My Mother always says that every argument has three sides and only one of them is the whole truth. Well, the truth is that Roger and I would still be married today if only he would have gotten his head out of the clouds and tried living like a grown-up.
     
      People who knew him back when he was at Combermere (that’s one of the more prestigious local high schools, for those of you who don’t know) said that he would have made a good psychiatrist because he was always trying to fix other people’s problems, or a good engineer because he’s also good with his hands. It’s even easy to imagine him as the lawyer he was supposed to be because he’s smooth-talking and always looking for an angle. And he’s very easy on the eye—the first time I saw him nine years ago, my mouth watered; no lie (but don’t tell him I told you that). Another thing my mother says, though, is that ‘come see me’ and ‘come live with me’ are different things, and no truer words exist.
      
      Three years after we got married, after busting my butt to support him during two years of law school, Roger suddenly announced that he was dropping out to become a private investigator. I’d let it slide when he furnished our apartment completely with second-hand furniture from his brother. And I bit my tongue hard when, instead of buying me that car we’d been talking about, he lent the cash to one of his free-loading, sob-story friends who never even paid us back. I even looked the other way all the times he left me stranded because his mother crooked a finger and he went running. Then he throws away a chance at a legal practice and a comfortable life to skulk around behind unsavory dead-beats. I had three more years with that Roger Gooding and I said, "Enough, thank you." I left home at eighteen, travelled around until I decided that Barbados was where I could have the life I wanted, and I’m not crazy enough to let myself end up worse off than I started out. So the marriage thing didn’t work out for Rog and me. Pity—I do miss that man some nights, though. Damn. (Don’t tell him I said that either.)
      
      Anyway, word on the street these days is that he’s good at what he does, so I might have to start watching my back. The last thing I need is for him to come snooping around and capsize this great boat I’m sailing.