Louder Than Words

The stew bubbled and I simmered right along with it. I plunged my wooden spoon into the pot, stirring in the spices, then slammed the lid back on extra loud so that my husband, Bruce, would know I was still upset with him.

It all started during the ride home that day. We were heading back from our son's house in Virginia when we hit bumper-to-bumper traffic. Horns blared all around us.

"Maybe we should get off the highway," Bruce said, handing me the map. "What exit should we take?"

One look at the multicolored squiggly lines and my head was spinning. Why was he asking me? You would think that after 30-plus years of marriage he'd know that I'm seriously directionally challenged. "Um, maybe you should take this next one," I ventured, chewing my lip anxiously. He turned off. But the side road didn't take us anywhere that looked familiar.

"Great!" Bruce growled. "Can't you read a map?" He snatched it right out of my hands.

That settled it. I was not going to talk to him until he told me he was sorry. And I'd stuck to it.

Now I grabbed some plates out of the cabinet and slapped them down on the table. I shouldn't be making Mr. Cranky any dinner at all, I thought.

"Mmmm, something smells good in here," Bruce said, grabbing a soda from the fridge and breezing out the back door to the patio.

Ooooh! He was trying to pretend that nothing had happened. But I hadn't forgotten. I replayed the conversation in my mind. "I'll just pull over and figure this out myself," he'd snapped. The nerve of him. The more I thought about it, the more upset I got. Lord, make him say he's sorry! I prayed angrily.

I remembered how sweetly my parents would make up after a spat. "I'm sorry," my mom would say, gently touching my father's hand. "I was wrong," Dad would admit as he snuggled closer to her on the sofa. Before you knew it, they were sharing a pot of tea and laughing together again.

Not my hard-headed guy! He just couldn't bring himself to say those two little words.

"Hey, Sue," Bruce called through the open kitchen window, "C'mon out back. I want to show you something."

Hmph. I wasn't dropping everything to rush outside at his beck and call.

"Hurry! You're going to love this," he insisted.

I stayed rooted to the floor, wrestling with myself. Stay put, or give in? My curiosity got the best of me. I turned down the flame under the stew and walked out onto the patio. I folded my arms across my chest and shot my husband an icy glare.