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Brussels, they had made love with more ardor than usual.
    “Will you come to Mom’s, too?”
    He knotted his tie. “I don’t think I’ll be able to, honey. I’d like to take advantage of the apartment being empty to get some work done and get my files in order. I’m sure you understand.…”
    “I do, but it’s a shame. The boys see so little of you. And as for Mom—”
    “You’ll be able to explain it to her, darling, I know you will. But I have to go. See you tonight. Don’t expect me for dinner, though.”
    He slipped out. She sighed, then started making the bed, which they had made quite a mess of. If Charles were that loving every time he came back from a trip, life wouldn’t be so bad.
    *   *   *
    She spent the weekend at her mother’s house, with her boys. On Saturday, about 11:00 P.M. , she called Charles. The answering machine picked up. Not knowing what to say, she hung up. So where was he at 11:00 on a Saturday night? Maybe he was working and he’d put the answering machine on in order to not be disturbed? She called him back and left a message that she thought sounded garbled and clumsy. The next day, she tried again about 9:00 am, and then again at noon. Each time, she got the answering machine and the recording of Charles’s cheerful voice. She didn’t leave a message. Around 5:00 pm, as she was about to depart with her children, Charles called.
    “Where were you all weekend?” she asked irritably.
    “Here, honestly! I was working!”
    “I kept getting the answering machine.”
    “I told you I wanted to work in peace.”
    “But I don’t understand. I called you several times—”
    “I got your message last night, after I’d finished work, but it was too late to call you back. I didn’t want to wake your mother. Are you coming home now?”
    “Yeah, we’re on our way,” she said, feeling suddenly weary.
    *   *   *
    Another week passed, then two more, monotonous. Lola was pale; she felt numb, lifeless. Her friend Fanny suggested Lola get checked out professionally. She booked an appointment with her family doctor, but he found nothing alarming. He prescribed some blood tests and a urine sample.
    “You might be slightly anemic. I’ll call you tomorrow if I find anything abnormal. In the meantime, get some rest.”
    *   *   *
    The next day, returning home in the late afternoon, she saw there was a message on the answering machine. It was from her friend Caroline. Lola halfheartedly listened to it, then pressed the delete button. The cassette rewound for a long time. She stood up to light a cigarette. Suddenly the machine made a strange, staticky noise.
    “Damn, I must have gotten the wrong button!”
    She pressed a different switch, then another. The crackling ended, but the cassette kept playing. She didn’t know how to stop it. She tried every button on the machine.
    “Oh shit!”
    She could already imagine the exasperated look on Charles’s face.
    Suddenly she heard raised voices. After a moment or two, she recognized one of them as Charles’s.
    “Please, Apollonie, calm down!”
    Lola froze. Then she moved closer to the machine.
    A young woman’s voice—firm sounding and completely unknown to Lola—filled the room.
    “How am I supposed to calm down, Charles?”
    “Please try, Apollonie. There’s no point working yourself into a state about it.”
    Lola felt puzzled. Then she realized Charles must have grabbed the phone just as the answering machine clicked into action. It had recorded a conversation between her husband and this stranger, this Apollonie.
    Lola pressed the pause button, and the cassette stopped. Did she want to hear what came next? Wouldn’t it be better to erase the whole thing, to pretend she had never heard those voices, to close her eyes, protect herself? Charles probably thought he’d deleted this conversation. He must have done something wrong, erased only part of it.
    After a few seconds of hesitation, Lola released the pause