Ridley Pearson - Beyond Recognition

“What about the boy?” she asked.

“Daphne pushed hard. He gets to be with the psychic short-term, maybe long term. It’s a good thing.”

“Yes,” she agreed. They clinked glasses.

“What’s this dinner about?” she asked.

“Can’t we just go out to dinner?”

“No. Not here. Not like this. What’s it about?”

He snorted and looked to the drink for courage. “I’m going to put in for lieutenant.”

“Seriously?”

“Would I joke?”

She studied her husband, leaned over, and kissed his cheek. She reached up to take off the lipstick, but Boldt leaned away.

“No,” he said. “I want to keep it.”

“It looks kind of silly.”

“Good,” he said. He lifted his glass and ordered another vodka.

“I’m driving,” she said.

“You’re driving,” he agreed. Then he said, “Hell, you’ve been driving us for years.”

They looked into each other’s eyes a few times, but neither said a word. Liz eventually couldn’t fight off the smile, and Boldt joined her.

“Crazy, huh?” she said.

“Yeah. Weird,” Boldt agreed. He felt tears at the back of his throat. He fought against them.

“You never know,” she offered. Her eyes were glassy.

“No. You never know.”

“We’ll help each other through it.” She reached down and took his hand in hers and squeezed hard-she squeezed the way he’d wanted her to squeeze for years. Where had that squeeze gone? he wondered. How had they lost that squeeze until such a moment? She squeezed again and squeezed tears from both their eyes.

But Boldt managed the smile that time. He realized that was how it was going to be, trading back and forth, the both of them. “A lot of this lately,” he confessed.

“Yeah. Good for the tear ducts,” she offered, blinking through her own.

“Scared?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“Yes,” she answered. “You bet I am.” Her lips quivered and she looked to him for some answer that he didn’t have.

“Me, too,” he whispered, to the most beautiful wife in the world.