He sat down next to me on the bed.
“Because I didn’t want to make you feel bad,” he said. “I knew what she was doing. I’m not an idiot, Jan. I’m goofy, but I’m not an idiot. But I thought if I told you, you’d be upset, and you’d worry. And I didn’t want you to worry. So I just kept saying no. And I kept putting everything in the shoebox. In case.” He swallowed. “In case you ever needed to know I wasn’t hiding anything.”
“In case,” I repeated.
“I’m a chemist,” he said. “I keep records. It’s a sickness.”
I laughed. Through my tears. I couldn’t help it.
He took the shoebox off my lap. He put it on the floor. He took both my hands in his.
“Janet,” he said. “Look at me.”
I looked at him.
