“Of course,” her husband said, sneaking a half-smiling look at the other man, something between a cuckold’s glance and the glare of a schoolroom troublemaker. She gazed benignly, lifting a lost hand. Her husband nodded as the hand lifted.
“Of course,” he repeated.
This second time the phrase sat deep and rose in a gentle exhalation, a mix of affection, relief and quiet love of man for wife, jack for queen—a half crying, half sighing of desperation and hope. She nodded and watched her husband gather the boys and leave, her high pale brow serene, midnight eyes momentarily soft, then turned.
“So we have each other now,” she said, “And the rain...”
She indicated a chair at the table by the window with the view of the lake. She sat opposite and took his hand between her two.
“Ach, so cold!” she said, “You’ll need tea before lunch, I’m sorry,” then squeezed his hand once more before jumping up from the table again.