The air in the car was heavy with unspoken words that both Reuven and Nechama lacked the energy to share. He could smell dissatisfaction, and clearly, he was opting to wait it out rather than ask her what was bothering her.
They had an afternoon vort in Brooklyn, and they had just eaten lunch, so no one was hungry. There had been a time in their life when an opportunity like this — just the two of them in the car, the sun shining brightly and the highway blessedly free of traffic — would be an invitation to really talk, away from the noise and constant demands of the children.
They had made a rule, back then. No discussing the kids on their trips, no reviewing PTA or running through what the dentist said. There hadn’t been many opportunities, but when they came, Reuven and Nechama were always ready: Sometimes they played word games, or even sang songs, but those private car rides to wherever had always had a special feeling.
But now life had become a private car ride and, if she was being honest, the noise and demands of the children would have been very welcome to Nechama.
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