I left my purse and the accompanying cell phone in my car last night.  This morning my voice mail held a message from my husband, the first I have heard from him in four days.  Yesterday a long letter arrived, full of observations made during his first three days in San Francisco, each and every one of them days we did speak on the phone.  The stories he wrote, the itineraries he outlined, I’d heard pieces of it all through a staticy connection already.  He’s never been much of a phone talker, not much of an emailer, either, but my goodness, that boy can put pen to paper.

At six this morning I curled up again with the pages and a hot cup of tea.  When I realized it had all been written before the last time we talked, I began to wonder if he hadn’t just fallen off the face of the earth.  It’s not like him to stay silent four whole days.  That’s more my style.  He’s without a cell, has been calling me frequently, but from pay phones, mostly at inconvenient times.  Last he called, I was at a party and kept it short.  He seemed fine, let’s talk tomorrow.   

It’s one thing to suspect your husband might kill himself if you really do leave him, but worrying that declining to chat on the phone could send him off the Golden Gate Bridge, that’s just plain old arrogance, if not a delusion of grandeur.

Comments

[Bakerina]

Since I detect an element of tongue-in-cheekedness in that final paragraph, I am guessing that all was well in your young man's voice mail?

[Kenzie]

Tad and I miss you and the hubby!!

Could you drop us an email and let us know what you've been up to? Love!!