will you always love me? - joyce carol oates

Later, when she'd recovered, calmed and softened and sleepy by several glasses of wine, Andrea confessed to Harry she'd thought he'd asked her something. She knew he hadn't, but she thought she'd heard the words. When Harry asked, what were the words, Andrea said she didn't know. Her forehead, no longer creased with worry, kept the trace of thin horizontal lines.

Harry thought: We're drawn to the mystery of others' secrets, and not to those secrets. Do I really want to know?