Talking about Desdemona lately had Art feeling like he was dredging things out into the sunlight, things that were better left unspoken and left alone. "Yeah," Art said, because he didn't know what else to say. He shrugged. "I think maybe she just needs time." And maybe that was optimistic. Maybe Dez would be able to Work Through Things and then she'd be back to normal, but maybe this was just the way things were now, Desdemona a shell of herself and Arthur sliding back into his worst habits.

He shoved the thought down; he couldn't afford to think like that.

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