Thus far, Griffin had held his own. He’d always wielded superior rhetorical skills (Do you ever win an argument with this guy?) and over the last decade he’d honed them further in the classroom. But admit it, he wasn’t on his game. He never should’ve allowed their dispute to expand beyond her and Tommy, and even to his own ears, his voice, though he was careful not to raise it, sounded shrill, almost desperate. Usually, by this point Joy would have become frustrated and given in, yet the quarrel ground on. It was like a poker game where the wagering suddenly accelerated, each player raising instead of calling, then raising again, until all the blue chips were in the center of the table, more than either could afford to lose, or, maybe, in this case, to win. His father’s death, she kept insisting, was the true source of his current malaise, and her steadfast refusal to surrender this causal linkage had thrown him off his stride. Truth be told, the chronology did give him pause, because the idea of returning to L.A. had taken root not long after his father’s car was found at the turnpike rest stop. Since then he’d become more aggressive about looking for film work, checking with Sid every couple of weeks to see if he’d heard of any assignments he might be right for. He never made those calls when Joy was around, but of course they’d showed up on their long-distance bill, and she’d put two and two together. And he couldn’t really blame her for being angry that he’d sent up a trial balloon with the dean of faculty before broaching the subject with her. Why had he done that? Because he’d been pretty sure she’d hate the idea, maybe even veto it preemptively. So he’d gone ahead without her.

Reluctantly, Griffin was forced to entertain the possibility that he was in the wrong. Maybe her case against him wasn’t airtight, but it was fundamentally sturdy, whereas his defense against her accusations was merely skillful, artifice teetering on the head of a pin. Panicking, he’d tried to retreat to more solid ground. If he had a few secrets about phone calls to his agent and conversations with his dean, what about the whopper she’d been keeping all these years? He wasn’t the one who’d fallen in love with somebody else; she had. And indeed it was this knowledge, the details of it, that kept playing on a loop through his brain, like a pivotal scene in a script (yes, Joy would hate the metaphor, but there you were) that was out of kilter, jeopardizing the whole.

INT. TASTEFUL B &B ROOM: NIGHT.

A man (mid-fifties, slender and moderately good-looking despite his receding hairline) is peering out the window, but his haggard face is reflected back at him in the glass. A woman his age, beautiful but despondent, is seated on the four-poster bed, her head in her hands. Clearly, they’re arguing and have been for some time.

HUSBAND

Is it over? Can you at least tell me that much?

WIFE

(looking up in disbelief)

Over? Can’t you see it never even started?

HUSBAND

Okay, say I believe you and you never-

WIFE

Say you believe me?

HUSBAND

(ashamed of himself)

Even if it never… My question is, are you afraid to see him again? Is that why you won’t go to L.A.?

WIFE

I don’t know…Maybe.

He turns to face her now. Neither speaks for a long beat.

HUSBAND

Explain something to me. How come you get to be disappointed with our life and I don’t?

WIFE

(shaking her head)

Don’t you see? I’m not disappointed. That’s why I’m not willing to risk what we have. We’re talking about something that happened a long time ago. It shouldn’t have, but it did. I let my feelings get the better of me, and I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry yours got hurt. But I chose you. Aren’t the last two decades proof?

But he still can’t believe she was in love with someone else, ever.

HUSBAND

(petulant)

Proof you love your daughter.

WIFE

I do love our daughter.

HUSBAND

(bitter)

Plus, how would you explain to Harve and Jill and Princess Grace of Morocco that you loved somebody new? That would mean you changed your mind about something, and nobody in your family ever does that.

CLOSE ON THE HUSBAND. He knows better than to continue in this vein, but he can’t help himself.

HUSBAND (CONT’D)

What is it your father always says? Nobody’s ever disproved the domino theory?

WIFE

At least we’re finally addressing the real subject.

HUSBAND

(incredulous)

Which is?

WIFE

Our parents.

HUSBAND

Hey, my parents couldn’t be more out of the picture. They have been right from the start.

WIFE

(so sad)

Can’t you see, you’ve got it all wrong. You always blame my parents for intruding into our lives. You think I’m spared when you take your parents’ phone calls in the den with the door closed.

HUSBAND

Let me see if I understand this. Are you really saying my parents are the reason you fell in love with Tommy?

ON THE WOMAN NOW. She’s on her feet, facing him, gaining confidence. In all their married lives, she’s never so openly confronted him before.

WIFE

I’m saying that out of sight isn’t out of mind. You think you don’t let your mother into your life-into our lives-but you blame her when a bird craps on you. Think about that. You believe your father’s gone because he died, but he isn’t gone. He’s haunted you this whole year. Right now he’s in the trunk of your car, and you can’t bring yourself to scatter his ashes. Do you think maybe that means something?

Griffin came to a stop sign, or what he assumed was a stop sign-something octagonal, possibly red. He listened for the approach of an oncoming vehicle, but there was no sound, nothing except the tolling of that far-off buoy. He took a left, recalling, or seeming to, that this would take him through the village and down to the harbor. But that was somehow wrong, because almost immediately the road was lined on both sides by dark, ghostly trees instead of houses, which meant he was heading away from the harbor. Never mind. It didn’t have to be the harbor, or even saltwater. All that had seemed to matter yesterday, but not today. The important-no, critical-thing was to dispose of the man and, in doing so, win the only winnable part of yesterday’s argument. That was the crux of Joy’s case. That his parents, despite their physical absence, had intruded on their marriage as much as hers had, that he perversely wanted them to. If he could prove her wrong about this, then maybe her whole argument would collapse.

Outside of town the fog was, if possible, even thicker, and Griffin ’s hair was now as wet as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. Turning on the wipers helped a little, but his headlights, even on low beams, just made matters worse. Every quarter mile or so he’d pass a mailbox that marked a narrow dirt road where he could turn around and head back into town, but for now, not wanting to appear indecisive even to himself, he was content to keep moving forward. A minute later he passed beneath a highway-Route 6, he guessed-which explained why he hadn’t come to the shore yet. In another mile or two, if this road was reasonably straight, he’d reach the National Seashore on the Atlantic side. Hard to imagine a more remote stretch, especially at this hour of the morning and in this weather. No chance he’d be interrupted there.