The Sounds of Comfort

The familiar shush, shush of her slippers as Betty moved from one side of the kitchen to the other. The hiss of water running; the clang of the kettle set on the stovetop. Robert, hugged by the worn groove of his recliner, knew what would come next.

“Ah, there it is,” he sighed at the sound of china cups rattling against their saucers as his wife of fifty years set them on the wooden tray. Next would come the deep clunk of the stoneware tea canister on the counter and the clack of the teapot on the tray.

This symphony included the full-throated tick, tick of the Napoleon Hat clock that lived on the fireplace mantel. Robert followed the minute hand as it marched toward the top of the hour. Oh dear, where’s the—his thought was interrupted by the spritely whistle. For a few ticks, he held his breath and waited but the whistling intensified.

With a clunk, it subsided and the shush, shush began another comforting concerto.