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When my husband told me he was leaving, we were sitting in our den. I looked around at the polished shelves, the TV and VCR, piles of The New Yorker and Business Week. The accumulation of ten years of marriage, mostly his.

“I’ve made the arrangements,” he told me. “I’ll rent an apartment.”

I …

Ellen found her mother seated on the living room floor, her hair in a scarf. She had the dreamy look she often wore after spending several hours by herself. “I’m rearranging,” she said. “Dusting.”

Around her lay things she had bought on her various trips: inlaid wood chests, corn-husk dolls, ani…

“I was almost killed in Jamaica,” she said at breakfast one day. “Your dad swam away from our boat and a wind came up. I started sailing out to sea.” She spoke with the urgency of a first telling, though Ellen had heard the story many times.

“Jesus, what a nightmare,” her father said, looking up…

“When I was eighteen,” her father said, “I bought a motorcycle and rode around Europe for months.”

Ellen had never heard this before. “Was it fun?” she asked.

“I lived like a maniac.”

She paused, unsure whether this was good or bad. “Was it fun?” she asked again.

“Fun. Was it fun.” He s…

We hang up, and I go back to my closet to do another hour’s work. I’m looking forward to tonight—I always liked Bud Templeton, though I’ve hardly seen him in years. I still think of him as the tall, wry neurologist I loved to chat with over plastic cups of wine at school plays. We would congratulat…