I laid my hand on Joe’s arm and pleaded, “Let’s stay over the weekend. Call your wife and tell her you need another day or two for the boat.” Joe turned his head halfway toward me. I saw the frown forming on his forehead, and I saw his eyes narrow. “Sweetie, I’m not going back with you,” he said. “My wife is coming down this evening.” It was the tone of his voice I never forgot. The slightly puzzled irritation in it. As though he had, of course, already given me this information and he couldn’t understand how it was I had forgotten it. I remember afterward thinking: gaslight. “What?” I said.
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