Caron Todd - Her Favorite Husband

Every few minutes Sarah hit the receive button. Nothing happened. With any luck, it meant Liz was hard at work. Off in the woods with her easel and paints. Or shut in the attic, insulated from interruption.

Finally, Liz answered.

I’m a Wife and Mother. Did you forget?

Uh-oh, Sarah thought, this time noticing the capital letters. Liz wasn’t just overwhelmed. She had a martyr complex in the making. Sympathy would be the worst thing to offer.

Hand infant to husband. Point nose north. Flap wings.

For half an hour, Sarah heard nothing back. She heated water through the coffeemaker, directly onto a tea bag in a mug. She dipped the bag in and out, burned her tongue on the first sip and wished she had her own kitchen with a proper kettle, a nice porcelain pot and a wide choice of premium tea leaves.

The laptop dinged.

Infant handed. Flight booked. Arriving Yellowknife Thursday.

Like magic, Sarah’s headache began to subside.

The schedule would still be tight; there was no getting away from that. But a few days here, and Liz would have grist for the mill for years to come.

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