She's not looking at me, and I can't tell from her face exactly what's wrong, but something sure is. She asks me about Verdi in a choked little whisper, making me want to go around the table and hug her tight. Have to think of an answer for her first, though.

"Haven't talked to Verdi in a while." And that's true. "I guess I need to, but I'm not looking forward to it." She'll want to know why, I know it. "It's something between me and her, sweetheart." Well, me and her and Iago Beddau. "Please don't ask me about it."

She's still so quiet and sad looking, and I don't know if there's anything she'll let me do about it. And that hurts, not knowing. "Are you all right?" It's maybe a stupid question, but it's a start.