Hand in Hand

It was clear when they walked in that they had been married a very long time. In one hand he held a folded newspaper, in the other, her wrinkled hand. He pulled out her chair, sat down himself and began to read.

"Where is that restaurant?" she asked.
"Downstairs dear".
"So it won't take long to get there?"
He smiled at her, she checked her watch.

He read, she flipped pages in a magazine.

"Do you know our tickets are for 1:30?"
"I know we are going to the symphony this afternoon," he answered.

I checked my watch, it was 11:10; we were one half block from the symphony center.

"What are you going to eat? At lunch."
Without looking up he replied, "I haven't seen the menu yet dear".
"I think I'm going to have soup, something that won't take long to prepare. What do you think?"
"I think you should get whatever pleases you."

He read; she flipped pages, crossed and uncrossed her very old legs, adjusted her skirt, rifled through her purse and sighed loudly when she checked her watch again.

He folded his paper and looked at her, "Marilyn, would you like to go and have lunch?".
"You know, I believe I would."

They left hand in hand.