My wife once requested we make love in front of an open window. Those were her words as she reclined on the sill and studied her naked body in the light of the sun: Let’s make love. I want my wife with a lunatic desire, but I hesitated before accepting her proposition. It was a Saturday afternoon, and many of our neighbors were working in their yards or relaxing on their porches. Two roofers were laying shingles on a house not far from ours. She repeated the invitation with added urgency. I replied, Someone will see us. Then she touched herself and replied, Maybe they need to. Discourse over. For the rest of the time we lived in that neighborhood, we debated the extent to which our activity had been witnessed. My wife believed we’d gotten away clean; I had doubts. Our neighbors never said a word, but whenever I talked to them, I detected a nearly imperceptible gleam in their eyes, the smallest piece of light. It said, I saw you.