“I remember everything I read.”
“That has nothing to do with this.”
“I remember other things too.”
She caught his shirt.
Pulled him closer.
Thomas whispered:
“You keep tempting an old man.”
“You're not old.”
“My knees disagree.”
“Your other faculties seem adequate.”
Thomas laughed against her mouth.
Sarah loved that she could still make him lose composure.
He loved that she still tried.
When Thomas turned sixty-four, a young ranch hand asked how he and Sarah stayed married so long without seeming to hate each other.
Thomas considered.
Then answered:
“She tells me when I'm wrong.”
The young man laughed.
Thomas did not.
“And I learned that hearing it does not kill me.”
Sarah overheard.
Later:
“That was almost wise.”
“Almost?”
“You forgot the second part.”
“What second part?”
“Sometimes I'm wrong.”
Thomas stared.
Sarah smiled.
“Rarely.”
“Very rarely.”
“You're impossible.”
“Yes.”
He kissed her.
Margaret died at seventy-eight.
That loss broke something in both of them.
The house felt wrong afterward.
Too quiet.
Sarah found herself listening for footsteps that would never come.
Thomas stood in the kitchen one morning staring at Margaret's empty chair.
Sarah put coffee in front of him.
He whispered:
“She was here before my mother died.”
“I know.”
“Before my father.”
“I know.”
“Before Catherine.”
“Yes.”
“Before you.”
Sarah nodded.
Thomas closed his eyes.
“Everyone leaves.”
Sarah sat beside him.
“Yes.”
He opened them.
She continued:
“Eventually.”
“That is not the same as abandonment.”
Thomas looked at her.
Sarah took his hand.
“Margaret didn't leave you.”
“She finished.”
He hated the wording.
Then loved it.
Years later he used it himself.
Cody eventually took over daily ranch operations.
Thomas resisted.
Sarah forced the issue.
“You cannot ride north fence in January at seventy-two.”
“I can.”
“You fell asleep in the saddle last week.”
“I was thinking.”
“You were snoring.”
“Unproven.”
“Cody heard.”
“Cody lies.”
“Thomas.”
He glared.
She stared back.
Thirty years of marriage taught him when surrender was cheaper.
“Fine.”
Cody took responsibility.
Thomas discovered retirement made him unbearable.
Sarah put him in charge of breeding records.
He improved instantly.
At seventy-five, Thomas became ill during winter.
Not dramatically.
A cough.
Then weakness.
Doctor came from town.
Heart.
Age.
Time.
Nothing to fight.
Thomas disliked conditions without opponents.
Sarah sat beside him.
He said:
“This is inefficient.”
“What?”
“Dying slowly.”
She laughed through tears.
“You would complain about the management.”
“Poorly organized.”
She held his hand.
One evening he looked toward the window.
Snow pressed against the glass.
“Blizzard.”
Sarah smiled.
“Not nearly as bad.”
“No.”
He looked toward her.
“You wore blue.”
Her throat tightened.