By Barbara O'Byrne
When he came down to breakfast, he noticed the tablecloth, one side hanging nearly to the floor, the other barely covering the edge of the pine slab. Amid the plates and cutlery were a jumble of travel brochures and maps. As he sipped his coffee, he asked about their daughter and her kids, was she seeing them today. She eyed him with a distant, distracted look, as if she’d been interrupted in the middle of something important. She held up one of the brochures, suggesting a trip, just the two of them. He was intrigued. It would be nice to get away. A week, even a few days might be just the trick. Perhaps she was tired, needed a break.
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