sweet dreams

It’s cold.
And late.
We pack up
and head inside.

Cade has to be at
the hospital by eight.

“You need sleep,” I tell him.
“Let’s rest for a few hours.”

In a chilly, dark room
at the back of the house,
we crawl into his bed,
and we spoon.

I’ve been wondering something.
So I ask him.
“What was with the boat today?”

He strokes my hair.
Kisses my ear.

“I want to tell Dad it’s ready to go.
That it’s here, waiting for us.
That in four or five months, we’ll be fishing again.”

I smile.
That’s good.

Fear isn’t the only thing he’s feeling.

“Did you see that movie?” I ask after a while.

He mumbles, “What?”

He’s so tired. Almost asleep.

“Hope Floats,” I whisper.
“I’ve always loved that title.”