"Oh, sure! Is everything okay?"

"Of course! I'll be on my cell if anyone needs me. Just text me, okay?"

"You got it!"

I drove to the club and Harold was there in the locker room, changing his shoes.

"You talk to Cornelia?" I said. I swapped my street shoes for my golf shoes, pushed the locker door shut with a thud, and sat on the bench next to him to do the same.

"Not since breakfast. Wes, this whole thing is turning into a nightmare."

"Yeah, I got that. I got that in spades. She was in my office this morning, bawling her eyes out."

"Aw, man. I told her not to bother you."

"Yeah, well, who's she going to call? I'm your closest friend." I took off my shirt and tie and traded it for the knit shirt I had in my duffel.

"I guess. But what a mess, huh?"

"Every guy over sixty has this happen once in a while. It's not about desire. It's about blood flow. And it's fixable!" I unzipped my trousers and tucked in my shirt.

"Women. Come on. Let's go hit a bucket of balls."

We picked up our clubs from the starter's room, walked out to the driving range, and hit about a hundred balls. Neither one of us was swinging worth a damn. I kept hooking mine into the trees, and Harold couldn't get more than a hundred and twenty yards on his.

"What do you say we stop killing birds and embarrassing ourselves and go get lunch?"

"You see what I'm doing here?" Harold said. "Good grief. Couldn't hit the broad side of a barn today."

"So," I said after we ordered our food. "There's a picture in the AJC of Leslie in the background of a photograph of our mayor and the mayor of Charleston. She's with another man."

"You're shitting me."

"Nope. And she's smiling."

"Holy crap. What are you gonna do?"

"I don't know. I gotta tell you, Harold, I was shocked right out of my shorts. Shocked."

"Didn't you tell me that you got a rather strong e-mail from her that she wasn't coming back?"

"Yeah. She said that."

"Didn't she say something to the effect that you should consider you two to be separated?"

"Yeah. But I didn't think she really meant it like that. Harold! That was my Leslie in that photograph smiling and enjoying the company of another man in a restaurant nice enough for two very important mayors!"

"Well, now, Wes? That's an interesting comment. Are you pissed because she was smiling because another man made her smile or because he took her to a really nice place, which implies he's trying to impress her? And one other thing. She's not exactly your Leslie."

I thought about that while the waiters put our food down in front of us.

"Yeah, I guess she's really not. Harold, you know what?"

"What?"

"I miss her. You can't believe how hard it is to get along without her. I have to take my shirts to the cleaners, I have to fix my own breakfast-I mean, it's damn lonely. Can you pass the mustard?"

"Yeah. Here. Wes, I don't know what to tell you. To begin with, I have a really hard time thinking about Les and some other guy."

"How do you think I feel?"

After lunch we went out to play nine holes, and the afternoon sun was bearing down on us something fierce. Still, we played some of the best golf we'd played in ages.

Every other shot Harold would say, "Women."

And I would reply, "You're telling me?"

"You know what, Harold?" I hit my ball a clean two hundred yards, and it landed right in the middle of the fairway. "I was just thinking about something."

"What's that?" He hit the ball with a clean thwack, and it landed close to the pin.

"Nice shot! You put that baby right up there on the dance floor!"

"Thanks. Now what are you thinking about?"

"Well, you don't really want more kids anyway, do you?"

"Whaddya out of your cotton-picking mind?"

"What if Cornelia gets pregnant?"

The look on Harold's face was beyond horror. I thought he might faint.

"You know, my momma used to say, marry in haste, repent at leisure. She sure had my number. I'm really starting to think this marriage was a mistake."

"Well, she is young."

"Yeah, too young. Are you really going to divorce Les?"

"Nah, I'm gonna make her beg to come home. Why should I spend the money until I have to?"

"So you're not all that upset about her being with that guy in the restaurant?"

"I don't love it, but isn't she the one who said I should consider us to be separated? I'm saving this nugget for later, if I need it. Wouldn't you?"

"Oh, man. I'm the litigator, and still, I wouldn't want to be on the other side of the table from you."

"Thanks. Now let's get outta here before we drop dead from this heat and the women inherit everything."

"Wes? I gotta tell you this, you ought to convince her to come home. She's a good woman."

"Probably should. It would sure make my life a lot easier."

