“I know.”

“This isn’t a good idea, coming here.”

“The door is locked.”

“I know, but what if we forget one day?”

“Believe me, I won’t forget.”

Claire knew this to be true. Lock checked and double-checked the lock, then checked it again.

“But Gavin has a key. And so does Adams.”

“Yeah, but . . . ,” Lock murmured.

“I feel like we’re going to get caught,” Claire said.

“We won’t get caught,” Lock said. “Trust me.”

This sounded like one of his edicts that could not be argued with—There is no hell—but for some reason it did not sit right with Claire. It sounded false and presumptuous.

“Tell me,” Lock said. “What choice do we have?”

Claire rested her head against his chest. “I don’t know,” she said. “We could take a break.”

“Take a break?” he said. “You mean not meet? Not see each other?”

“No,” she said. “God, no.” When Claire was alone, doing yoga, doing the dishes, when she was in her hot shop, and she prayed for strength, this seemed like the answer. Take a break. Cool things off. But when she was with Lock, when he was there next to her, when she heard his pained voice say, Not see each other?—it was unthinkable. “We just have to be careful. Really careful.”

“Assiduous,” Lock said. “Steadfast in our commitment to keeping this a secret.”

Claire filled with fresh guilt. She had shared the secret with Siobhan, but she had not told Lock this. He would never in a million years understand why she had done it. He might, quite possibly, feel angry and betrayed enough to end things. And so it was official: Claire was lying to everyone. Siobhan now knew the truth, but since the day Claire had told her at the beach, the topic hadn’t come up again. Siobhan never alluded to it, even when she and Claire were alone. It was as though Siobhan were the one with the hole in her head, and the information had fallen out and vanished. This was a relief to Claire, but puzzling, too. Why did Siobhan not want to talk it to death? Was she actually respecting Claire’s private life, or did she find it too distasteful, disturbing, disgusting, disquieting, to discuss? And if they weren’t planning on discussing it at all, ever, then why had Claire bothered to divulge the secret?

Everything in Claire’s life was getting more complicated. She was so filled with conflicting emotions, she was amazed she was able to walk in a straight line.

“I should go,” Claire said. She hated these moments right before they separated, especially since every night lately had felt like it could be their last one together. She kissed Lock, desperately, then slipped down the stairs.

The worst thing about adultery was her growing envy and resentment of Lock’s life at home with Daphne. As much as Claire tried to discount it, it did exist: Lock and Daphne had a child together whom they loved desperately, whose welfare they discussed, whom they were proud of and worried about. They had a home filled with art and antiques, and every acquisition had a story. They had the airline they liked to fly and their rental car company and their brands of shampoo and olive oil, the places they liked to get takeout, the TV show they watched on Sunday nights, the certain type of down pillow they slept on; they had their bathroom rituals, their sexual positions, their Internet provider, their friends from Seattle and Saint Louis, their photographs from trips to South Africa and Iceland, and a Red Sox game where Ramirez hit a home run and Lock caught the ball, and the night at the symphony when they heard Itzhak Perlman. They had a common vocabulary, years and years of shared experience, every night sleeping next to each other. Whereas Claire and Jason took the kids to Story Land on vacation, Lock and Daphne went to Tortola and stayed at a five-star resort, where the sand was like powdered sugar. It felt like Lock and Daphne’s way of doing things was superior, if only because it was theirs. Claire wanted to have her own life with Lock. To have to live her life with Jason alongside the life that Lock was living with Daphne was excruciating. It was the worst thing.

Claire and Lock saw each other less frequently alone and more frequently with their spouses at various social functions. This was the problem. Claire hated seeing Lock and Daphne together—and it seemed that in early summer, Daphne was out with Lock every night instead of shut away at home, which was where she had always been in years past. Now she was at Lock’s side, his wife; they were a couple, and Claire was confronted with their marriage again and again. She bristled when she saw Lock’s arm around Daphne’s back, when he brought her a drink, when he reached out to straighten Daphne’s necklace. Claire tried to concentrate on being with Jason, but Jason hated these social outings. She had to drag him, she had to set out his clothes so he would look presentable. He was like a sullen teenager, and his impatience was obvious: he spent most of his time sucking down beers at the raw bar, talking to the shucker, Mikey, whom he fished with, and checking his watch. How much longer until he could go home and watch TV?

At some point during each event, Claire and Lock would have to acknowledge each other, and this was painful and awkward: Lock and Daphne face-to-face with Claire and Jason.

“Claire,” Lock said, bending in to kiss her, then reaching across her to shake Jason’s hand. “Jason.”

“Hey, man,” Jason said.

“Claire,” Daphne said, smiling archly.

Claire licked her teeth. “Daphne.” Air kiss. A glance to Daphne’s chest—was she wearing something revealing? Daphne had no qualms about giving Claire the once-over, and then she would hurl veiled insults, one after another, like water balloons over the fence. Look how much sun you’ve gotten—so many freckles! You always look so nice in that top. It’s the same one you wore to Cinco, is it not? Did you tell me before that you bought it at Target? I never think to shop for my clothes there! God, this wine is atrocious. I can’t believe you’re drinking it! My palate is positively offended by it. And you’re eating the cheese puffs—well, of course you can, you’re so thin. I should follow you into the ladies room to make sure you’re not purging. We all wonder, you know.