nice."
"Yeah, it is," he says, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen, watching her. Her back is turned to him as she prepares something at the counter. Her hips are slightly swaying to the music. He has the urge to walk up behind her, embrace her and kiss her neck.
So, he does.
"That's even nicer than the music," she says, turning to face him. She places her wrists over his shoulder and kisses him on the mouth.
"I love you, ya know," he says.
"Now, how could I not know that?"
"Just don't want you to forget it, that's all."
"You can count on that," she says, and kisses him once more before she turns back to the countertop.
He moves toward the kitchen table, takes a seat and stares out the window.
"Where do you suppose I go in the evenings when I… You know."
"Probably the same place you were just a few minutes ago when I was trying to get your attention."
"Hmmm. Maybe."
"Why? Where were you?"
"With you. We were at my grandparent's old cabin that first summer. I was remembering the first night we made love."
"Really?" she asks, and turns toward him. "I wish you could've taken me with you."
"Me too," he says. And when he looks at Maddie, sees the true desire in her eyes, a weight of sadness and regret descends on him. "I don't remember yesterday, you know."
"I know," she says.
"Or the day before."
"I know."
"I probably won't remember today."
"I'll remember today for the both of us," she says, and looks at him and smiles. And, for the first time this morning, she looks somber.
He looks out the window again, nervously taps his fingers on the tabletop. "Do you think I go to the same places when I go wherever I go when I drift away."
"It seems that way."
"Do I talk about the same things everyday."
"Sometimes, yes. There are variations though."
"But variations on the same subject, right?"
"Right. Always some variation on the weeks after we met."
"I wonder why."
"I don't know, but it's a good thing to remember."
"But why do I fixate on it, I wonder?"
"Last week you told me that it was an appropriate bookend. You were remembering the beginning because you were living the ending."
"I said that?"
"You did," she said, her voice cracking a bit.
"Oh, Maddie. I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I don't know what I meant, really. I don't even remember saying it."
"It's alright. Besides, truth is, I like hearing about those beginnings. I like learning about those old things from your perspective. It takes me back too, and I like going back," she says as she approaches the table. She sits a bowl of soup and half a sandwich in front of him. Then she grabs her own and takes a sit at the table with him.
He takes a bite of his sandwich and peers out the window some more. His mind, for some reason, has turned to Henry. John's come to understand that if he doesn't verbalize the trail his mind is traveling, he'll fade quietly away into that thought and Maddie won't be able to follow him.
"You probably don't remember this, but…And I'm not sure what year this was, but Lily was school-aged. I think it must have been some time in the mid-sixties. You'd taken the job at the law firm, and I had come with you to the office Christmas party. Do you remember that?"
"Well, we had more that one Christmas party, but I do remember you coming with me to a few of them, yes."
"But this was the first one. Henry was there," he said, bending over his bowl for a spoonful of soup.
"Yeah, well, Henry was often there. He was one of the firm's biggest clients."
"I only remember him at this one," John says, and then he looks at her. There is a nervous look on her face. "I don't remember what happened exactly. I had gone away from you for a minute. I think I was getting our coats or something. It was the end of the evening and things had started winding down by then. But I remember coming back to where we were, and you were gone. So, I went looking for you."
"Oh, John, it was nothing."
"When I found you, you and Henry were tucked away in Franklin's office. Henry had his hand on your hip, and he was facing you. It was clear he was about to kiss you."
"He didn't."
"You saw me out of the corner of your eye, and pulled away from him," he said, and took another sip of his soup. "So, what happened?"
"Why are you bringing this up now?"
"I don't know. It just occurred to me."
"But you've never brought it up before. If I recall, you didn't even bring it up that night."
"I wanted to."
"Why didn't you?"
"I wanted to trust you, and if something had happened, I think I was too afraid to find out."
