I tried to be as accommodating as possible, doing what was necessary to get it over with quickly. Nick's favorite position was from behind, driving into me with straight, selfish thrusts that gave me no stimulation. He praised me for being one of those women who didn't make a big deal about foreplay. In truth, I was fine without foreplay — it would only have prolonged an act that was messy, often uncomfortable, and not at all romantic.

I realized that I was not a sexual person. I was not moved by the sight of Nick's well-exercised body, toned from spending most of his lunch hours at the gym. When we went out, I saw the way other women stared at my handsome husband and envied me.

I Got a call one night from Liberty, and from the sound of her voice,] knew instantly that something was wrong. "Haven, I've got some bad news. It's about Gretchen . . . " As she went on, I felt weighted with shock and despair, and I strained to understand her, as if she were speaking in a foreign language. Gretchen had had a headache for about two days, and had fallen unconscious in her room — Dad had heard the thud from down the hall. She was dead by the time the paramedics arrived. A cerebral aneurism, they said at the hospital.

"I'm so sorry," Liberty said, her voice tear-clotted. I heard the sounds of her blowing her nose. "She was such a wonderful person. I know how much you loved each other."

I sat on the sofa and leaned my head back, letting tears run in a hot trail down the sides of my face. "When is the funeral?" I managed to ask.

"In two days. Will you come? Will you stay with Gage and me?"

"Yes. Thanks. I . . . How is Dad?" No matter what the state of our relationship was, I ached with sympathy for my father. Losing Gretchen would be hard for him, one of the hardest things he would ever face.

"I guess as well as could be expected." Liberty blew her nose again. She added in a constricted whisper, "I've never seen him cry before."

"I haven't either." I heard the key in the front door lock. Nick was home. I was relieved, wanting the comfort of his arms. "How is Carrington?" I asked, knowing that Liberty's little sister had been close to Gretchen.

"You're so sweet to ask . . . she's really torn up about it, but she'll be okay. It's hard for her to understand how everything can change so suddenly."

"It's hard even for grown-ups to understand." I pressed my sleeve over my wet eyes. "I don't know whether I'll drive or fly down. I'll call you after I talk to Nick .and figure things out."

"Okay, Haven. Bye."

Nick came into the apartment, setting down his briefcase. "What's up?" he asked, frowning as he came to me.

"My aunt Gretchen died," I said, and started to cry again.

Nick came to sit beside me on the sofa, and put his arm around me. I nestled against his shoulder.

After a few minutes of consolation, Nick stood and went to the kitchen. He got a beer from the fridge. "I'm sorry, baby. I know this is tough for you. But it's probably a good thing that you can't go to the funeral."

I blinked in surprise. "I can go. If we don't have the money for a plane ticket, I can — "

"We only have one car." His voice changed. "I guess I'm supposed to sit in the apartment all weekend while you're in Houston?"

"Why don't you come with me?"

"I should have known you'd forget. We've got something going on this weekend, Marie." He looked at me hard, and I gave him a blank stare. "The company's annual crawfish boil, at the owner's house. Since this is my first year, there's no way I can miss it."

My eyes widened. "I . . . I . . . you want me to go to a crawfish boil instead of my aunt's funeral?"

"There's no choice. Jesus, Marie, do you want to cost me any chance of a promotion? I'm going to that crawfish boil, and I'm damn well not going to go alone. I need to have a wife there, and I need yon to make a good impression."

"I can't," I said, more bewildered than angry. I couldn't believe my feelings about Gretchen would mean so little to him. "I need to be with my family. People will understand if you tell them — "

"I'm your family!" Nick threw the beer, the full can hitting the edge of the sink with an explosion of foam. "Just who is paying your bills, Marie? Who's keeping a roof over your head? Me. No one in your f**king family is helping us. I'm the breadwinner. You do what I say."

"I'm not your slave," I shot back. "I have the right to go to Gretchen's funeral, and I'm going to — "

"Try it." He sneered, reaching me in three angry strides. "Try it, Marie. You've got no money and no way to get there." He clenched my arms and shoved me hard, and I went stumbling back against the wall. "God knows how such an idiot managed to graduate from college," he said. "They don't give a shit about you, Marie. Try to get that through your thick head."

I sent Liberty an e-mail telling her I couldn't go to the funeral. I didn't explain why, and there was no reply from her. Since there were no calls from the rest of my family, I was pretty sure I knew what they thought of me for not going. Whatever they thought, however, it wasn't nearly as bad as the things I was thinking about myself.

I went to the crawfish boil with Nick. I smiled the whole time. Everyone called me Marie. And I wore elbow-length sleeves to cover the bruises on my arms. I didn't cry one tear on the day of Gretchen's funeral.