“Then we call the police,” I said. “We don’t fucking shoot them!”

I had raised my voice, but he raised his louder, and before I knew it, we were yelling at each other. Maybe I was a bit out of control. But I was only reacting to him—there’s an aggressive side to Gabriel, a part of him I only glimpse occasionally, and when I do, it scares me. For those brief moments it’s like living with a stranger. And that’s terrifying.

We didn’t speak for the rest of the evening. We went to bed in silence.

This morning we had sex and made up. We always seem to resolve our problems in bed. It’s easier, somehow—when you’re naked and half-asleep under the covers—to whisper, “I’m sorry,” and mean it. All defenses and bullshit justifications are discarded, lying in a heap on the floor with our clothes.

“Maybe we should make it a rule to always conduct arguments in bed.” He kissed me. “I love you. I’ll get rid of the rifle, I promise.”

“No,” I said. “It doesn’t matter, forget it. It’s okay. Really.”

Gabriel kissed me again and pulled me close. I held on to him, laying my naked body on his. I closed my eyes and stretched out on a friendly rock that was molded to my shape. And I felt at peace at last.

JULY 23

I’m writing this in Café de l’Artista. I come here most days now. I keep feeling the need to get out of the house. When I’m around other people, even if it’s only the bored waitress in here, I feel connected to the world somehow, like a human being.

Otherwise I’m in danger of ceasing to exist. Like I might disappear.

Sometimes I wish I could disappear—like tonight. Gabriel has invited his brother over for dinner. He sprung it on me this morning.

“We’ve not seen Max in ages,” he said. “Not since Joel’s housewarming. I’ll do a barbecue.” Gabriel looked at me strangely. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Why would I mind?”

Gabriel laughed. “You’re such a bad liar, you know that? I can read your face like a very short book.”

“And what does it say?”

“That you don’t like Max. You never have.”

“That’s not true.” I could feel myself going red. I shrugged and looked away. “Of course I like Max. It’ll be nice to see him. When are you going to sit for me again? I need to finish the picture.”

Gabriel smiled. “How about this weekend? And about the painting—do me a favor. Don’t show Max, all right? I don’t want him to see me as Jesus—I’ll never live it down.”

“Max won’t see it. It’s not ready yet.”

And even if it were, Max is the last person I want in my studio. I thought that but didn’t say it.

I’m dreading going home now. I want to stay here in this air-conditioned café and hide until Max has left. But the waitress is already making little impatient noises and emphatically checking her watch. I’ll be kicked out soon. And that means short of wandering the streets all night like a mad person, I have no choice but to go home and face the music. And face Max.

JULY 24

I’m back in the café. Someone was sitting at my table, and the waitress gave me a sympathetic look—at least I think that’s what she was communicating, a sense of solidarity, but I could be wrong. I took another table, facing in, not out, by the air-conditioning unit. There’s not much light—it’s cold and dark, which suits my mood.

Last night was awful. Worse than I thought it would be.

I didn’t recognize Max when he arrived—I don’t think I’ve ever seen him out of a suit before. He looked a bit silly in shorts. He was sweating profusely after the walk from the station—his bald head was red and shiny, and dark patches were spreading out from under his armpits. He wouldn’t meet my eye at first. Or was it me, not looking at him?

He made a big thing of the house, saying how different it looked, how long it was since we’d invited him that he was starting to think we’d never ask again. Gabriel kept apologizing, saying how busy we’d been, me with the upcoming exhibition and him with work, and we’d not seen anyone. Gabriel was smiling, but I could tell he felt annoyed that Max had made such a point of it.

I kept up a pretty good front at first. I was waiting for the right moment. And then I found it. Max and Gabriel went into the garden and got the barbecue going. I hung around in the kitchen on the pretext of making a salad. I knew Max would make an excuse to come and find me. And I was right. After about five minutes, I heard his heavy, thudding footsteps. He doesn’t walk at all like Gabriel—Gabriel is so silent, he’s like a cat, I never hear him moving around the house at all.

“Alicia,” Max said.

I realized my hands were shaking as I chopped the tomatoes. I put down the knife. I turned around to face him.

Max held up his empty beer bottle and smiled. He still wouldn’t look at me. “I’ve come for another.”

I nodded. I didn’t say anything. He opened the fridge and took out another beer. He looked around for the opener. I pointed at it on the counter.

He gave me a funny smile as he opened the beer, like he was going to say something. But I beat him to it:

“I’m going to tell Gabriel what happened. I thought you should know.”