[35] The last fingers of leaf

I make Emma laugh. It’s the best thing I can do, because when she’s laughing she isn’t crying or arguing. She scared me that day at the Rosemeyrs’, though I’ll never tell her. It won’t help her stop being afraid, to know I was frightened too. Being scared is a horrible thing. It took two bottles of Freddie’s Tokay the next Saturday night for us to clear our heads of it, and even after that, I remember that I was afraid. For her. Horrible … so that’s what people mean by fear. And she lived with fear for how long before I knew her? It’s hard to believe anyone could. And she hasn’t, I can tell, forgotten what she remembered, she still feels that coil around her ankle, and my hand around her wrist.

While she was stitching my head at the kitchen table, she reminded me her birthday was in two weeks and that Emil was sure to appear this week to remind her. Maybe I should have tried to talk her out of dinner at her parents’. Our family is here now, Emma – I tried to tell her later. But before I could start, she pulled me to my feet and reached for my soldier, which is what she’s up for these days. She gets one yes for each of those, that’s the deal we’ve fallen into. Besides, her grandfather will be there, and the worst can never happen while he’s near. Or it happens, but between the two of us, we catch her. You have to respect your wife, you know – there’s nothing else you can do. When Emma says, ‘We have to go to my Big Day party,’ we don’t, but yes we do.