better if at least one of them had been a man, but sadly, that was not the case. This is where feminism had gotten her: locked in the back of a sticky squad car with the skirt on her tennis dress riding up her thighs.
At the jail, Claire’s wedding ring, watch, and tennis shoelaces had been taken by a large woman with a mole between her hairy eyebrows whose general appearance reminded Claire of a stink bug. There was no hair growing out of the mole, and Claire wanted to ask why she bothered to pluck the mole but not her eyebrows but it was too late because another woman, this one tall and reedy like a praying mantis, was already taking Claire into the next room.
The fingerprinting was nothing like on TV. Instead of ink, Claire had to press her fingers onto a filthy glass plate so the swirls could be digitized into a computer. Her swirls, apparently, were very faint. It took several tries.
“Good thing I didn’t rob a bank,” Claire said, then added, “ha ha,” to convey the humor.
“Press evenly,” the praying mantis said, chewing off the wings of a fly.
Claire’s mugshot was taken against a white background with a ruler that was clearly off by an inch. She wondered aloud why she wasn’t asked to hold a sign with her name and inmate number.
“Photoshop template,” the praying mantis said in a bored tone that indicated the question was not a new one.
It was the only picture Claire had ever taken where no one had told her to smile.
Then a third policewoman who, bucking the trend, had a nose like a mallard, had taken Claire to the holding cell where, surprisingly, Claire was not the only woman in a tennis outfit.
“What’re you in for?” the other tennis-outfitted inmate had asked. She looked hard and strung out and had obviously been arrested while playing with a different set of balls.
“Murder,” Claire had said, because she had already decided that she wasn’t going to take this seriously.
“Hey.” Paul had finished his Scotch and was signaling the bartender for a refill. “What are you thinking about over there?”
She let out a long sigh. “I’m thinking your day was probably worse than mine if you’re ordering a second drink.” Paul rarely drank. It was something they had in common. Neither one of them liked feeling out of control, which had made jail a real bummer, ha ha.
She asked him, “Everything all right?”
“It’s good right now.” He rubbed her back with his hand. “What did the shrink say?”
Claire waited until the bartender had returned to his corner. “She said that I’m not being forthcoming about my emotions.”
“That’s not like you at all.”
They smiled at each other. Another old argument that wasn’t worth having anymore.
“I don’t like being analyzed,” Claire said, and she could picture her analyst offering an exaggerated shrug as she demanded, “Who the hell does?”
“You know what I was thinking today?” Paul took her hand. His palm felt rough. He’d been working in the garage all weekend. “I was thinking about how much I love you.”
“That’s a funny thing for a husband to say to his wife.”
“It’s true, though.” Paul pressed her hand to his lips. “I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you.”
“Tidier,” she said, because Paul was the one who was always picking up abandoned shoes and various items of clothing that should’ve been put in the laundry basket but somehow ended up in front of the bathroom sink.
He said, “I know things are hard right now. Especially with—” He tilted his head toward the television, which was showing a new photo of the missing sixteen-year-old.
Claire looked at the set. The girl really was beautiful. Athletic and lean with dark, wavy hair.
Paul said, “I just want you to know that I’m always going to be here for you. No matter what.”
Claire felt her throat start to tighten. She took him for granted sometimes. That was the luxury of a long marriage. But she knew that she loved him. She needed him. He was the anchor that kept her from drifting away.
He said, “You know that you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.”
She invoked her college predecessor. “Ava Guilford would be shocked to hear that.”
“Don’t play. I’m being serious.” He leaned in so close that his forehead almost touched hers. “You are the love of my life, Claire Scott. You’re everything to me.”
“Despite my criminal record?”
He kissed her. Really kissed her. She tasted Scotch and a