We ride the ferry to the dock as we’ve done a thousand times, though she seems so different now, almost oblivious to my presence. We’re separate passengers. As the shore looms closer she steps to the rail and looks at the shore, eyes lingering on cleanl lines of a sloop moored near shore, its captain leaving contrails in the water as he has a swim.

In town we go to the books store, the cafe. Silent, so silent the whole time, nursing her drink, then another. We read and nap in the park. I wake first and consider just leaving for a while, would she remark on my absence? Would she say something, anything at all?

That night she bathes at the old bed and breakfast and leaves quietly. I follow, still the silence is deafening. In the pub downtown she walks in and surprises me by going right to the dining room, we always start at the bar. There at a table in the corner is the man from the sloop, they greet with a tense hug. It’s so good to finally hear her voice, but I go. Neither of them can see me anyway.