“You wrote me that when you got home, you and I were going to be married,” says Wilma. Homer cleans the barrel of his rifle. “If you wrote that once, you wrote it a hundred times. Isn’t that true?” asks Wilma.
“Yes, but – – things are different now,” says Homer, not looking at Wilma.
“Have you changed your mind?” asks Wilma.
“Have I said anything about changing my mind?” says Homer.
“No,” says Wilma. “But that’s just it: you haven’t said anything about anything.”
Homer peers down the barrel of his rifle.
“That’s not loaded, is it?” asks Wilma.
“Of course it isn’t loaded,” says Homer. “Don’t you think I know how to handle a gun?”
“I don’t know what to think, Homer,” says Wilma. “All I know is: I was in love with you when you left, and I’m in love with you now. Other things may have changed, but – that hasn’t.”
Homer looks at Wilma, and then looks past her, out the garage window. His little sister and her friends are peering in the window.