“I will, when my back stops hurting.”

“You need to see a doctor about that when you get home,” Marla says.

“He is a doctor,” Juice reminds them.

“But you can’t be the doctor of your own back,” Marla insists.

“That’s certainly not how I’d go around phrasing it,” Gary says.

They all laugh.

“Hi, I’m Gary. I’m a doctor of my own back,” Juice practices.

“See?” Gary says. “Doesn’t sound right.”

Marla gets out. “Time to go.”

“Time for the pool,” Juice says, and does a cannonball before Marla can reach her.

Phoebe dangles her legs in the water. She feels nervous for a moment but then remembers: This is Gary. It’s okay to say anything to Gary. Gary has watched a woman die. Gary has been left at the altar. Gary is just a regular man in a hot tub.

“So,” Phoebe says.

“So,” Gary says.

They both laugh again.

“How are you doing?” Phoebe asks. “You know, besides your back.”

“Oh,” he says. “I’m feeling very weird right now.”

“Weird how?”

“I have been having some very weird thoughts.”

“Go on.”

“Well, a butterfly landed on my forearm a bit ago, and I thought, Oh, how sweet. How nice. But then I thought, What if it’s not nice?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do we actually know why butterflies land on us?”

“I’d like to believe science has progressed beyond that point.”

“Well, I’ve never heard any theories on it.”

“Should we be suspicious about that, though?”

“Yes! We don’t think it’s sweet when flies land on our food. Because flies vomit every time they land on food. Did you know that?”

“That’s not a myth?”

“No. They need to do it, to digest the food,” he says. “So what if butterflies are like that, too? What if they, like, orgasm every time they sit on your forearm?”

“You think that’s why they do it?”

“The horny bastards.”

“And we think it’s so sweet.”

“And they’re like, Uh huh.”

“So I see things are going really well for you here, Doctor.”

He laughs. “Now it’s your turn.”

“For what?”

“I said a weird thing so now you need to say a weird thing. Balance me out.”

“Fair enough. Okay. Well. I don’t wash my back unless I’m married to someone.”

“That’s not weird. Who washes their back?”

“Obviously not you.”

“That’s the worst you got? That’s your secret? That your back is filthy?”

“Yep.”

“I, for one, am scandalized.”

A squirrel hops along the ridge of the hot tub.

“So where did you go yesterday?” she asks.

“The cemetery,” he says.

He spent the night driving around, unsure of where to go. He just had to get out and away from all the people. He couldn’t face them.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says. “But it would have been too confusing.”

So he drove to the cemetery and sat by his wife’s grave until he fell asleep.

“Jim was right,” he says. “I was a totally different man with Wendy. A better person. Because I was in it. But with Lila, I really was just standing there. I let her run the whole relationship. Like she was my camp counselor or something. And I did love her for it. How could you not? I felt such … gratitude, if that makes any sense. Such appreciation. She made things happen. She performs life very well. If it’s her birthday, she throws a party. If there’s a week off, she’ll book a grand tour of Europe. If she’s getting married, she’ll throw the goddamned most elaborate wedding possible. That kind of thing made me feel … part of the world again. Part of something bigger than myself, you know?”

“I know.”