They both turned to face me. She took his hand, and somehow this simple act of intimacy upset me as much as anything else I’d seen that night. It wasn’t that he grabbed her hand, but that she had reached out to take his. I couldn’t stop staring. My wife’s tiny white fingers with their delicately painted pink nails entwined with his that were filthy and infested with warts. They stood there before me holding hands as if they were lovers. “Billy,” Lisa began, a slight tremor in her voice, “do you remember the words the priest said when he married us...the words of the ceremony?”
The question caught me by surprise. She looked straight at me, waiting. “Yes, I think so. But why...”
“Please, Billy, give me the ring I put on your finger on our wedding day.” She glanced at Silk who wi
