He continued.
“Your father said a wedding ring is a circle. No beginning. No ending.”
He looked at the scratched gold band.
“He said love is supposed to be like that.”
My throat tightened.
“I’d forgotten.”
Mark smiled sadly.
“Funny, isn’t it? I can’t remember what I ate for lunch yesterday. But I remember that.”
He closed the box.
“Someday, I want Sophie to have this ring.”
I nodded.
“She would love that.”
“I wrote it down.”
He pointed toward the whiteboard in our bedroom.
Among the medication reminders and telephone numbers was a fresh note.
Old ring → Sophie. Someday.
I stared at the words.
Then looked back at him.
He smiled.
“Just in case.”
—
September twentieth arrived.
We drove to Loon Lake the afternoon before.
Sophie drove.
I sat in the passenger seat.
Mark occupied the back seat with the cooler, complaining that he was perfectly capable of driving.
