"I make good apple pie," she said.
"What about Rupert?"
"Rupert is history."
"But you're married."
"Not for long, Sweetums. He can't wait to get rid of me and have his precious space back." Oliver thought of his apartment and felt a small pang. "It's not even his house; his parents let him have it when they moved to Hilton Head. Everything in it, practically, was theirs. I couldn't get rid of any of it. God, I hated those chairs."
"My place is big enough," Oliver said.
"Your place is wonderful," she said. "For now, anyway. Is there a washing machine?"
"Around the back—there's a utility room. Damn!"
"What's the matter?"
"Thanksgiving. I'm supposed to go to my sister's."