Liselle grunted as he reclined beside her and hoisted himself up on one arm.
“Shoes,” Liselle said. She was annoyed to hear Verity’s voice coming out of her mouth, but sometimes Verity said what needed to be said.
“Who was on the phone?” Winn asked, untying his laces.
“I sent Patrice to Miriam Blau’s house. He was trying to come back home.”
Winn sucked contemplatively. “I kind of thought he might like to be here tonight. You don’t think it’s a good idea for all of us to get some closure on this?”
Liselle studied him. She wasn’t sure when, but she knew it was definitively before the campaign that she had begun wondering whether what had drawn them together was no longer there. Maybe it had never been there. Their union had been a lark, a not-quite-bohemian adventure. But then one day Winn was campaigning for public office and now he was saying “closure.” These were the things earnest people, earnestly married, did.
“I really think,” Winn continued, removing his lollipop for emphasis, “that you’re going about this all wrong, babe.”
“That might be true. But I didn’t feel like having him underfoot while these people—”
“—your friends, pick over your political carcass. Too many different emotional weather systems.”
“That is a lot of figurative language. Like a pileup of metaphors. Shit, I just added to it. By the way, I invited Ron Mack tonight. I noticed he wasn’t on the list.”
“Do you think we still need him around?” Liselle asked, the swampy feeling returning. Whatever bad things were happening to them, she suspected Ron was involved.
“Look,” Winn said, “I know you hate the guy’s guts, but he really did a lot for me.”