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Rodger and Edith

“You shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why?”

“Well now they’re…” Edith huffed, “Well now they’re going to bring up that home again.”

“So they’ll bring up the home again,” Rodger shuffled the stacked dishes over, “They were going to anyway…eventually.”

Edith twisted off the tap and patted down the froth.

“I know but…” she slid a plate into the sink, “You gave them ammunition.”

“I did not,” Rodger protested.

“You told them I get confused sometimes.”

“Well, you do, love.”

“Not that much.  Made me sound like a crazy old bat,” Edith scrubbed and rinsed and stacked.  Rodger took up a towel.

“You’re not crazy, Edith,” he clinked the dishes away, “Not like that, anyway…But you are…Well, you’re mad as a hatter. ‘S’why I married you.”

“Oh, go on,” Edith fluffed a handful of bubbles at him.  A dish and a dish, and a cup and a cup.

“It wouldn’t be so bad, y’know.”

“What?”

“That home.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Edith clattered the silverware at the bottom of the sink.

“We’ll need it eventually.”

She pulled the drain.

“Come on now,” Rodger shined the flatware, “I hear they got all sorts of things goin’ on. Classes, socials.  Wasn’t it just yesterday you got a letter from, um, Banners-”

“Brookers.”

“Right.  Said they even had a dance last Friday.”

“And that she’s been ill.”

“Think about it.”

“Might be pneumonia.”

“Wouldn’t a dance be fun?” Rodger drew her into a two-step and started singing, “And I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we’re out together dancing cheek to cheek.

“You’re a fool, Rodger,” she laid her head on his shoulder as they swayed, “A perfect fool.”

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