Diana told me on a Sunday in August.
She had been building to it for months in the way of things she was thinking carefully about, the increase in phone calls, the specific quality of certain silences, the way she had been looking at her boathouse near the water with the expression of someone reassessing whether this is the shape they intended.
“I’m going to Zurich,” she said.
I looked at her across the kitchen table.
“For how long?” I said.
“For as long as it makes sense,” she said. “Which is the honest answer because I don’t know the more specific one yet.”
“To be with Robert,” I said.
“To explore whether being with Robert is something that works at this stage of two lives that have been shaped by everything they have been shaped by,” she said, with the precision of someone who ha
