At the last minute, it works out that i can go with him to drop off and pick up our girl from her gig. We'll have a rare hour to ourselves while our girl plays and our boisterous jammy clad crew at home revel in the freedom of a parentless house.
In the warmth of the van, we watch the slushy world in the greying light of evening speed past the windows... & i'm silent.
He lets me swim in my quiet pools for a long stretch of time before breaking in cautiously, "Why are you talking so much?"
"i dunno..." i whisper.
Sometimes the waters are too deep - and he needs to rescue me.
& isn't that what marriage is? A constant rescuing of one by the other - a never ending effort to love & enjoy - finding and giving the safety that we each crave?
i wrap my arms around my body - and follow him.
We wander through Anthropologie - and i touch compact books, pretty glassware and ruffled linens.
Finally - he reaches for my hand.
It covers mine completely - enclosing it in warmth.
He leads, i follow.
And i feel myself, still soaking - raise my head above the waters for a sputtering, gasping breath of life.
He starts to talk - fills the silence: Asian markets, shipping costs, consumers and middle men. Business strategies, profits and losses, direction for the future pulling me further from the comforting depths that separate us.
On our way home - with our girl safely in the backseat checking her email, he cracks a joke, glancing at me to see if it jabs - or if it wakens.
i smile & he drops it.
"Come be with me, out of the water..." he seems to invite.
& i dry off -
breathing freely now -