Henry started to walk with Mary, out of the park. They were in for a decent trek, if they were to be skirting around the lake to the north side of town. He reminded himself to keep an eye out for anything useful as they went. Not like he could see much with the fog, or like there was much chance of anything being there, but all the more reason he should keep an eye out in case there was something the less vigilant would miss.
He listened to Mary's explanation and nodded. It made as much sense as anything. "Thanks for telling me. I'm sorry to hear you were that sick. I know I can't even imagine how tough that would be. But... you seem okay right now. You're up and walking... maybe you've gotten better," he suggested with a hopeful smile.
Immediately, he wished he hadn't said those words. Because what if she hadn't really gotten better, and wouldn't? He felt the same rush of guilt as when he saw what had really become of Cynthia. Who was he to give someone false hopes, when what they faced might be terrible beyond belief? Pushing that memory from his thoughts, he resolved to watch his words more carefully from here on.
They were nearly to the edge of the park by now, before Henry had thought to ask, "So, you don't expect your husband would come here to look for you, do you? Because, while we're looking for him, he might be out looking for you, too. I would think, anyway."