Derek was a man of clear views, forcefully expressed. Janet had come to know this well. In the early years of their married life, Janet had listened to what Derek had to say, often nodding to signal agreement, when in truth she had no strong opinions on Aston Villa, Reginald Maudling, or the merits of imperial measurements.  Sometimes, foolish young woman that she once was, she tried to argue with him.   Perhaps not argue, so much as try to dispel his anxiety.  Of course it was exasperating that the supposedly dead Bobby Ewing had suddenly walked out of the shower in Dallas, she would soothe, but did it really matter?

Janet no longer made the effort.  Derek’s explosions were many, but short lived.  She had come to regard them as being like steam released from a valve in a pressure cooker.  Within Derek’s brain…