And the wine has run out for them in other ways, too. The wine of passion. The wine of compassion. The wine of tenderness. The wine has run out, and so has the joy.
Life is hard.
In the day to day work of getting the business going and raising two kids, they just sort of forgot each other. Tonight, they put the kids to bed, and sit down at the table to remember with longing how they felt on that day and what Mary's boy did for them. For a long time they sit in painful silence, as if they were miles from each other, which in a sense they are, not knowing what to say, but feeling at least they owe it to one another to be honest, not to pretend. It was the best I ever tasted. Sarah nods her head.