Cade is playing techno-pirate on the beach with Grandpa’s thingamajig. That leaves Dell and me, alone, finishing up the work in Grandma’s room. Which means it’s awfully quiet in here. We share lots of awkward glances, and occasionally he asks me where to put something, but that’s about it. Why is it like this? Lately it feels impossible to just have a simple conversation without him reading something into every little thing I say. I’m sure he feels the same about me. It used to be so easy to talk to him, but now it’s easier just to go about our business with as few words as possible, because the more we say, the more our words are scrutinized, and the more likely it is that we end up feeling hurt. Sometimes silence between spouses is a blessing. Sometimes it’s a curse. And sometimes it’s interrupted by the bloodcurdling scream of a child… “Mom! Dad! Hurry!” Dell and I look at each other for a split second, then race for the bedroom door.
