“I pick you,” Andy said.
“Sorry,” Vivienne said. “Love, I am taken.”
“I’m all right if you hurt me. I can do that,” he said. “Vivienne. Reconsider me.”
“Oh, baby,” she kissed his cheek. “It’s not like that.”
But there was something here, he listened to her. He paid attention, he allowed himself to be moved by what had moved her. She felt Andy inhaling her. Her husband, Johnny, was happy if she was in the environs, Johnny was happy if he could hear her footsteps in the house as he went about his business of writing, Johnny was content if he could miss her for dinner and leave her a love note. Johnny did not want to hear about the bad times or the sad times or the damage done. Not in detail. Johnny was family. Family wanted you back, safe, home. Family, in truth, did not want stories. Un
