen had a checkerboard floor, every window looked out on a meadow. We took our meals outside. In the evenings, we visited his friends or played Billie Holiday on the ancient record player and danced.

—•—

He went to a specialist at Mass. General, and was told he couldn't expect his body to work right as long as he kept smoking.

We quit.

We drank fruit juice. We did breathing exercises. When he wanted a cigarette, he took a nap. I wept.

He felt better, he said. No more spots in front of his eyes. His feet didn't tingle. But those were the only changes.

—•—

"I wouldn't blame you if you left me," he said

"No," I said.

"If the roles were reversed," he said, "I'd leave you."

—•—

Driving up to the farmhouse he spoke about the first girl he slept with. He said, "When I was coming, I had to keep myself from saying, 'Marry me, marry me, marry me.'"

Over breakfast, he told me that his ex-wife, Frances Gould, was the smartest woman he'd ever known. He met her at graduate school at Yale. She had custody of their daughter, Elizabeth, and he called them on Sundays.

He referred to Frances as "Elizabeth's mother"—as in "I'm afraid Elizabeth's mother is still in love with me."

—•—

At the grocery store, a woman with big cheekbones came up to us, and I recognized her as the beauty from the first time I saw Archie.

"Corky," he said, and they kissed. "This is Jane."

They talked about their daughters. Gorky's was having a tough time with the girls at school, but the boys adored her. Corky said, "I've never understood women."

—•—

While we unpacked the groceries, Archie told me that Corky had been his mistress on and off for a dozen years. She was a big party girl, he said, she'd bring anybody home, but she drew a blank in the bedroom. "It was the saddest thing," he said.

"Sad," I said.

He glanced over at me. "She was abused as a child."

"Oh," I said.

I watched him thinking about Corky.

He said, "She was once the most magnificent woman on earth to look at."

"So," I said, "what makes you think I want to hear about this?"

"What?"

"All these women," I said.

He said, "It's my life I'm telling you about."

I said, "What's your point?"

He told me that he'd lived for fifty-four years before knowing me, and those fifty-four years made him the man he was. The man I loved. I shouldn't begrudge him those experiences,