He looked at the empty wine bottle and the champagne in front of them and grinned at her. “I guess that blows tonight, too, huh?”

“I don't know. Maybe we ought to go home and check it out before you're too far gone.” She was laughing at him, glad they'd gone out to dinner after all. It had relieved some of her tension.

“Thanks a lot. But I want to know what's bothering you first.”

“Absolutely nothing.” And at that precise moment, she was being honest.

“Maybe not now, but a little while ago, something was. You looked like your best friend had died when I came home.”

“No, I didn't.” But she had been feeling some of that. He was her best friend, after all, and if she went back to school, in some ways she would lose him. “Don't be silly, Ol.”

“Don't try to bullshit me. Something's worrying you, or preoccupying you. Is it your writing?” He knew she hadn't written anything in two years, but it didn't matter to him. He just wanted her to be happy.

“Maybe. I'm not getting anywhere with that. Maybe I can't write anymore. Maybe that was just a flash in my youth.” She shrugged and for the first time in two years, it didn't seem to matter.

“I don't believe that, Sarah. You were good. I think it'll come back to you in time. Maybe you just haven't figured out what you want to write about. Maybe you ought to get out in the world more … do something different …” Without knowing it, he was opening the door to her, but she was terrified to walk through it. No matter what she did, or said, or how she said it, once she told him, everything in their lives would be changed forever.

“I've been thinking about that.” She advanced cautiously.

“And?” He waited.

“What do you mean 'and'?” She was scared of him. It was rare for her. But for the first time in her life, she was terrified of her husband.

“You never think about anything without coming to some kind of conclusion, or taking action.”

“You know me too well.” She smiled, suddenly looking sad again, and desperately not wanting to tell him.

“What aren't you telling me, Sarrie? Not knowing what's on your mind is driving me crazy.”

“Nothing is on my mind.” But she wasn't convincing either of them, and she was going around in circles. “Maybe it's just midlife crisis.”

“That again?” He grinned. “You went through that two years ago, and you only get one go around. Next time it's my turn. Come on, baby … what is it?”

“I don't know, Ollie …”

“Is it us?” His eyes looked sad as he asked her.

“Of course not. How could it be us? You're wonderful … it's just me, I guess. Growing pains. Or the lack of them. I feel like I've been stagnant ever since we got married.” He waited, holding his breath, the champagne, and the wine, and the party atmosphere all but forgotten. “I haven't done anything. And you've accomplished so much.”

“Don't be ridiculous. I'm a guy like a million other ad men.”

“The hell you are. Look at you. Look at what you just told me over dinner. In five years, you'll be the head of Hinkley, Burrows, and Dawson, if it takes you that long, which I doubt. You're one of the biggest success stories in the business.”

“That doesn't mean anything, Sarah. You know that. It's transitory. It's nice. But so what? You've raised three great kids. That's a hell of a lot more important.”

“But what difference does that make now? They've grown up, or practically, in a year or two they'll be gone. Mel and Benjamin anyway, and then what? I sit and wait around for Sam to go, too, and then I spend the rest of my life watching soap operas and talking to Agnes?” Her eyes filled with tears at the prospect, and he laughed. He had never known her to watch daytime TV. She was far more likely to bury herself in Baudelaire or Kafka.

“You paint a mighty gloomy picture, my love. Nothing's stopping you from what you want to do.” He meant it, but he had no concept of the scope of her ambitions. He never had. She had buried them all long before, left them behind somewhere in a duffel bag or an old trunk, with her Radcliffe diploma.

“You don't really mean that.”

“Of course I do. You can do volunteer work, get a part-time job, write short stories again. You can do absolutely anything you set your mind to.”

She took a breath. The time was now, whether she was ready or not. She had to tell him. “I want to go back to school.” Her voice was barely audible across the narrow table.

“I think that's a great idea.” He looked relieved. She was not in love with someone else. All she wanted was to take some courses. “You could go to the state university right in Purchase. Hell, if you spread it out over time, you could even get your master's.” But the way he said it suddenly annoyed her. She could go to a local school, and “spread it out over time.” How much time? Ten years? Twenty? She could be one of those grandmothers taking creative-writing courses and producing nothing.

“That isn't what I had in mind.” Her voice was suddenly firm and much stronger. He was the enemy now, the one who had kept her from everything she wanted.

“What were you thinking of?” He looked confused.

She closed her eyes for an instant, and then opened them and looked at him. “I've been accepted for the master's program at Harvard.” There was an endless silence between them as he stared at her and tried to understand what she was saying.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Suddenly he didn't understand anything. What was she saying to him, this woman he thought he knew, who had lain next to him for two decades. Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, she had become a stranger. “When did you apply for that?”

“At the end of August.” She spoke very quietly. The determination he remembered from her youth was burning in her eyes again. Right before him, she was becoming another person.

“That's nice. It would have been nice of you to mention it. And what did you intend to do about it if you were accepted?”

“I never thought I would be. I just did it for the hell of it … I guess when Benjamin started talking about applying to Harvard.”

“How touching, a mother-and-son team. And now? Now what are you going to do?” His heart was pounding and he suddenly wished they were at home, so he could pace the room, and not sit stuck in a corner of a restaurant at a table that had instantly become claustrophobic. “What are you telling me? You're not serious about this, are you?”

