They were both sitting reading, which was often the way they passed their evenings.
In the main, you could say they were an elderly couple, well passed their working lives and perfectly content with retirement. They sometimes watched a television programme, but not often. Most nights it was switched off after the news. It was their quiet time at the end of the day. A chance for him to catch up with the newspaper and to look back over the many lecture notes he had prepared for a time when he held a post at the university. For her it was a much appreciated opportunity to peruse her monthly magazine on gardening and to catch up with the regularly received holiday brochures. This was their special time.
The silence was broken by him saying, “Listen to this, dear. I remember delivering this lecture.”
She lowered her magazine and smiled. “Yes, dear?”
“It’s just a short piece, do you mind?”
“No, dear. Go ahead.”
He lifted the Manila folder and read aloud for a couple of minutes from one of the loosely filed pages. He put the folder back on his lap.
She smiled. “That was very good, dear.”
He smiled and nodded his appreciation.
She thought about the nature of what he had read. She remembered the words. She knew them well. She could repeat them verbatim. Not that she ever would. They were his and they were precious to him. She remembered how he had read them to her only yesterday evening, and a few days before that. It had been a few weeks before that. It would seem that it was happening more often. She sighed softly to herself as she recalled the first time, all those years ago, when he first wrote them. She smiled again when she reminisced about how he had come to her, paper in hand saying, “Listen to this, dear…”