And that things at Aroostook Pellets would be okay.

And that Phil would be okay.

Her prayers were interrupted when she heard Phil slam the doors to the Sierra, having thoroughly searched it for Marci’s other shoe.

And she opened her eyes, still looking at the sky. And heard him make his way back to the picnic table.

“Well, it’s not in the truck,” conceded Phil, dropping his flashlight on the icy picnic table and sitting down. “I wonder—”

Marci suddenly jumped up, interrupting Phil and shushing him. “Oh-oh-oh! Shh-shh-shh! Shooting star, shooting star!” she cried, and she sat back down and closed her eyes and wished on the streak in the sky she had just seen as if her life depended on it.

Phil looked up, excited. “Wha—where, where?!?” But he was too late to see anything but the regular stars. “Where?” Phil asked again, disappointed he had missed the shooting star.

Marci’s eyes were still closed. “Shh!! I’m wishing, I’m wishing!”

Irritated that his wife had just shushed him, Phil searched the sky for the shooting star. And then stopped feeling disappointed that he had missed it, because all he had actually missed was a piece of falling space debris. Because that’s what shooting stars are. Falling bits of rock that are burning up in the atmosphere. “Oh, well,” he said. “I missed it.”

Marci finished wishing and looked over at her husband, her eyes resigned and a little dead. “Yeah, you did,” she said, in a way that made it difficult for Phil to determine whether she was agreeing with him or berating him.

It felt more like she was berating him—and like she was spoiling for a fight.

So Phil got ready to fight. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. It’s just … not really all that surprising,” she said. And she let just enough disdain color her response that Phil could tell that she, too, was spoiling for a fight.

“What’s not surprising?” asked Phil.

“That you didn’t see it.” Marci waved her arm up at the sky to let him know that by “it,” she meant the shooting star.

“Why is that not surprising?”

“You don’t pay attention, Phil.”

Phil smiled angrily and shook his head and said, “See, when you say things like that, I feel like you’re still mad.”

“I’m not mad!” Marci truly thought she was telling the truth.

“Marce—”

“I wasn’t mad!” And then she exploded, “Where the heck is my shoe?!?” And she got up and grabbed the flashlight and angrily searched the area around the picnic table.

Phil didn’t quite know how to respond to Marci’s explosion. Because he didn’t understand why she was so upset that she had lost her shoe. Because he didn’t understand that she was angry about a lot more than not being able to find her other shoe.

“Maybe it is in the truck,” muttered Marci, mostly to herself. And she started hobbling up to the Sierra—even though she knew her other shoe wasn’t in the truck. She just wanted to get away from Phil. Because she was angry at him. And she couldn’t figure out how to tell him why.