“Of all those places you’ve been,” he says, “which was your favorite?”

Bernadette sighs. She is tired of questions. Strangely, she cannot remember anyone having asked her this one before. Is that possible? she wonders. Surely someone asked, surely she had some answer. She tries again to move her hand. Jann holds it still.

“I liked them all,” she says.

“Bullshit.”

She feels a surge of regret at finding herself still here, at getting caught in this discussion. Jann moves her hand from his stomach to his chest. The skin is warmer there, close to the bone. She can feel the beating heart.

“There must be one that stands out,” he says.

Bernadette hesitates.

“New Orleans,” she says. “My honeymoon.”

It is the only place she can think of. She feels suddenly that she might begin to cry.