Last night, The Squire and I went out to dinner, and afterward spent some time strolling the mall, just window-shopping and people-watching. Suddenly, he put his arm around my shoulders and turned me to him, hugging me very close. They were playing Anne Murray’s You Needed Me over the speaker system.
This has always been “our song”, but I hadn’t heard it in years, and apparently The Squire was just as moved by the unexpected sound of it as I was.
My first marriage was a disaster. By rights, my husband should have been in jail, and it came as a surprise to everyone who knew him that he actually died a natural death. The Squire’s first marriage was no picnic, but that is not my story to tell. Although I didn’t know it at the time, The Squire played Jacob to my Rachel, falling in love with me the first time he saw me, and waiting until I was free before he ever even took my arm to cross the street. When we were finally able to date, we knew from the very beginning we would marry.
I have to admit I would have made a dreadful military wife. I lived in constant terror of losing him. If he was more than ten minutes late getting home from work, I would go into a flat spin, and a half an hour would have me calling the local hospitals. I cannot give words to the depth of my fear.
In the early 80s, I became quite ill, and spent a week in the hospital. It was a rainy day, and I had dozed off, when I was awakened by the sensation of someone brushing my hair aside and kissing me on the forehead. I looked at the clock, and my first thought was that The Squire had been in an accident, and had come by to kiss me good-bye. (I told you; I was a mess.)
When he showed up, unharmed, at my doorway, I burst into tears. I told him what had happened, and he asked me what time this had occurred. When I told him, he got the oddest look. “They were playing You Needed Me on the radio, and I blew you a kiss.”
If ever two were one…
thisendoftheswamp 
That was lovely. Thanks for sharing that story.