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hiding something?”
    “No.”
    “But you’re not sure?”
    Diane sets her fork down then reaches across the table and puts her hand on mine. “I know you’re not. And I know that whatever this is about, you’re not the one to blame.”
    “You’re distant now.”
    “I know.”
    “Are you going to tell me why?”
    She sits back. “I suppose I feel helpless, like I should be able to do something.”
    “That’s it?”
    “That’s it.”
    I don’t believe her.
    I know Diane loves me, but this wasn’t what she signed up for. She wanted to marry the kid she read about in the book, the one who pulled himself out of the fire, not the one still burning.
    I hope I’m wrong, but something tells me I’m not.

     
    Two days later, I go back to the doctor and have the Q-tip bandage replaced with a smaller one. The new bandage covers the fingers on the left side of my hand, leaving my thumb free. It’s not much, but I can use my hand again.
    We haven’t heard from Detective Nolan, so on the third day, I call him. He tells me there were no fingerprints, other than mine, on the jar, the tape, or the packaging.
    “So now what?” I ask.
    He pauses, then gives me the stock answer: following every lead, no stone unturned.
    My fault for asking.
    “How about the two men who attacked me? Anything on either of them?”
    “Not yet,” Nolan says. “We talked to the bartender who was working that night. He remembered them, but didn’t have much to add. Said they never talked, even to each other, and when they talked to him, he could barely understand a word.”
    “That helps.”
    “Did your wife make it back?”
    “She did.”
    “No worse for wear, I hope.”
    “She’s fine.” I try to move the conversation away from Diane. “Will you call if you find anything else?”
    “You’ll be the first person I call.”

     
    The next day Diane tells me she’s leaving.
    “Just for a couple days,” she says. “I have to meet with a client in Phoenix who wants to sell part of his modern collection. We’re meeting with his lawyer to go over the details. He has to sign some papers.”
    I’m used to Diane traveling for her job, but this time it’s different. I want to ask her why she didn’t tell me about this trip before now, but I don’t.
    I understand what’s happening.
    We drive to the airport, and I wait with her until the flight boards. Diane doesn’t like to fly, so I keep talking, trying to distract her.
    “My classes start this week,” I say. “I think I’m ready, but I guess we’ll see.”
    She nods, silent.
    “There were still seats open last time I checked. That’s not a good sign.”
    Diane looks at her watch, then back over her shoulder. She’s not listening to me, so I decide to keep quiet until they start boarding her flight.
    When it’s her turn, she looks at me for the first time since we arrived, then leans in close and kisses me, long and soft.
    I tell myself it isn’t a good-bye kiss.
    “I’ll see you in a couple days,” she says.
    “Call me when you get to the hotel.”
    She stands and slides her purse over her shoulder then takes a deep breath. “I should’ve driven. If I’d gone through the mountains I could’ve made it to Phoenix in plenty of time.” She smiles at me, but it doesn’t touch her eyes. “Have I ever told you how much I hate flying?”
    “You might’ve mentioned it a few times,” I say. “But it’ll be all right. It’s a short one.”
    She nods, kisses me again. “Bye, Jake.”
    I watch her cross the terminal and hand her boarding pass to the ticket agent. Before she starts down the tunnel toward the plane, she looks back and waves.
    I raise my hand. Then she’s gone.

     
    A couple days turns into a week.
    Diane apologizes. She tells me her client and his wife are fighting over what pieces to sell, and the lawyer can’t work up a contract until they make a decision.
    I tell her it’s fine, then ask, “How’s Phoenix?”
    “Hot, dry, and crowded,”