Her eyes met his like blue ice, as she nodded slowly. “Yes, I am, Ollie.”

“You're going back to Cambridge?” He had lived there for seven years and she for four, but that was lifetimes ago. Never in his life had he ever considered going back there.

“I'm thinking about it.” She was doing more than that, but she couldn't face telling him yet. It was too brutal.

“And what am I supposed to do? Quit my job and come with you?”

“I don't know. I haven't figured that out yet. I don't expect you to do anything. This is my decision.”

“Is it? Is it? And what about us? What do you expect us to do while you play student again? May I remind you that Melissa will be home for another two years, and Sam for nine, or had you forgotten?” He was furious now, and he signaled the waiter for the check with an impatient gesture. She was crazy. That was what she was. Crazy. He would have preferred that she tell him she was having an affair. That would have been easier to deal with, or at least he thought so at the moment.

“I haven't forgotten any of that. I just need to think this out.” She spoke quietly, as he peeled off a wad of bills and left it on the table.

“You need a good shrink, that's what you need. You're acting like a bored, neurotic housewife.” He stood up and she glared at him, the full frustration of the past twenty years boiling up in her until she could no longer contain it.

“You don't know anything about me.” She stood, facing him, as the waiters watched politely from the distance, and the diners nearby pretended not to listen. “You don't know what it's like, giving up everything you've ever dreamed of. You've got it all, a career, a family, a wife waiting for you at home like a faithful little dog, waiting to bring you the newspaper and fetch your slippers. Well, what about me, God damn it! When do I get mine? When do I get to do what I want to do? When you're dead, when the kids are gone, when I'm ninety? Well, I'm not going to wait that long. I want it now, before I'm too old to do anything worthwhile, before I'm too old to give a damn anymore, or enjoy it. I'm not going to sit around and wait until you start calling our children because you can't figure out whether I got lost when I went shopping, or I was so goddamn tired of my life I just decided not to come home again. I'm not waiting for that, Oliver Watson!” A woman at a nearby table wanted to stand up and cheer, she had four children and had given up the dream of medical school to marry a man who had cheated on her for twenty years and took her totally for granted. But Oliver stalked out of the restaurant, and Sarah picked up her coat and bag and walked out behind him. They were in the parking lot before he spoke to her again and there were tears in his eyes this time, but she wasn't sure if they were from the cold or hurt and anger. It was hard to tell. But what she didn't understand was that she was destroying everything he believed in. He had been good to her, he loved her, he loved their kids, he had never wanted her to work, because he wanted to take care of her, to love, honor, cherish, and protect her. And now she hated him for it and wanted to go back to school, but worse than that, if she went back to Harvard, she would have to leave them. It wasn't school he objected to, it was where it was, and what she would have to do to them to get there.

“Are you telling me you're leaving me? Is that what this is about? Are you walking out on us? And just exactly how long have you known that?”

“I only got the letter of acceptance this afternoon, Oliver. I haven't even absorbed it yet myself. And no, I'm not leaving you.” She tried to calm down. “I can come home for vacations and weekends.”

“Oh for chrissake … and what are we supposed to do? What about Mel and Sam?”

“They have Agnes.” They stood in the snow, shouting at each other, and Sarah wished with all her heart that she had waited to tell him. She hadn't even sorted it out herself yet.

“And what about me? I have Agnes too? She'll be thrilled to hear it.”

Sarah smiled at him. Even in anguish, he was decent and funny. “Come on, Ollie … let's just let this thing cool down. We both need to think about it.”

“No, we don't.” His face was suddenly more serious than she had ever seen it. “There should be absolutely nothing to think about. You're a married woman with a husband and three kids. There's no way you can go to a school almost two hundred miles away, unless you walk out on us, plain and simple.”

“It's not that simple. Don't make it that simple, Ol-lie. What if I really need to do this?”

“You're being self-indulgent.” He unlocked the car, yanked open the door, and slid behind the wheel, and when she got in, he stared at her, with fresh questions. “How exactly do you intend to pay for this, or are you expecting me to put you and Benjamin through Harvard?” It was going to be something of a strain on them having one child in college, let alone two when Mel went. And adding Sarah to their burdens seemed even more absurd, but she had long since figured that out, in case she was ever accepted.

“I still have the money my grandmother left me. With the exception of the new roof we put on the house, I've never touched it.”

“I thought that money was earmarked for the kids. We agreed that money was sacred.”

“Maybe it'll mean more to them to have a mother who does something worthwhile with her life, like writing something that might mean something to them one day, or getting a job that does someone some good, or doing something useful.”

“It's a lovely thought, but frankly I think your children would rather have a mother than a literary example.” He sounded bitter as he drove the short distance to the house, and then sat huddled in the car, outside the house in the driveway. “You've already made up your mind, haven't you? You're going to do it, aren't you, Sarrie?” He sounded so sad, and this time when he turned to look at her, she knew that the tears in his eyes weren't from the wind, they were from what she had told him.

Her eyes were damp too as she hesitated, looking out at the snow, and then she turned to face him. “I think maybe I have to, Ollie … I don't know if I can ever explain it … but I have to. It won't be for long, I promise … I'll work as hard as I can, as fast as I can.” But she wasn't kidding anyone. They both knew it was an intense two-year program.