I WATCH OVER HIM as he sleeps in this stuffy hut on a lonely beach, just as he watched over me that terrible night, so long ago. Despite my anger, I pull his blanket up to his chin, surprised to find a hidden well of tenderness inside me, still, for this man and what we’ve been through together.
It is an unexpected, welcome gift, this quiet, peaceful moment, and I decide to let him sleep for a while longer before my betrayal comes roaring back, as inevitable as the waves crashing against the rocks outside.
It’s been forty-two years, I think, watching over my dying husband.
And still we can’t quite comprehend all we lost on that terrible March night.