I was under no illusions about how much it had cost Celia and me to be together and that it was going to continue to cost us more. It was like a tax on being happy. The world was going to take fifty percent of my happiness. But I could keep the other fifty percent. And that was her. And this life we had. But keeping something like this from her felt wrong. And I couldn’t do it. I put my feet into the pool next to her and tried to touch her, tried to comfort her. I expected that the news would upset her, but I did not expect her to hurl the iced tea to the other side of the pool, breaking the glass on the edge, scattering shards in the water. I also did not expect her to plunge herself under the surface and scream. Actresses are very dramatic. When she popped back up, she was wet and disheveled, her hair in her face, her mascara running. And she did not want to talk to me. I grabbed her arm, and she pulled away. When I caught a glimpse of her face and saw the hurt in her eyes, I realized that Celia and I had never really been on the same page about what I was going to do with Mick Riva. “You slept with him?” she said. “T thought that was implied,” I said. “Well, it wasn’t.” Celia raised herself up out of the pool and didn’t even bother to dry off. I watched as her wet footprints changed the color of the cement around the pool, as they created puddles on the hardwood and then started dampening the carpet on the stairs. When I looked up at the back bedroom window, I saw that she was walking back and forth. It looked like she was packing. “Celia! Stop it,” I said, running up the stairs. “This doesn’t change anything.” By the time I got to my own bedroom door, it was locked. I pounded on it. “Honey, please.” “Leave me alone.”