Liz sat next to me in the middle of the small power boat, her gaze focused on the approaching line of land in the distance. Dad had cut the engine and was letting momentum carry us in, lights out, the Patterson's dock rapidly approaching.
Crew's silence wasn't about me, or so my father said when I called him with what I'd found and my worries my husband might be in danger (no, I didn't mention I was actually more concerned he was giving me the silent treatment). He'd gone out of town suddenly on a case, something I wished he'd shared with me and reinforced my certainty he was, in fact, choosing to put distance and quiet between us. I knew he processed best when he had space, but it didn't always work for me.
We'd be having a conversation about how our marriage was going to survive our disparate ways of communicating, he could be sure of that.