I’m sorry, I said. I don’t know what happened there.
You want me dead? he asked. This time it was a question. He really wanted to know.
Of course I didn’t want him dead. What I wanted was some kind of resolution to the mystery of the missing Slothinites. I couldn’t exactly explain why that seemed to mean, in my mind, that I needed to put my husband in danger.
I think I want to jump out of that window, I said.
He moved to block the open window. It was a tiny move, almost imperceptible, but I saw it. He was worried about me. He didn’t think what I said was completely ridiculous. He thought it worthy of paying attention to and even of making provisions for its possibility.
My thoughts, upon seeing that motion, were a jumble. I appreciated his concern for me, but resented him thinking tha
