Dos rests on the couch, his bandaged leg propped up on two pillows borrowed from my bed. An ice pack slips from his knee, landing beside the small dog that has stood guard at his feet all day. But Dos is oblivious to this. He stares intently at the screen on his laptop, eyes flickering up and down, left to right. The ghost of a smile touches his mouth.
To my left, The Husband sits with another laptop. From the corner of my eye, I catch images as they slide across the screen. Unaware of my observation, he sighs and grunts as he scans through the pictures. He clicks, scrolls, clicks some more. Eyes roaming the screen, he whirls the laptop around to face Dos.
"How about this one?" The Husband asks.
Dos looks up, nodding.
"Yeah, but I'm not going to be working on that!" He laughs, and looks back down at his own screen. "But this is more like it," he laughs, turning the laptop to show The Husband.
The Husband nods, laughing along with Dos.
"Not gonna be able to haul anything with that, though," he adds as he resumes his hunt.
Dos shakes his head, launching into a passionate argument about the benefit of one body style over another.
This continues for thirty minutes, and then an hour, the two of them laughing and exchanging words and phrases about cars and trucks. Most of it I barely understand, but they are two men on a mission.
I am merely the silent scribe for the evening. Listening, smiling, and writing the minutes down to remember for another day.