She put out the cigarette.
“I’m thirty-four, you know. I’m not going to be one of these bitches that ruins children.”
“No.”
“I’m not going to be that way. I feel rather good, you know. I feel rather set up.”
“Good.”
She looked away. I thought she was looking for another cigarette. Then I saw she was crying. I could feel her crying. Shaking and crying. She wouldn’t look up. I put my arms around her.
“Don’t let’s ever talk about it. Please don’t let’s ever talk about it.”
“Dear Brett.”
“I’m going back to Mike.” I could feel her crying as I held her close. “He’s so damned nice and he’s so awful. He’s my sort of thing.”
She would not look up. I stroked her hair. I could feel her shaking.