"God, John, I barely remember that. I know he was drunk, obviously. You couldn't run into Henry in those days—no matter the time of day—without smelling bourbon on his breath. I think he asked me to get him a copy of a contract from Franklin's office. I knew he was up to no good, as he usually was, but he was our biggest client, and it wasn't unreasonable for him to want a copy of a contract. Still, it became clear pretty quickly that he lured me in there to make a pass at me."
"Was it the first time?"
"The first time he'd made a pass at me?"
John nods.
"God, no."
"He still loved you?"
"I don't know if he loved me or not. I doubt it. But he did desire me."
"If you hadn't seen me out of the corner of your eye that might, would you—?"
"No, I wouldn't have let him kiss me. He would've tried, no doubt, but I wouldn't have let him."
"And he never kissed you?"
"Not after I met you, no. But, John, lots of men made passes at me over the years. You had to have known that."
"I didn't. Why didn't you tell me?"
"It wouldn't have changed anything. You would've wanted me to quit the firm, and I loved my job. Sure, some guys made remarks, or caressed my bare arm, or even patted my butt, but it was the sixties. Sad as it sounds, it seemed like it was par for the course. I knew how to deal with it. I learned how to smile and deflect it all. And, eventually, things got better. Either the times had changed, or I just got older, less desirable."
"Well, I don't want you to think I was accusing you of anything. I just thought of Henry and—"
"It's fine, John. I'm glad you asked, especially if its something you've been thinking about all these years."
"I haven't obsessed about it or anything, but I have thought about it from time to time."
"You know I love you," she said, and grabbed his hand.
"I've never doubted it," he said, and squeezed her hand.
"Good," she said, and went back to her lunch.
"Whatever happened to Henry anyway?"
"He died years ago, John. Probably almost twenty or… Yeah, twenty years ago."
"Huh, I don't remember that at all," he said, looking genuinely confused. "Did he ever marry?"
"Yeah, he was married several times— three or four times, I think. Honestly, I don't remember."
"Did we ever meet any of them?"
"I did. At the firm. But I don't think you and I ever ran into them socially. We didn't travel in the same circles."
"No, we didn't," he said, and then looked out into the living room as a song fades out. He waits for the next song, as if he might see it happen out there in the living room. "Serenade in Blue" begins.
He looks at Maddie.
They share a knowing smile.
He stands and hold out his hand to her. She takes his hand and stands. They embrace and slowly sway back and forth in their house slippers.
"How did this become our song exactly, do you remember?" John asks. "Was it before or after the wedding?"
"I'm not sure. We both liked the song, I know. But I'm not sure how we pi
cked it. I think we needed to pick a song to dance to at the wedding, and this one seemed as good as any."
"It still does," he says, leaning away to look at her face.
"It does."
"Though it is a strange song—sad and forlorn."
"Yes, it does seem like a strange song for us to have picked for our wedding dance."
"It fits much more now than it did then."
"No, it doesn't. We're still together."
"Right," he says, and then rests his cheek on her forehead. "Do you remember how surprised you were when they played it for us at Lily's wedding?"
"We were both surprised."
"Right. But it was nice. You were so beautiful that night, as beautiful as the day we were married."
"John, I was nearly fifty."
"So? You've always been beautiful, Maddie. You've always seemed to be growing into yourself," he said, and waits for her to say something. She doesn't. "I felt like we were being married all over again that night."
"In a way we were. We were starting a new life, a life without a child. Well, not without her, but…You know what I mean."
"We've lived many different lives together," he says. "All of them good."
"I sometimes wonder what would've happened if you hadn't seen me that Fourth of July."
"I like to think that something called us both there at that moment. Like I said, maybe you did wish me from the moonlight."
"And what were you wishing for in those days?"
"I guess I always kind of believed that love would just find me. And it did."
As they danced, he began to think of their wedding day—dancing with her that night. They were under a big white tent near the boathouse. They were dancing near the place by the lake where he saw her that first night, and he can remember that it was the first time that day that everyone other than he and Maddie seemed to melt away. It was just them. John and Maddie. And the world felt incredibly together, as if there were order in the world. It seemed like things were about as perfect as they