Chapter 69
He gripped the wooden railing and gazed down into my mother’s azaleas, which were shrouded in the porch light.
A chorus of cicadas assailed the air.
I came up behind my husband, stood close to him, and ran a hand over the hard cords of muscle on his back.
He trembled under me.
“It’s been stressful,” he said, and I could detect a tone of exhaustion and panic. “Work. Your father’s death.” When he turned to me I saw the pain on his face. “Us.”
“Us?” I shrugged. “What’s wrong with us?”
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just…different right now. Everything is.”
“How?” Puzzled, my voice thick with doubt. “What are you talking about?”
He reached for my hand in the dark. “I don’t blame you for anything, Chris. Things have been difficult these last few months. But our relationship has taken a beating from it.”
“I don’t understand.”