In the canyon city, New York, high in our room at the Empire-Hudson, she said, "You're an awfully nosy guy, Dream Boat."
"I like to talk to people," I said. "Haven't you been getting enough attention?"
"As much as I can handle," she said. "And I'm enjoying every second of it. But it seems to be getting you down."
"You or the people?" I asked, and mussed her hair.
She didn't answer that. "Fred," she said, "do you remember that day at breakfast, long ago? Do you remember asking about Ambrose Bierce and Amelia Earhart?"
"I guess I do."
"Don't be evasive, Fred. You know you do."
I pulled her close. "Is this going to be a questioning period? Is this one of those marriages?"
"Now, Fred—" she said, against my shoulder. "Be serious, please, Fred. Please be serious—oh, you, Fred—"