Rick’s arm is around the back of my chair, but it’s an awkward posture, as if he wants to lower it to curve around my shoulders but doesn’t. I appear genuinely happy and relaxed, leaning toward Rick. My hand is almost, but not quite, touching his knee.As Rick and I played on the beach that Saturday with Stanley, Luella and their children, it was as if I unwound inside. I was beginning to understand that I had been taking Rick’s pain into myself, letting it knot somewhere deep inside me until I was near to choking with it. Adding my own uncertainty about what was presently going on between Rick and me, I was awash in misgivings. Not good.I’d spent a restless night after Rick had said all those things to me in the kitchen the day before. I was incredulous, furious, stunned while he was saying them. At first I’d reacted as though he were blaming me for everything that had gone wrong, but then I understood that he was blaming himself as well. Afterward, I lay alone in my bed, worried that I wouldn’t be able to act natural after what we’d said to each other, and we were expecting the Doyles for a picnic the next day besides.
