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I told him I thought I understood.

"Good," he said.

I said, "Let me tell you about the men I've known."

—•—

The night we went to my aunt's for dinner it was raining out, and I wondered if weather still affected her. She seemed to me now both meaner and kinder than she'd ever been.

She answered the door herself, and she looked wiry, in a loose, white turtleneck.

Archie kissed her forehead.

She was wearing lipstick, but the contour was off. I said, "Excuse us," and took her elbow.

In the bathroom, when I uncapped the lipstick, she said, "I can do it." She looked at me in the mirror. "You could use a little color yourself."

I told her I didn't wear makeup.

She said, "That's a mistake."

Once we were seated in the living room, the nurse brought three glasses of champagne on a tray, and I stared as Archie took his. He avoided my eyes, and held on to the stem of the glass. He lifted the champagne. He swirled it.

"Jane won't let me drink," he said to my aunt.

She said her nurse was just as bad.

During dinner, my aunt said, "Jane used to ask me to tell her stories about you."

When he said, "What did you tell her?" I felt sick, though I could not have said why.

She said, "I didn't tell her what a mean drunk you can be."

—•—

The night I found out she died, Archie and I lay on the sofa for a long time in the dark. He combed my hair with his fingers. When he got to a knot, he'd give it a little yank.

I wanted to feel worse than I felt, so I tried to think of the best time I had with my aunt, but I couldn't remember anything. I was going to ask Archie for his memory of her, but when I turned around, his face looked strange in the dark. "What? "I said.

He said, "Your family will be coming in."

—•—

Archie asked me to invite them over for brunch, but I told him they probably wouldn't have time before the service, and that's what my mom told me. "We'll try," she said.

Archie bought lox and bagels anyway, and set the table with lilies. All morning, he kept looking at his watch, as though he'd been stood up.

When we heard the knocker, Archie rose, but he let me go to the door.

It was just my brother. Henry kissed my cheek and said, "Dad said just to meet at the place."

I saw my dad and mom in the car, and walked out the door with Henry, who nudged me and said, "Cushy digs."

I stuck my head in the car window and kissed my father. "Hi, Papa," I said, and he said, "Hi, love."

"I'm sorry we're so late," my mom said, leaning forward to let Henry in the backseat.

I wanted to go with them.

Maybe my father could tell. He said, "We'll meet you there."

"Okay," I said.

I watched the car drive around the corner, and I turned to go inside. Archie was standing at the door, looking out.

—•—

A lot of people came to the funeral and almost as many to the cemetery. Most of them were old, and Archie seemed to know all of them.

There was no chance to talk until after the burial. We all stood around the Lincoln. It started to rain, and I could tell my father wanted to get going back to Philadelphia, but the people Archie knew kept interrupting to talk to him.

Finally, my father said, "We've got to get back."

Archie said, "We were hoping you'd stay for dinner."

Henry mouthed to me, Nice car.

"Next time," my mom said, and Archie kissed her cheek.

A guy in a black slicker was directing cars, and Archie got in his. I kissed everyone, but I didn't want to leave.

The guy motioned to the Lincoln, and Archie leaned over to the passenger side and knocked on the window. His voice was muted when he said, "Come on, honey."

"Hey," the guy in the slicker called to me, "tell your dad to pull out."

My parents pretended they hadn't heard. Henry looked over at me. He smiled.

—•—

On the way back from the cemetery, I kept seeing Archie as the old man my brother saw. So I looked out the window.

Archie knew it had gone badly, but you could tell he was trying to reassure himself that he'd done everything he could.

When we got to the West Side Highway, the lanes narrowed. On the back