"Violet's always been very fond of Will" said John, to our mutual friend from church in the back seat as he drove us all to our January committee meeting, trying to explain both to her and himself my sudden revelation that his daughter had been at my New Year's Eve Party instead of with her parents or friends her own age, looking askance at me in the seat next to him, obviously wondering why she was fond of me, how inappropriately fond I was of her, and whether anything sexual had ever come of our mutual attraction.

Mind you, daddy's little girl is now quite legal at thirty-one, and while I personally find John's interest in Violet's love life understandable I hardly think it any more appropriate than my would-be participation in same.

I could have let it pass, changed the subject, something, but the memory of her visit was still hot and fresh in my mind, the feel of her in my arms, the taste of her tongue on my tongue when we kissed still lingering a week later. "And I've always been very fond of her," I answered, more in the direction of the back seat than to John, "I was thrilled when she called and said she was in town and coming to the party, and we both had an excellent time."

I must have gotten the inflection just right, managed to convey an image of mouths locked, of tongues sparring, of hands groping urgently in the half-darkened bedroom, of too many years of repressed affection stealing a moment from my ever-suspicious prowling wife - because the rest of the ride was incredibly, uncomfortably, coldly silent.