"And think of all the money you'll save. I know these shrinks who run a very high end business. They save all kinds of marriages."

"Well, let me have the number."

We hit the showers. The soap and hot water felt so good. And then I was afraid my luck had run out. I felt a lump. This could not be a good thing.

CHAPTER 15.

Les Dances It was the last week of July. Jonathan and I were having our daily midmorning chat. I told him that I thought it was high time I made dinner for him, and he seemed delighted by the idea. The man had been spoiling me to pieces. We'd been to every restaurant in the city, west of the Ashley and east of the Cooper. We'd had take-out Chinese, Japanese, and Thai at his house on Sullivans Island and Harlan's at least twice a week. It was high time I stepped up and cooked. The sling was long gone.

"What's your favorite meal of all time?"

"Whatever you're in the mood to fix," he said.

"So if I made fricassee of calves' liver and onions stuffed in the spleen of an iguana with boiled Brussels sprouts on the side, you'd be thrilled?" It was the weirdest combination I could think of at that moment.

"I'd eat mud pie made from real mud if you put it in front of me."

"You're so full of it!" I laughed.

"Yes. Yes, I am. In any case, give me a clue on the menu and I'll bring the wine."

"Deal. I'll call you after I shop. But I was thinking mousse of sole or whatever whitefish I can find, with a lobster sauce, little potatoes, and a nice salad, and maybe some kind of fruit for dessert? How does that sound?"

"It sounds like a lot of work. I don't want you to go to so much trouble."

"Jonathan? I'll throw burgers on the grill another night. You've taken me out to dinner so many times that I need to put on the dog for you. Besides, my brother's kitchen has every gadget you can think of, so modern inventions will be doing most of the work."

"Well, this dog appreciates it. I'm already starving. Look what you've done to me. It's only ten thirty and my mouth is watering for lunch."

"Okay, my dear. I'll call you in a bit."

"Great! I'll talk to you later."

I got my things together and made a list for the grocery store. Just as I was pulling my phone off the charger, it rang. It was Wes. I had not heard from him since I e-mailed him I wasn't coming home, which was further proof to me that I shouldn't be married to him. Since I'd told him I didn't want to hear him scream ever again, I thought, Well, if he's calling me now, he's probably not going to scream. So I answered it.

"Wes?"

I thought I heard a man sobbing on the other end of the phone. Was it Wes?

"Wes? Talk to me! Are you all right? Is Charlotte okay? Dear God, nothing's happened to Holly! Wes! Answer me!"

"I have cancer," he said with huge gulping sobs.

"Oh, my God! Wes! What are you telling me?"

"I have to have an operation."

He sobbed some more, and I said, "Oh, Lord, Wes. I'm so sorry. Do you want to tell me what kind?"

"Testicular. I'm scared, Les! I might die!"

"You're not going to die, Wesley. You're going to be fine." I didn't know that obviously, but my reflex was to reassure him. "Did your doctor say it spread?"

Wes cleared his throat and regained control of himself. "He's not going to know until they take out the tumor, and I guess some tissue around it?"

"Who's your doctor? I mean, are you sure it's the best guy?"

"Yeah, he is. This guy is Harold's client and he's the top urologist in Atlanta for this kind of thing. Don't worry, I checked him out too. He's the one to get. Jesus, Les." He sighed so powerfully I could almost feel his breath. "I wish you'd come home and take care of me."

I knew that was coming.

"When's your surgery?"

"August thirteenth. It was the first date I could get."

"I'll try, Wes. Let me think about it."

There was dead silence. Then he exploded.

"Think about it? Really? Well, that's nice! I'm your husband, Les! You're supposed to take care of me!"

"Excuse me, but I'm no longer taking orders from you!"

"Really?"

"Yes, really! And lower your voice or I'm hanging up."

"You don't tell me what to do either!"

"Hey, Wes? Why don't you ask Cornelia to come sit with you like you asked her to sit with me in Edinburgh?" I couldn't believe I'd said that to him, but at least he quieted down.

"Let me ask you something, Leslie. Just who's the man you're having a nice cozy dinner with in the picture I saw in the Atlanta Journal Constitution?"

Oh! My! God!

"What? Oh, please. He's just an old friend I grew up with. Besides, he's got nothing to do with you and me." When did I learn to lie like that?