Every time my brother-in-law drove me home, I would black out and wake up sore. My husband just laughed and said I was out of shape. After the fourth trip, I hid a voice recorder in my purse — and that night I heard a phone call that made me realize the blackouts had never been accidents.

That is the thing I am going to have to live with and it is not the thing anybody expects.

“Pali. You sit bent over a spreadsheet for ten hours a day. You’re out of condition, that’s all. Come to the gym with me.”

And it sounded reasonable. It sounded like the most reasonable thing in the world, twice, and then a third time.

So after the third one, I bought a little digital recorder for about forty dollars from a place by the station.

I put it in the zip pocket inside my bag. Under the lining, in the compartment where I keep nothing, because I am the sort of person who has a compartment where she keeps nothing.

And I left it running on the fourth drive.

That night, with Esteban asleep in our bed, I sat on the floor of the walk-in with the door shut and I played it.