If you can't fix it, you have to stand it.
A spinning coin, still balanced on its rim, may fall in either direction.
Their silence comfortable. Something unfolding. But what? Not love, which wrenched and wounded. Not love, which came only once.
...all them things I don't know could get you killed if I come to know them
I think it's important to leave spaces in a story for readers to fill in from their own experience.
In a rough way the short story writer is to the novelist as a cabinetmaker is to a house carpenter.