Maybe I could make it up to Martin, a little.

He was dozing when I crawled in the bed next to him. I'd switched off the light in the bathroom off the landing, and making my way to the bed was something of an adventure. But once there, he wasn't hard to find. I slid down, down under the covers. Martin made a startled noise. But it was definitely on the happy-startled side.

Afterward, when he held me and kissed me, he murmured, "Oh, honey, that was so good."

"I hope I haven't made you crazy today," I ventured. "You've made me crazy from the moment I laid eyes on you," he told me, his voice drowsy with sleep and satisfaction.

I snuggled into my pillow, praying for a Hayden-less night. "I love you," Martin said suddenly. "I have a feeling that's gotten shunted to a sidetrack the past few days."

Past few months, more like.

"I know you love me," I whispered.

"When we got married ..."

I was so exhausted I had to force myself to listen. None of the Advice to the Lovelorn columns told you that some days you'd be too sleepy to listen to a declaration of love.

"... all I wanted was to protect you from any harm. To make you safe. Not to let anything worry you... frighten you... and make sure you never wanted for anything."

Bless his heart, that was just not possible. But it was the most attractive illusion in the world, wasn't it? What had I wanted to give Martin in return? I remembered hazily that I'd resolved to help him in his career by being a good hostess and a good guest, attending every event promptly and in appropriate clothes, expressing appropriate sentiments. I'd wanted to provide him with a house that was a home: clean, comfortable, good cooking smells in the kitchen, laundered clothes.

But after a while I'd felt compelled to work at least part-time, to go back to the library, because I loved the job and the books and the people. And there were days I had indulged myself by reading rather than doing the laundry, talking to my mother and my friends rather than starting preparations for an elaborate meal. And since I had a big contrary streak running all the way through me, I had sometimes rebelled in my own tiny way by wearing bizarre glasses to a Pan-Am Agra wives dinner, or by saying what I actually thought rather than what people wanted to hear.

"So," I said suddenly, "have I been the wife you wanted?" "I didn't want ‘a wife,' " he muttered, clearly putting the phrase in quotation marks. "When I saw you standing on the steps in front of that house with the wind blowing your hair, looking so anxious, in that suit... I remember the color ..." "You thought, Gosh, I want to marry her and keep her forever?" "I thought, God, I want to get in her pants..." I began to giggle, and Martin's hand came out of the darkness and stroked my cheek.

"Good night," he said, on the edge of sleep. "You have never disappointed me."

"Good night," I answered, and let go of the day.

My little traveling clock on the night table told me it was seven-thirty, and the wailing from next door told me Hayden had started his cycle. I hopped out of bed before I was fully awake, and the cold of the floor gave me a nasty shock. Our house in Lawrenceton had hardwood floors too, but they never felt this cold. I slid my feet into slippers as I headed for the door, and I crossed over to the "nursery" with the soles slapping the floor pleasantly. The house seemed very quiet, except for Hayden, who was red faced and sobbing when I got to him.

He'd slept all night.

"Mama's here," I said, my voice still thick with sleep. "Don't cry, baby!" I scooped him up from the crib, after figuring out how to lower the side. I only knew cribs had sides that lowered because I'd watched my friend Lizanne do the honors on her baby's bed. For mothers less than five feet tall, the lowered side was an essential feature. Not that I was a mother! I warned myself, catching my error.

"Heat a bottle, please, Martin?" I called down the stairs as I changed Hayden on our bed. He definitely didn't like the cold air smacking his damp bottom, and I didn't blame him. He was overdue for a sponge bath, but I dreaded giving him one in this chilly house.

Down the stairs we went, Hayden still complaining but not as frantically. The kitchen was empty. Far from coffee waiting for me and a bottle awaiting Hayden, everything looked boringly like it had the night before. The door to the back porch opened. Martin stepped in, stamping his feet, and stood on a little rug by the back door to take off his boots. He stepped through to the kitchen in his stocking feet.

"Look outside, Roe!" he said, with the grin of a twelve-year-old. For the first time I glanced out of the windows; and I realized why the house had seemed so silent. The fields and the driveway were covered with snow. "Oh my God," I said, stunned. I stared at the heavy white coating. "Oh. Wow." From one horizon to the next, it was the same. "I've never seen that much snow in my life."

"I almost wish we had a sled," he said.

"I almost wish I had a cup of coffee."

"Coming right up." Martin was awful damn cheerful. Who could have guessed snow would have that effect? I sat there in a semiconscious lump while Martin heated the baby bottle, started the coffee, and made toast with a beautiful toaster that had to have been a wedding present for Regina and Craig. Martin even hummed. He is not a hummer.

He took Hayden and gave him his bottle. "Look out there, fella. Snow everywhere! When you get bigger you can bundle up and go out there and make snow angels and pee in the snow and make a snowman ..."

I sensed a theme.

By the time Martin had wound down, I had had time to pour two cups of coffee down my throat and eat my toast, too.

"Can we get out of here?" I asked. I took my third cup with me to the window. "I mean, can your car get out of the driveway?"

Martin looked serious, all of a sudden. He loves that Mercedes, for sure.

"I'll call Karl," he said, and vanished.

I tried to remember Karl from our wedding, which Martin had assured me Karl attended. I was drawing a blank. Of course, I'd been so nervous I was surprised I'd gotten the responses right.

I occupied myself by spreading towels by the kitchen sink to give Hayden that quick sponge bath I felt obliged to give him. He hated it just as much as he had the last time I'd tried this process, maybe even objecting more loudly because it was so cold. I'd already had dark doubts about this little ritual, which Amina had assured me was obligatory. After all, how dirty could Hayden get? I cleaned his bottom every time I changed him.

But I dutifully soaped the hands that never grasped food, and the feet that never took a step. At least, I told myself bracingly, all this complaining would surely wear out the baby, resulting in a good nap. "Karl's coming out," Martin told me.

"Great. Remind me about Karl?"

"Karl Bagosian, whose family was Armenian a couple of generations ago. He went to school with me, though he's a couple of years older." "So what does Karl do now?"

"He owns the Jeep place."

I nodded wisely. It was all becoming clear.

"So you fellas were buddies through school?"

Martin shrugged. "Yeah, we were. We were on the football team together. We went hunting together. He dated Barby for a while. We joined the army together." "Speaking of high school buddies, what's the story on Dennis Stinson?" "I always hated that son of a bitch," my husband said, with very little change in his voice.

"He seemed nice to me." I tried to look innocent. "Just because he's moved in on your ex-wife..."

"Cindy and I have been divorced for a long time," Martin said. "I don't think it's that... or maybe, not much. And he tried to copy off my paper in geometry." I couldn't help it, I started laughing. Martin had the grace to look abashed. "Dennis just... I wouldn't have minded Cindy living with someone, if it had been Karl. But Karl went and got himself married to a girl that just got out of college, right about the same time you and I got married. He's got kids older than her, I think."