CHAPTER 5
How’d you do it?” my ex-husband demanded over the phone the next morning, Sunday. “Get your dumb-ass roommate to drop the stuff in? You tell her they were sweetening capsules?”
“Oh stop,” I said. “Just tell me how Fritz is.”
“Not until you answer my question.”
“My roommate is a patient of your father’s,” I reminded him, “and she is living here at your mother’s request. She’s a lovely girl who respects your father, and does not deserve to be maligned by you.”
He started to yell, and I held the phone away from my ear. It was only seven o’clock, but John Richard and I were both early risers. The first year of our marriage this had meant lovemaking and fresh sweet rolls as strokes of sunlight swept the walls of the house. Later the fights merely started earlier; accusations came
