Strangers

patties on the griddle. Fact is, I know damn well I'm overreacting.
        But he worried.
        By the time Ned prepared cheeseburgers with all the fixings for the Blocks and their friend, the other customers were gone. As Sandy served the loaded plates, Faye locked the door and switched on the CLOSED sign that was visible from I-80, though it was shy of ten o'clock.
        Ned joined them for a closer look at the stranger, and to insinuate himself between the guy and Sandy. When he got to their table, he was surprised to see that Sandy had a bottle of beer and had opened one for him, too. He did not drink much; Sandy drank less.
        "You'll need it when you hear what they have to tell us," Sandy said. "In fact, you might even need a couple more bottles."
        The guy's name was Dominick Corvaisis, and he had an amazing tale that drove all worries of infidelity from Ned's mind. When Corvaisis was finished, Ernie and Faye had an incredible story of their own, and that was when Ned first learned about the ex-Marine's fear of the dark.
        "But I remember we were evacuated," Ned said. "We couldn't have been here at the motel those three days, 'cause I remember we had a sort of mini-vacation at home-watching TV, reading Louis L'Amour."
        "I believe that's what you were told to remember," Corvaisis said. "Did anyone visit you at the trailer during that time? Any neighbors drop by? Anyone who could confirm that you were actually there?"
        "We're outside Beowawe, where we don't really have neighbors. Far as I remember, we didn't see anybody who could swear we was there."
        Sandy said, "Ned, they wondered if anything strange has been happening to either of us."
        Ned met his wife's eyes. Without words, he let her know it was up to her whether she told them about the changes she had been undergoing.
        Corvaisis said, "The two of you were here the night it happened. Whatever it was, it started while I was having dinner. So you must have been a part of it. But the memory was stolen from you."
        The thought of strangers messing with his mind gave Ned the creeps. Uneasy, he studied the five Polaroid snapshots that Faye had fanned out on the table, especially the picture of Corvaisis staring empty-eyed.
        To Sandy, Faye said, "Honey, Ernie and I would have to've been blind not to've noticed the changes in you recently. I don't mean to embarrass you, and I don't want to pry, but if those changes might be related to whatever happened to us, then we ought to know about it."
        Sandy reached for Ned's hand, held it. Her love for him was so evident that he was ashamed of himself for the ridiculous thoughts of betrayal that had preoccupied him earlier.
        Staring intently at her beer, she said, "Most all my life, I've had the lowest opinion of myself. I'll tell you why, because you've got to know how bad it was for me when I was a kid if you want to understand how miraculous it is that I ever found any self-respect. It was Ned who first lifted me up, believed in me, gave me a chance to be somebody." Her hand tightened on his. "Almost nine years ago, he started courting me, and he was the first person ever treated me like a lady. He married me knowing that inside I was tied up in tangled knots, and he's spent eight years doing his best to untie and untangle them. He thinks I don't know how hard he's tried to help me, but I know all right."
        Her voice cracked with emotion. She paused for a swallow of beer.
        Ned was unable to speak.
        Sandy said, "The thing is… I want everyone to know that maybe what happened the summer before last, the thing none of us remembers… maybe it did have a powerful effect on me. But if Ned hadn't taken me under his wing all those years ago, I never would've had a chance."
        Love enwrapped Ned as if it were bands of iron, closing his throat, constricting his chest, applying a pleasant pressure to his heart.
        She glanced at him, returned her gaze to the bottle of beer, and recounted a childhood in hell. She did not describe her father's violations of her in explicit detail, and she spoke demurely - almost primly - of her periodic exploitation as a child prostitute under the management of a Vegas pimp. Her account of this monstrous abuse was all the more shocking and moving because she related it without drama. Everyone at the table listened in a silence resulting not merely from shock but from