We’re at a neighborhood cookout on a backyard deck when Rand mentions the swingers who live on Pinecrest Place.

“How’d they start that anyhow?” He spears a bratwurst. “Did the Maxons approach the Sherwells or the Sherwells conduct a divide-and-conquer mission?”

Jerry, our host, says maybe the wives thought it up. The husbands had no problem agreeing.

Ginny, his wife, says she can’t imagine two couples agreeing on anything. “I barely got Jerry to agree to this cookout!”

The crowd of couples laughs.

“Well, not likely all were onboard,” I claim. “Probably one suggested it; the second pretended they’re gung-ho; the third twisted themself into believing they can try, and the fourth hated the idea but didn’t want to get left off the lifeboat.”

Rand eyes me over his beer. “Which one’s you?”

Everyone laughs again. In our eleventh year of marriage, I’m testy. “Guess.”

Jerry whistles. “He gets it wrong, I go home with you!”

More laughter. Except by his wife. 

Rand’s sweating. I can tell he doesn’t have a clue. Hell, neither do I. Lately, we haven’t been hitting it off exactly. I’m not keen on camping, which is all he wants to do this summer. That and hang out with his two sisters, whom I never liked. Meanwhile, Jerry’s fun-loving and fit as a fiddle. Maybe swinging would help.

Or is Rand setting me up? 

Ginny looks like she’s sick to her stomach. She disappears around the corner of the house. 

“You’re not the one suggesting it; I know that much,” says Rand. 

He’s not either. He’s the jealous sort. But I’m not about to let him off the hook. He opened this can of worms. 

“So… Which am I?” 

Our neighbors stop chewing. Stare.

Rand gives me one of his smug smiles. “The one who hates the idea.”

Now it’s on me. Do I pretend he’s right so the conversation drifts to some safer territory–or correct him and win Jerry? 

Funny how a slight movement of the head can upend two marriages just like that.