This story occurs a couple of years after Kay and I married. It involves an unusual (for that time) request and the action that came after.
It was a cold December day in New England — the polar vortex kind of cold that caused your breath to evaporate even before it could form a cloud after exiting your mouth. It was, consequently, a great day for staying inside. I was on the couch in our living room in front of the fireplace, reading a book. Kay was upstairs showering, and the baby was taking one of its frequent naps.
I was deep into the story of how a bunch of Texans had disregarded orders and gotten themselves killed at the Alamo when I heard Kay’s voice. I had been so deep into the book I hadn’t heard the shower stop or heard her come down the stairs. The sight that greeted me when I looked up caused my breath to catch in my throat.