Outerbridge Reach by Robert Stone

and then remembered that he and Maggie were formally estranged.
    â€œYou go finish your assignment,” Anne ordered her daughter. “You’re getting an early train tomorrow.”
    For dinner, he made himself a toasted ham and cheese sandwich. Making it reminded him of his daughter as a small girl, when she had proudly cooked such a sandwich for him from her kiddie cookbook and announced it as
croque-monsieur.
As he was eating it at the kitchen table, Anne came in and leaned against the counter.
    â€œMaggie’s on my case,” he said.
    â€œOf course,” Anne said. “She’s that age. You loom large in her life.”
    â€œI hope she’ll apologize before she goes,” he said wearily.
    â€œShe’s written you a note,” Anne told him. “She hates to fight with you.”
    â€œOur Maggie,” he said as he cleared the table, “she’s larger than life.”
    When the dishes were in the washer, Browne turned to see his wife tight-lipped, leaning in the same spot, twisting her wedding ring.
    â€œYou don’t look happy, Annie.”
    She flashed a false smile, raised her hands and let them fall to her sides.
    â€œIt’s only money, right?”
    â€œRight,” he said.
    â€œTomorrow we’ll get the calls.”
    She had been buying stock on margin through her brother for several years, profiting where others failed. Browne thought of her as clever at business. He had stopped keeping up with the numbers.
    â€œWe’ve learned a few things since Black Monday,” he said. “It may pass.”
    After a moment she said, “I’m not going to take Maggie out of school. I’ll go to my father if I have to.”
    â€œSurely,” he said, “it won’t come to that.”
    â€œThink not?”
    â€œThe crisis passed in eighty-seven,” he said. “We’d all have done better not to panic. Wait and see.”
    She went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine.
    â€œAre you going to say ‘I told you so’?” she asked him.
    â€œI’m not going to say anything,” Browne said. “Not a word.”
    â€œDad’s going to say it.”
    â€œLet him say what he likes. Tell him it was my idea. He can’t think any worse of me than he does already.”
    â€œHe doesn’t think all that badly of you. He said you were a good provider.”
    â€œFrankly, Annie, I don’t give a shit what he said.”
    Anne’s face was flushed with the wine. She leaned in the kitchen doorway with her forehead against the jamb. He went over and put a hand against her cheek, bidding her to look at him. She turned to face him and closed her eyes.
    â€œI’m so ashamed,” she said. “I feel so stupid.”
    â€œWe agreed, didn’t we? That it was only money?”
    Browne was surprised at his own indifference. For some reason he could not bring to bear the emotions appropriate to disappointed speculation.
    â€œWe may lose,” she said, “in a somewhat major way. We’re going to have to hustle to pay it back. We’re going to have to borrow and we’re going to have to cut down.”
    â€œLet’s tote it up in the morning,” he said. “I’ve had enough of today.”
    â€œNever again,” Anne said. “I swear.”
    â€œForget it, Anne. It’s over with. We’ll proceed from here.”
    He went into the kitchen to get the wine. He refilled her glass and poured a small measure for himself. Ordinarily, he never drank alcohol. He touched her glass with his own.
    â€œ
Slainte
, Annie Aroon. Don’t feel bad.”
    As he drank, she burst into tears. He touched her on the shoulder. Then it occurred to him that she might want to be alone. He put the glass down and went out of the dining room.
    On the night table in their bedroom, he found a comic friendship card of the sort available from stationers, together with a