overprotective tender_square her husband’s face washed weary in the firelight and he excused himself momentarily indoors. their neighbour sat in the adirondack chair beside, music pouring from his phone’s spotted mouth at a volume competing with the backyard crickets. “can that be it after the next song you wanted to play?” she suggested. “oh?” “yeah, it’s just that my husband likes a quiet fire,” she said. the guilt flushed her cheeks; had she misinterpreted her husband’s glance, or had she thrown him under the bus? later, after the stacked logs split in two and the coals pulsed under the grate unattended, her husband asked, “did you say something about the sound?” “yeah.” she was sheepish. “i said that we preferred less noise.” “why?” “because i thought the music was bothering you; i thought that’s why you went in for a time.” “no, i was actually enjoying what he was playing; it was more interesting than the conversation.” how many times had she gone out of her way to make excuses for the way she thought her husband was, trying to discern the slightest change in his mood or temperament to put him at greater ease? why continuously douse him as a wet blanket? 221005 what's it to you? who go blather from