Waiting

Apple was tired of waiting.

The window in her bedroom offered a perfect view of the harbor but night now obscured any sign of life down there. A few lamps in the distance glowed, but they only illuminated the remote hope that he might come home that night so she tried to not look at them. Still, the mast lights and beacon seemed to call to her, just as they did every night. Every night, for nearly a month now that she'd been alone.

Though, in truth, she wasn't truly alone. The servants were always there and though she was probably friendlier with them than he'd ever been, it certainly wasn't the same. Perhaps then, alone wasn't the right word. Cold. That seemed more accurate. The house was definitely colder with him gone.

With that thought, she pulled a blanket around her shoulders. Tightly woven in the patterns of a Grassland tribe, it smelled of jasmine and gardenia. She'd bought it on the last trip, but that was when she could travel with him.

Things were different now. It wasn't that she didn't want to go, nor that he didn't want her to go, but both of their logical minds deduced it would just not be smart. Not now and probably not for a few years.

They had both wanted this, despite their age, and now they wanted to protect it. And so, despite her boredom and loneliness, she remained at home but still counted the moments from his departure until his return.

The last letter he had sent said he'd return this week. But now, as the last moon began to rise, she had her doubts. The seas to the southern islands could be unforgiving and if conditions were rough she knew he'd put the voyage home off a few days.

Still staring out the window, she hardly noticed one of the maids placing a pot of tea in front of her. It wasn't until the woman was practically out the door that Apple said, "Thank you."

She sipped the cup of tea and then poured another. The clock on the mantle struck eleven-thirty and she stood up, letting the blanket fall off her shoulders. She made her way down the hall to the bedroom, resigned to the fact that he would not be home that night.

Changing into her nightgown, she didn't even bother to light one of the lamps in the room. Her husband's cat—a black and white mongrel he had named Heath—was already curled up on the comforter. She smiled at the animal and after brushing out her hair, she placed her glasses on the nightstand, pulled the curtain back and lay down, being careful not to disturb the ornery cat.

Even though she had the entire bed to herself (except the small area that Heath had commandeered) she never could sleep on his side. She didn't even like to look it as it reminded her of his absence. Curling up on her side, she rubbed her feet against each other for warmth and stared at the items on her nightstand, hoping her eyes would tire and close.

Suddenly the covers pulled from her. Instinctively, she jerked them back but then sat straight up, realizing she wasn't alone.

"Well my dear," he said with a sardonic grin that was slightly obscured in the shadows of the curtained bed. "It certainly took you long enough to notice."

She leaned over and threw her arms around him. "Oh! You idiot. You wonderful, perfect idiot."

"I promised you I'd be home today. Didn't I?"

"Yes," she said as she curled into his embrace. "Yes you did."

"You didn't doubt me, did you?" he teased.

She grinned and repeated something he had once said to her: "Perfect love allows for all of our failings, darling."

He smiled and drew her closer to him. "Indeed it does—especially since your nose twitches when you lie."

"It does not."

"It does," he said as he poked her on the tip of her nose before leaning in to give her a tender, almost innocent kiss.

After it broke, she whispered into his ear, "I love you, Shu."

Kissing her forehead he smiled at her. "As do I, my dear, as do I."