When Katherine returned home – I wasn’t sure where she’d been -- she had apples, bananas, a loaf of bread and a few bottles of wine.
We had coffee, and I read something aloud from the paper.
When Katherine went out again, a few hours later, she returned with rope and a hammer and tape, and an idea about something I’d been struggling to write.
And then later still, she returned home with a bag overflowing with fresh vegetables, a few books, and a story about a political ally she’d encountered at the bookstore. Or maybe it was the parent of a long-ago friend of Ben’s. Or maybe someone we’d known in high school.
When I returned from my errands, there was a fresh pot of coffee. And when I looked out back, I realized that Katherine had laid the foundation for everything I’d been hoping for. She’d dug the trenches, assembled the forms, and poured the concrete. All while I wasn’t looking. I thought she had been watering the gardenias, and checking on the blackberries.
“How’d you know?” I asked.
She smiled subtly and said: “I listened to what you told me.”
When Katherine went out later, again, I realized, again, that I can’t live without her. So I went to work out back, building the life we’d dreamed of and agreed upon. I worked and worked and worked - although it was nearly effortless. As I worked, the dream changed a little with every measurement, with every swing of the hammer, with every bump of my head, and with every new coat of paint.
Katherine returned a few hours later with jelly doughnuts and a pie. “Nice work,” she said. She put on another pot of coffee, and grabbed a hammer. She had some big ideas of her own, all of which made things better.
After dinner, K and I shared a cigarette on the front porch, and talked about our progress. And then we lay down together for the night, and we dreamed some more.
We had coffee in the morning, and then Katherine left to do some errands.