Joe’s eyes travel to me. He is checking the temperature. Trying to gauge how angry I am. Because it is easy—and because he deserves it—as soon as he reaches for me, to give me a hug, I slap him. This time I get his left cheek. Two slaps in one day is some kind of record, I’m sure. He rubs at his cheek. “I deserve that.” “You bastard,” I hiss.
