But twice, when she passed the study doorway on her way down the hall, she caught him not working, just sitting with his hands folded, looking somewhere that was not the room.
She made dinner at 6:00—rice, grilled chicken, a small salad—and served it at the usual time. He ate. She cleared. She washed the dishes and dried them and put them back in their places.
Then she sat at the small kitchen table and waited.
She heard his chair move, his footsteps in the hallway, the soft sound of the sitting room light being turned on.
“Rebecca.”
She stood up, smoothed her top, and walked to the sitting room.
He was standing by the window rather than sitting in his usual chair. The evening light was going, the sky outside deep orange at the bottom and fading to blue at the top. The room was warm and quiet.
He turned when she came in. He gestured to the chairs.
“Please sit down.”
She sat.
He remained standing for a moment longer, looking at the floor. Then he sat too, on the edge of his chair, leaning forward slightly, his hands loosely clasped.