Jeffery saluted his nurse good night and watched her march woodenly out the door. Jesse was a good soul, he admitted. A good worker. Punctual. Just a little too... Luftwaffe for his taste. He finished filling out his charts, filed them away, and then stood gazing about his office. Going home had become less and less appealing since the arrival of Denise. Even when Arlene was there, it was only to check in, change clothes and buzz off again with Carlos. His status seemed to be relegated to moneymaker and beard.

He couldn't understand why Ellen had changed, but Jeffery believed he was a new millennium man, and new millennium men embraced the burgeoning lifestyles of today's society—or some such stupid-assed thing. He sucked his teeth and went into his examination room to wash and change.

The dentist chair rested in saucy languor beside him, and he stopped washing, remembering his encounter with Grace Winston on that surprising day, so long ago. What was she doing right now, he wondered, sighing?

******

"Oooooh, oooooh, eeaaah-o-o-o-h-h, DONald!

******

Tiffany slopped into the kitchen rubbing sleep from her eyes and yawning wide enough to crack her jaw. She blew a strand of hair from her face and stared numbly at the counter. Coffee was brewing in the pot; her place at the table was set with a folded napkin and a small bowl of fruit salad. She squeezed her lower lip and walked over to the dishwasher. Inside, a set of dishes, already rinsed, sat in the rack. The cutlery was stacked properly and a juice glass dangled on the glass stand.

Something was definitely not kosher. She pulled her robe together and wandered out into the hall calling her husband.

"Daryl!" No answer. She entered the living room, stopping at the sight of his head above the sofa cushion. "Daryl? What's going on?" He looked up as she came around to stand in front of him, his face resembling a sad clown. "What's wrong?"

"I've had an epiphany." The words came out flat.

Tiffany expelled a long breath and slouched down on the hassock next to his feet. "I'm sure the stains'll come out."

He gave her an incredulous look. "Goddammit, Ti, I'm not kidding here."

"I'm sorry," she said wearily. "Tell me about your religious vision then."

"Huh?"

"You said you had an epiphany. That's a religious... experience."

"Right. Well it is... was."

"So tell me about it." She stretched her legs out and yawned again.

"My life has reached a crossroads." He frowned when she started to roll her eyes, continuing after a signalled apology. "I think I need some time alone- time to- to reflect."

"Okay hon, I'll go and have breakfast." She started to rise.

"Dammit all, I don't mean here!"

"Well just what do you mean, Daryl? Just what the hell is this- this fantasy you had... have?"

"It's not a fantasy!" He said angrily.

"Well it sure as blazes wasn't an epiphany." She calmed herself and sat back down. "I'm sorry, go ahead, tell me your- this... tale."

Daryl bumbled and stuttered through his confused saga of how life had let him down, how concentrating on success in business had deprived him of the adventure of exploring life in all its emotionally fulfilling aspects. He touched on how everyone around him seemed to be enjoying relationships that allowed him or her to grow, to be inspired, to stretch the limits of the envelope of being everything one felt they could be.

All through his oration, Tiffany became progressively alert, her eyes narrowing dangerously. He concluded with a thrusting of his jaw and a sharp, exclamatory nod of his head. She sat squinting at him for several minutes, barely breathing, her mouth set in a grim line.

"Daryl," she began, in an ominously low voice, "are you suggesting, in your ridiculously convoluted way, that you want a separation or a di-VORCE?" Tiffany leaped up, fists clenched in the air and teeth bared.

He sank back in the cushions, ducking instinctively. "Not exactly."

"NOT EXACTLY! What the hell does NOT EXACTLY mean?"

Daryl was beginning to wonder at the wisdom of his disclosure. He'd endured tirades from his wife many times in the past over petty things, but this was dangerously different—this was about taking a stand; this was carving a really deep line in the sand. Watching her, he felt that sand sinking beneath his feet.

"WELL?"

Quivering, he slid over on the sofa to gain a little distance. "I just- I just want the same... freedom you have—with- with... others."

He winced at her expression, expecting any second to be burned to a crisp.

Tiffany froze, fists still knotted above her head, bosom heaving against the flimsy material of her nightgown, and then with a massive effort, she lowered her arms and tilted her head toward him.

"If this whole epiphany garbage, is about you wanting to get your rocks off with someone else, then Daryl baby, be my guest. And you can pack a little bag and find a new place to practice your envelope stretching growth."

"Ti? Tiffany?" He cried plaintively, as she blew from the room leaving him in the wake of her flying robe. "I made you breakfast, Sugar Plumb!"

*****

"Good morning, Carmela. Lovely weather, eh." Ivan Bader called, as he strolled down the length of his garden, staying a discrete distance from the fence dividing their properties.

"Good morning," she replied softly. "Yes, it couldn't be better."

"How's the family? All well?"

"Yes, thank you. Antonio's busy at work... as usual."

Ivan barked a laugh, "I see he's got you toiling in the vineyard again."

"Just another of my duties. I'm waiting for Carlos to get up so I can make his breakfast. He has a class to attend a little later."

"Ah, ahh, right. Well bully then, Carmela." He kicked at a clump of dirt on the lawn.

"How is Gertrude?" Bending an obstinate vine back over the wire hanger, she held her breath.

"Ahh, oh, Gertrude. Yes, well, this is Gertie's day for the beauty parlour. She practically lives there once a week now that summer is on. Hair, makeup, lunches with the girls. You know. I probably won't see the old girl until dinner time."

"She's lucky to have such a permissive husband," Carmela offered an overly pleased smile.

"Hah! Right. Yes, I suppose she is... well... I've got a lot of work to do in the garden house so... let you get back to your grapes then." He gave her a short wave and headed to the back of his lot. Carmela took off her work gloves and set them aside, wiping her hands on her apron, and hurried toward the house.

"Carlos! Time to get up, Carlos. You don't want to be late for your class."