Which meant she hadn’t done much spending. Or much living.
“I recognize that outfit,” he said, nodding toward her capris and shirt. “You wear that for my benefit, because it’s something I’d recognize? And you know I like it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, don’t. Wear whatever you’d normally wear. I know you’ll have clothes I haven’t seen, that you’ll know people I don’t know.” That life had changed for them both.
Though, looking at the house, he couldn’t see much evidence of it for her. It was as though he’d just walked out the day before and come back in.
“This is what I’d normally wear,” she said, her tone soft. Understanding.
When she didn’t understand. At all.
It was as though she’d put her life on hold for him. All of it. Except work. Which put even more distance between them.
She’d held on so tightly. He hadn’t held on at all.
What in the hell was he going to do about bed?
After dinner, he did the dishes. She hovered. In and out of the room. Wiping the table. And then bringing him over to look at the computer, showing him their accounts. Explaining decisions she’d made. Asking his opinion. They talked about a couple of options. Agreed upon them.
He looked over at his own computer, on the other side of the partner desk they’d purchased from an antiques dealer. Had no interest in starting up the machine. The updates would take forever.
She asked if he wanted to watch a movie. Started talking about a couple she’d seen that she figured he’d like. And told him about the streaming services she’d signed up for.
Something new. Different. Apart from him.
Good.
He didn’t feel like a movie. He wanted to sleep. He’d been doing a lot of that in the couple of weeks he’d been back.
What in the hell was he going to do about bed?
“You go ahead,” he told her, referring to the movie offer. “I would rather just turn in.”
It was barely eight o’clock. They used to rarely go to bed before eleven. At least to sleep.
The stricken look that crossed her face made him feel bad. And also made him feel like he was doing the job he’d come to do, too. Showing her.
“I’m so sorry, Winston. I wasn’t thinking... Of course we’ll go to bed. I, um, actually...have been going to bed earlier myself.”
She sounded...odd...as though she felt uncomfortable about the admission. Because she’d changed up their routine? God, he hoped she didn’t feel guilty about that.
“About your sleeping... Are you okay in our bed? Will it bother you to have me there beside you?”
What in the hell was he going to do about bed?
If he answered in the affirmative, she’d understand, be patient, wait for him to heal.
“No, it won’t bother me,” he said, standing there in the office they used to share, still in his uniform khakis. “But I completely understand if it bothers you,” he added. “You’ve been alone a long time. I’m somewhat of a stranger to you. I have no problem taking the spare room.”
Eyes wide, horror evident, she was in front of him in an instant, her face inches from his. “There’s no way I want you anywhere but in bed with me, Winston. You have to know that. We’ll get through this, just like we get through everything. Together. I’m truly just so thankful you’re alive, still having a hard time believing you’re really here, but there’s no way you’re a stranger to me.”
He swallowed. Nodded. And turned to go to bed.
* * *
Hands shaking, Emily brushed her teeth and pulled on Winston’s favorite filmy blue negligee. He might be emotionally clogged, but Officer Hall had said physically, her husband was just fine.