As we walked away from the square toward Caroler’s Creek, a narrow stream that ran through the north end of town, he took my hand. Just reached out and wrapped his fingers around it, like it was still his hand to take. It took me a minute to listen to what my body was telling my brain, and then another minute for my brain to remember that I didn’t have to hold his hand if I didn’t want to. Which I didn’t! We’d been separated for a year and a half! We’d been officially divorced for two months! What the heck!
