Roll of the Dice
“Hon, I can’t find my passport.”
My neat-freak, habitual husband couldn’t find his passport? I dried my hands on the dishcloth and went upstairs, where a multitude of manila folders were spread out across the carpet. Louis’ eyes were glassy with panic. I knew how important this international meeting was to him, so I didn’t make my usual acerbic joke.
“When did you last have it?” I asked.
“When I came back from England.”
“Not since then?”
We searched everywhere: coats, luggage, files. Nothing.
“Maybe someone snatched it off you when you were going through customs…or you dropped it.”
He nodded. He glanced at his watch. “I’ve missed my flight. No use in worrying about it now…except…damn.”
He was lost in details, as always. This meeting was good for his credentials, his future. I went downstairs and made him a cup of tea and reflexively turned on the news radio for the weather. Thirty minutes later they reported the plane crash.