After the funeral, on our drive home, I couldn't help but ask Christian something I've wondered about off and on for years.
"Dearie," I said, "you've never told me the whole horrid story about how Mrs. Robinson's husband found out you were having an affair with his wife when you were fifteen."
"I didn't?" Christian replied.
"No, you didn't."
"Imagine that."
Christian sighed.
"Well," he said, "I was over Elena's house one afternoon—she had invited me for, ah, 'brunch,' you see—when her husband came home unexpectedly."
"And he CAUGHT you in the act?"
"Nothing quite so dramatic, Ana," he said. "No, fortunately Elena's early warning system gave us plenty of time to compose ourselves. We were sitting in the study when he came in.
"'Christian!' he greeted me. 'What an unexpected surprise.' He turned to Elena. 'You're always full of such surprises, my dear,' he told his wife. "Aren't you?"
"'Indeed,' she replied, dryly, and then excused herself. 'I have to see a man about a horse,' she explained.
"'A drink, Christian?' Mr. Lincoln offered.
"'I don't indulge,' I told him.
"'Indeed,' he said. 'Well, I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to have one.'
"As it turns out, he had more than one. More than a few, actually. I sat there making small talk. We were sitting as close as you and I, we were.
"'You're quite young, aren't you?" he said, suddenly leaning over and stroking my cheek with the palm of his hand. 'Mmm... soft. Your face feels just like my wife's vagina.'
"I reached up to see for myself.
"'Mmm...' I said, 'it sure does.'"