Keith and his wife, Emily, got into the habit of taking early evening strolls, just before the cocktail hour at six. They always walked seven blocks to the old drug store which was being renovated to house a Starbucks.   Sometimes they talked about the pandemic, but finding it a depressing topic, they agreed not to discuss it during their walk. Politics was out too. He favored the current administration. She did not.

They talked about their day, now and then, but since they were both retired, neither of them had much news that the other had not heard already. One Tuesday evening, as they reached the drug store, where they usually turned around and headed toward home, Emily said, “Keith, describe our relationship.”

Keith, who had been daydreaming about his long- ago college days, didn’t answer immediately. Certainly, he sensed the danger. The wrong answer could make the walk home a chilly one in spite of the summer sun. He glanced at her and saw she was eyeing him intently. “I would say we’re like two old baseball gloves, comfortably resting together on a shelf in the garage.”

By the time he heard himself say the last word, garage, he knew he had blown it. They had been holding hands. Suddenly, they weren’t. “That’s how you see us? We’re waiting for our kids to sell what’s left of us in a garage sale after we’re gone?”

“I was kidding!” Keith said, trying hard to tread water and already breathing hard. “How would you describe our relationship?” He could see she was fighting back tears.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Em, we’ve been married 41 years. We are comfortable and we’re together.”

“You know something, Keith? You have a baseball glove sitting on a shelf in our garage. When was the last time you looked at it? When was the last time you put it on, had a catch with someone? Do you see my point?”

“I wasn’t comparing us to baseball gloves. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

It was indeed a chilly evening in their household. Emily prepared a light supper and they ate in silence. Afterward, she said she was going to Costco. “You want company?” he asked.

“No.”

Keith put the ballgame on, doing his best to pay attention to the action. The Cincinnati Reds were hammering the Pittsburgh Pirates, 8-1. When Emily got home, she put away the things she bought and went to take a shower. By then, Keith was working on his fourth beer. Not used to drinking much, he fell asleep in his recliner.

He woke up just after two in the morning. He got up and stood still while his achy knees settled down. He crept into the bedroom and saw that Emily was sound asleep. He couldn’t remember the last time they didn’t sleep in the same bed. He went back to his recliner and tried to sleep, but his mind was on fire now. How to make amends? He hadn’t intended to hurt Emily’s feelings with his injudicious remark, but he had.

He switched the light on and reached for a note pad and a pen. He wrote down her words. “Describe our relationship.” By 6:30 that morning he was about to give up. Then he had an epiphany. He wrote, “Our relationship is like the ocean. Always beautiful and changing; very deep.”

He got up and walked up the stairs to the second floor, where Emily kept her art supplies. She had taught art to high school students for years. He picked out an art board and grabbed a marker. He copied the words he’d written down on the board, adding, “What I really believe.” He grabbed an easel, and took his work downstairs. He set the easel up at the foot of their bed.

When Emily woke up and turned over onto her back, she saw the note and cried. This time she didn’t hold back her tears.