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takes up another instrument and tugs at the tooth, twisting it, and I feel it tearing away. The hoarse, sputtering noise of the suction hose removing blood and saliva. Robert worked for nothing in Nicaragua after he graduated, teaching the revolutionaries to be dentists, the distant spitting of gunfire in the fields beyond his classroom. During the dot-com boom he invested — in and out — unspeakably rich.
    My tooth hits a chrome bowl with a bright ping. He begins to sew the stitches. I feel the thread move through the gum and the sensation, though painless, nauseates me. Three tightstitches, the side of my mouth puckered. He gives me a wad of cotton and tells me to bite down. He peels the latex gloves. I worry the loose ends of the stitches with my wooden tongue. They feel like cat whiskers.
    I’ve wanted to ask for some weeks, Robert says.
    Maybe this is not the best time, I say.
    I want to marry you, he says.

    The sound of the sliding metal rings when I rip open the shower curtain unnerves me. Waiting for the toaster to pop, a butter knife in my hand, I am aware of a presence. The washer shimmies across the laundry room floor until it works the plug from the wall and the motor goes quiet. The water stops slushing. An engrossing, animated silence. Every object — the vacuum cleaner, a vase of dried thistles — has become sensitive. The fridge knows. The unmade bed is not ordinary. I put a glass down and check. It’s exactly where I set it down. Loving a dead person takes immense energy and it is making me cry.

    Robert works the champagne cork with his thumbs. The cork bounces off the ceiling and hits a mirror, causing a web of cracks. He hands me my glass and I can feel the fizz on my face.
    He says, This is the happiest day of my life.
    We twine arms and drink and the awkward intimacy of this, the complete lack of irony — I know instantly I’ve made a mistake.

    Robert is still at work and I’m watching the decorating channel. The camera slowly roves through a palatial, empty house in Vermont, a woman’s chipper voice: Here we have an oak table, very countryish, but
workable
chairs, this dining room absolutely screams to be used. Use me, it’s screaming!
    I turn the TV off and listen to the shrill nothing that fills Robert’s house. Leaves swirl off the lawn in twisting columns. A brown leaf hits the glass and sticks. The starlings are flying in formation over the university. A black cloud draws together and becomes thin as it changes direction. The sky is full of grey luster and the starlings seem feverish. I remember Des parking by the university once, just to watch them. It was late, we had groceries, ice cream in the trunk.
    They’re just playing, he said. I want to stay here, don’t you? I want to watch all night.
    I think: If you are there, get in touch with me now. I believe suddenly that he can, that it is just a matter of my asking.
    The phone rings at exactly that instant. It rings and rings and rings. Then it stops. I put my hand on the receiver and I can feel a warm thrum. Then it rings again, loud. I go upstairs and brush my teeth. I rinse and start flossing. The phone rings again. It’s ringing in all the rooms, terrifying me. I pour a bathand get in, and when it’s deep enough I dunk my ears under the water.

    Robert gives me a glass of scotch and drops into the chair beside me. He presses his watch face so the dial glows, sending a circle of green light zigzagging across his face. The sale of my house has come through. A young couple with a dalmatian. Most of the furnishings went to the Sally Ann. A closet full of Des’s shirts, a key ring with a plastic telescope, inside which there is a picture of Des and me on vacation in Mexico. It has to be held to a light. We are laughing, drinking from coconut shells. I’d let all the plants die. Robert has everything we need.
    You’re tired, I say, we’re both tired.
    What do you think of stem cell research, he says.
    There are the dishes.
    I