This evening Harrington and Isabella went out together on a much-needed date. They had intended to go on Sunday night, but Harrington’s back was hurting, so they postponed. Harrington was adamant, however, that his wife deserved a good evening out, so the restaurant was kind enough to give them a reservation on the very next night they had an opening.
Despite this, the evening didn’t get off to a very good start, at least for Harrington. At his wife’s insistence, he was in the wheelchair, which made it impossible for him to give Isabella his arm or open the door for her, courtly gestures that would have proven that he wanted to take care of her. By the time they were settled at their table, he was feeling a bit let down.
I made certain Isabella was aware of this, which was not difficult. She is becoming almost as good at reading her husband’s moods as I am. “Harrington,” she murmured, covering his hand with her own. “I hope you know how happy I am that you arranged this. It’s been so long since we had some time to ourselves.”
That cheered him a bit, and he looked around. “Well, and this place is almost good enough for you.” The waiter stopped by, and Harrington ordered a bottle of wine.
Little by little, Harrington relaxed. The quiet conversation, peaceful atmosphere of the restaurant, and yes, the wine, all helped to soothe him. For a while they talked about idle things, sharing memories from their courtship and early marriage. It wasn’t until after the food arrived that Harrington cleared his throat and told Isabella something he has been thinking of for a few days. “I got another email from David Wiles this week.”
She blinked at him, taking a moment to place the name. “Oh! You mean the alumni chair. Was he asking you about the thoughts you had on handicapped accessibility on campus?”
Harrington nodded. “It’s the second time he’s emailed me, actually, since I first got in touch with him. Of course, when he first got back to me it was right after my fall, and…” He stopped, not needing to remind his wife of the deep depression into which he’d fallen in those first days.
She covered his hand with hers. “But he’s reached out again now? That must mean that he’s interested.”
“Him and a few other people, actually,” Harrington said. “He says it’s an issue that’s been raised on several occasions, and there are resources available for it, he thinks, but no one has stepped up to organize the changes. So David wants me to put together a committee.”
“Harrington, that’s wonderful!”
Isabella’s instant enthusiasm made him smile, but he shook his head. “I thought so too, but Isabella, I’m not so sure I want to take on another big project where I have to start from scratch. The business is going well, but there’s still a lot of work to do.”
Isabella considered him for a moment. “You like to be busy, though.”
“But I haven’t been as busy as I would be, if I did this. Not since…not since the accident.”
I was proud that he was actually able to articulate the words—up until now he would simply gesture to his chair or to his back to indicate his handicap.
“Do you think that you can do it?” Isabella held up a hand when he opened his mouth. “Now, think for a minute, Harrington. There’s nothing wrong with saying that you can’t if you can’t.”
He didn’t quite agree with that, but I pointed out the wisdom of consideration, so he sighed and settled back in his chair. “Honestly?” he said after a moment. “I think I could do it. The real work of the committee wouldn’t start for a few weeks, and by that point things may have settled down at work for a while.” He leaned forward again, catching Isabella’s hand. “But what do you think? I’d hate to start neglecting you again, after I’ve been out of it for the past few weeks.”
“You have never neglected me,” Isabella said firmly. “No, you haven’t, Harrington. When you are injured you need to focus on yourself, and I want you to, but whenever you have had the strength your first concern has been for me or for Arthur. You’ve pushed yourself and done your best in this new job precisely because you have been trying to get security for us.” She squeezed his hand. “You are a wonderful husband and a wonderful father, and I never thought otherwise.”
Harrington had to clear his throat a few times before he could speak again. “So you think I should do it?”
Isabella smiled. “I think you would love the work, and I think it might help you to feel less isolated. Yes, Harrington, I think you should do it, and I will be happy to help in any way I can.”
Harrington lifted her hand to his mouth. “Then I will be able to accomplish whatever I set my mind to,” he murmured, smiling at her.