Joan snatched a sharp knife and a meat tenderiser from the kitchen draw. She wondered if she should take the chainsaw, just in case. She threw on her floral apron, then changed her mind and replaced it with her checkered apron before packing the tools in to her picnic basket. Joan didn’t make eye contact with Don as she left. She couldn’t involve him in this. He didn’t deserve it: he had been a good husband; they had made a great team during their sixty years of marriage; but still, it wasn’t fair to drag him through her imminent downfall.