“Put the milk on the table.” The voice came from behind a large unfolded newspaper.
She put the glass bottle down and glanced at the headline. “Oh, no.”
Wryly, “Oh, yes.”
Sitting down, she fingered her fork. “What’s wrong with your hands?”
He lowered the newspaper. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with my hands?”
“They are not.” He picked up the newspaper again, but now the shaking was stronger. He sighed and put it down. “Pass the bacon?”
She handed it to him.
He looked up. “Yes?”
“No,” he insisted, “What were you going to say?”
“It’s just that...do you think...Henry?”
“I suppose it’s too soon to say.”
He picked up the milk. They both watched as he poured it into the glass.
“I’m going out.” Her chair screeched against the floor as she pushed it back. She stepped out of the room before circling back. “I forgot my purse.”
“Right here.” It sat under her chair, right where she left it. He bent down to pick it up and held it out.
Her face crumpled.
“Oh..oh...here, darling. Come here.” He jumped up and she fell into his arms. They stood like that for a long time.
“What will become of us?” she whispered into his shoulder.
“God only knows, darling. After all, we are really only at the beginning.”