“Yard expansion. A trip through Nova Scotia. Another dog when Marlowe slowed down.”
“Marlowe would object.”
“He objects to rain.”
“What about the wedding?”
My breath paused.
“We had not planned one.”
“The ring.”
“We talked about marriage. Nothing was scheduled.”
“Would you still want it?”
The question arrived quietly.
I turned toward him.
Noah watched the sea.
“I would never ask you to honor a decision you don’t remember making.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
He waited.
“Yes,” I said. “I would still want it.”
His fingers moved beneath the blanket until they found mine.
“Not now,” he said.
“I know.”
“But the answer matters.”
“I understand.”
We stayed like that, joined by our hands and nothing else.
Then Noah asked, “How bad is the insurance situation?”
The wind suddenly felt colder.
I had known the question would return.
“Not as bad as it was two weeks ago.”
“That’s not a number.”
“No.”
“Tell me enough.”
