Good Night

She could tell by the way he moved that he was tired--more than that: he was weary. And she wanted to cheer him up. Here was her husband, weary from a long, long day at work, and she loved him so much that she couldn't bear to see him this way.

Well, she though, dinner's not much tonight, but it's warm, and it's ready now. She walked over to where he was putting his briefcase down, and slipped her arms around him.

"I'm glad you're home," she said, and kissed him on the cheek.

"Me, too, babe."

"Dinner's ready. Are you hungry?"

"Starving."

"Well take your tie off and come sit down. I'll get the plates."

"Hey," he stopped her. "I love you."

"I know," she smiled back. "I love you, too."

He pulled off his tie, layed it over his briefcase, and looked around the almost empty house.

They had sold almost all their furniture. All that remaind was a wobbly table and two mismatched chairs; a couch they had picked up for $50 at the thrift store after they sold the nice one they had received as a wedding gift; their bed; and a dresser that fit exactly all of her clothes and none of his.

He felt the weight of their circumstances in his chest. For the last 6 months there was just not enough money to go around. To pay the bills they had resorted to selling furniture, disconnecting the cable, cancelling the cell phones, and almost anything else they could think of. They even gave blood as frequently as was allowed.

And she was so good about it. When he told her, each month, how short they were on money, she just smiled and said, "Okay. What are we gonna do?" When they started having to sell furniture, she joked that it was a pain to try and vaccuum under the couches and chairs anyways and that she'd prefer to have an empty living room.

He filled two glasses with water from the faucet and brought them to the table. She opened the oven and grabbed the clear glass dish using two worn, and slightly scorched, pot holders. It wasn't much: two small chicken breasts over an instant rice mix that was really only meant for one person.

It was the last of the chicken, and with four days till pay-day, it would be the last hot supper until Friday. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday would all be sandwiches for dinner.

"I thought we were saving the rest of the chicken," he said.

"I know. I'm sorry. But I just thought that with your long day and all, you'd need an extra special dinner tonight. I know it's not much, but the rice is your favorite."

"Thanks, Sweetheart. It looks delicious."

They said grace, remembering to thank God for each other, the dinner they were about to share, and even their modest--and dwindling possessions. Sqeezing each other's hand, they said "Amen," in unision like a sports team breaking from a huddle.

After dinner, he tarried for a little more than an hour on a work project he had brought home in his briefcase. She stretched out on the couch and read from a novel she bought for a quarter at the thrift store where they bought the couch.

When he was finished, he glanced up from his work at the table and saw she had fallen asleep. He turned off the kitchen light then went to the couch and knelt down beside her. Gently, he pushed a lock of hair back from her forehead and kissed her.

"Time for bed, Babe."

She grunted in her sleep and stirred a little, but did not wake. Carefully, he slid the book out of her hand, replaced the bookmark, and set it down on the floor since they had sold the end tables which used to flank the humble couch.

"I know you don't want to get up, but it's time for bed," he said.

Her eyes half opened, and she smiled.

"I'm up," she said.

They took turns spitting into the sink as they brushed their teeth. Their nightly ritual had fully wakened her and she fluttered around in her sweatpants and old t-shirt like her old self. It was as if the months of stress over finances had not touched her.

Finally, the last light was turned off, the laundry was piled in the bathroom where the hamper used to stand, and they crawled into bed.

Some time later, she lay awake in bed, thinking. She was scared they might not recover. That they might run out of things they could do or things they could sell to make ends meet.

She had been looking for a job for the last two months, but nothing developed from the ads she answered in the paper. He was working more hours than ever, but his commission based salary was still not enough.

The stress was wearing on him, she could tell. And all she could do was to try to not contribute to it.

She thought about jobs she might do and things she might sell. She missed their nice furniture, the meals she used to cook, and the fun they had going to the movies or to plays at the community theater. Every week, there were fewer and fewer options to turn to for money.

Her thoughts raced around and around for what seemed like an eternity. Gradually, they came back to her surroundings and she held her breath so she could hear his breathing in the dark. It was comforting, even relaxing, to just listen to him breathing.

At some point she realized it was cold in their room. She held her breath again and tried to listen for the heater.

If the lights were on, I'd be able to see my breath, she thought, and huddled closer to him under the covers. His chest was warm, and he felt solid, real, almost immovable. Then, when she tried to tuck her feet under his calf to keep them warm, she felt him jump just a little.

"Your feet are freezing," he whispered.

"You're awake?" she asked.

"Yeah. Put some socks on."

"You know I hate wearing socks to bed. I don't like socks in general," she said. "In fact, I'd go barefoot all the time if it was warm enough--wear flip-flops every day." She sighed.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"I think it's around two," he said. He slipped an arm under her, and pulled her closer.

"It's cold tonight," she said.

"I know. The heater will kick on soon. I didn't turn it off, just set the thermostat lower," he reassured her. He rubbed her arm quickly to help warm her.

"It's only October. Maybe we should buy another blanket before it starts getting really cold at night," she said.

"Yeah. I was thinking that. Maybe we can find one cheap, someplace." For a moment they lay there, glad they were together, but miserable in their circumstances.

"It's hard to sleep when it's this cold," she said.

"I know."

"I'm hungry, too."

"Me too, babe."

"Don't be mad at me, but, I was holding back at dinner so you'd get enough to eat."

He squeezed her tightly again and said, "Sweetheart, so was I. You've got that interview tomorrow..."

"It'll be okay," she said. "I love you."

"I love you."

Huddled together against the cold, the two quietly drifted off to sleep.