Molly on her bed with her cards, laying them out in two rows, the queen of spades and knight of diamonds set aside. Cat in the middle of it. Queen of spades, the widow. A young widow. Poor Dignam. Or the divorced woman. Which option? Or the bad woman with ill will. Or the dark woman familiar with sorrow. And with the knight of diamonds. A knave. A brave unemployed man. A young stranger. A scholar. A jealous person. A useful man. Who? Planning her concert. Her phone face down on the bed. Texting. Singing some sweet old song. McCoy says his wife singing too. Believe when I see. Don’t want to hear, no guts in it. Screechy woman. Freckled. Cheeseparing nose. You and me in the same boat he says, flattering me. Irritating. Your wife, my wife. Wonder is he pimping after me? Maybe a little softswapping? I wouldn’t think Molly his type. Maybe he means me? Still in the closet I thought.