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Black handle. Four white segments, with a fifth, red, beneath. White plastic tip on the end that tap, tap, taps the ground whenever they walk anywhere together now.She raises her eyebrows at him. "Elliot, I've lost my eyesight, not my kink." It's not your kink I worry about, my love," he assures her. "It's your aim."And they both crack up, because they share the same irreverent sense of humor. And really, when you're alive and well and with the one you love, just about anything can strike you funny, can't it?She's come so far, he thinks, since the days when she first came home from the hospital. Learning to move around the house unassisted. Folding laundry, washing dishes. Slowly getting the hang of cooking again, simple things like boiled eggs, but a start. She's even using the computer again, a little bit, with the help of a program that reads aloud what's on the screen.And now this."Elliot?" she prompts, and her voice holds that cool tone of command that always tugs at the base of. He walked back out to the living room and looked around. Something felt off or missing and he stood, trying to place it. Then it dawned on him. He turned out the lights and pulled out the old electric candle he and Casey had always put in the window when welcoming each other home from one of their business trips. Casey took a deep breath, and then stepped out of her car. She draped a soft white shawl around her shoulders and worried about her hair, as the light fog in the air added moisture. The coolness of the night wrapped around her like a wet towel, sending a shiver up her spine. She was lucky she knew the area so well, or she could have easily become lost. She looked through the trees at the house where he lived, slightly smiling at the one electric candle burning in the kitchen window. He had not forgotten their old ritual, and it made her feel like she was finally coming home. A feeling of relief came over her, as if the last year had been a long nightmare and she was finally.
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