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Once that was done, Jeanne turned to me. Taking a deep breath, she said, "Micheal, I'd like to talk to you in the living room." The serious tone of my wife's voice concerned me. Suddenly worried that something was gravely wrong, I said, "Yes, of course." We walked quickly into the living room. Expecting that Jeanne would sit next to me, I sat on the couch. She surprised me and sat in the arm chair across from the couch. This heightened my anxiety. For what seemed like an eternity, but was most likely only a few seconds, Jeanne stared at me. Feeling even more apprehensive, I waited. Finally she began. "Michael, I suspect that what I'm about to say is going to shock you and probably upset you. I'm asking, no begging you to please hear me out before you respond." Now overwhelmed with alarm and barely managing to maintain my composure, I answered, "All right, I'll try." "Thank you." Jeanne smiled and then she took a deep breath. "Michael, I'm going to have an affair." I looked at my wife. She turned it, and then scanned the large room on entering it.There was an eeriness to the library. A half-dozen old oil-paintings hung on the wall at the end of the room. Maureen glanced around her, noticing the dusty books in their s**ttered cases and the dilapidated, out-of-date furniture ... and the statues.At first glance, they looked like waxworks from some old museum, but on closer examination it was possible to see that the simulated flesh on the figures was soft, smooth rubber. They were so realistic that Maureen had reached out and touched the arm of one of them when her aunt had first shown them to her.“Don’t touch,” the old lady had snapped, rapping her cane on the hardwood floor to emphasize her words. “Never touch the replicas!”There were four of them. One was the image of a stiff, stern-looking man in Edwardian clothes whom Aunt Sylvia had told Maureen was her great-grandfather. Another was a replica of Shakespeare. “Your grandmother was a great reader,” said Aunt.
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