They spoke on cell phones - a universe apart from one another.
It was 7:30 in the morning. He sat in the airport waiting to board yet another business flight. He pictured her at the round oak table in their kitchen, dressed in a pale blue bathrobe, nurturing a cup of coffee. She would be watching rays of sunlight angle through the trees in their backyard while he stared at travelers shifting uncomfortably in back to back rows of chrome and vinyl chairs.
"I love you ," he told her.
"I miss you," she answered.
"You say that every time I travel."
"I miss you every time you travel. I wish you were here," she said.
And then there was silence stretching for six hundred and thirty-seven miles.
They had been married for twenty-three years and still he felt he had somehow failed when he couldn't hold hold her in the morning.
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