To my husband it could have been the undying heart from Poe's The Tell Tale Heart drumming a message of guilt and shame. To me it was beautiful.THUMP ...THUMP THUMP THUMPI roll over onto my side away from my husband.I cannot see his face behind the newspaper but I can image the expression as being pinched and reddening. I don't want him to see any sort of suspicious movement under the bedsheets as I quietly slip my hand inside my pajama pants and make a nervous path bwteen my legs. I try to shut. They had come to depend on him, in particular, to tell them about his bedroom adventures with his wife. His tales were fantasy fodder for some, he knew, which secretly pleased him. If all went according to plan — and why shouldn’t it? — tonight’s dispatch would not disappoint. The evening would begin with a succulent dinner of pork tenderloin in a rosemary-ginger marinade, tiny spears of young asparagus and roasted new potatoes, with raspberry sorbet for dessert. Nothing too heavy, as neither. More

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