waiting to wait

I came home from work to a silent sitting house. The math was wrong; all the cars and the bikes accounted for yet there was no reply to my calling. 

Before I left BC had asked, "What do I do with her?" her, meaning Beach. He sounded like a new father. Had it really been all that long since I had left them together, floating, without structure or task?

I filled the waiting time with cleaning. It was like the slightly too long last chapter of a book. Stuff to do, answers waiting.

Eventually the dogs gave them away. I caught sight of them while hanging laundry. Moving slowly out beyond the lawn, pass the structured garden space with its fences and rows, coming from the wild backfield. Walking with big weaving steps through the tall grass. Buckets and berries and butterflies- left to his own devices he casts an unmistakable air of New England. Penciled drawings, rolled up jeans, bare feet, and summer bounty.

It is the second time in 2 days I have thought with my heart "I'm not sure I am capable of letting him go..." and yet my head knows he will have to go do what he dreams of doing.  I am being to understand what lays before us. A novel of waiting for him to return.