We carried breakfast to the table. The local news mumbled about traffic on the counter radio. Halfway through his eggs, Elliot checked his calendar on his phone.
"I'll probably be late again tonight."
I looked up. He noticed.
"What?"
"Nothing," I said.
Nothing, I said.
"You've got that face."
"What face?"
"The one that says you're thinking too hard about something."
I smiled. "I didn't sleep well."
His expression softened immediately. He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "I hate when that happens. I'll bring dinner home tonight."
For one second, it almost worked. I almost forgot the message entirely.
Then my eyes drifted, without my permission, to the watch on his wrist.
Last night was perfect.
Those four words settled over breakfast like an uninvited guest neither of us was willing to acknowledge out loud.
When we finished eating, Elliot rinsed his plate, grabbed his laptop bag, and headed for the garage. At the door, he stopped and looked back at me — something almost hesitant crossing his face, like he wanted to say one more thing.
Instead he just smiled. "Love you."
"I love you too."
There was something almost hesitant in his expression.
The garage door rumbled open. A minute later, his SUV disappeared down Hollis Road.
I stood at the kitchen window long after he was gone.
If I asked him about the message tonight, maybe he'd tell me the truth. If he lied, I'd never actually know either way.
If he lied, I'd never actually know either way.
A minute later, I grabbed my purse. By the time I'd locked the front door behind me, I still hadn't decided whether I was following my husband, or chasing the very first doubt our marriage had ever handed me.
The sensible thing would have been to stay home.
I started my car instead, and pulled onto the street, leaving enough distance that Elliot's silver SUV blended easily into the morning traffic.
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