A Forty Year Kiss

26

While Melissa and Charlie carried boxes and furniture upstairs to the second-floor apartment, she took the girls to the Como Zoo. It was suddenly May. Spring, in bloom. The parks, gardens, and boulevards of Saint Paul full of daffodils and tulips, the redbud and dogwood trees heavy with blossoms. The air smelled exotic with pollen, with wet soil, new grass. The city, though not as large as Minneapolis, bustled. Traffic, bicyclists, joggers, dog walkers, the light-rail commuter train, freight trains, airplanes overhead, taking off from MSP Airport, or landing. She understood why Melissa had decided to move here, how invigorating it must feel.

This zoo’s so much better than back home, Grandma, one of the girls shouted over her shoulder.

This was true, though also not quite fair. There was a small zoo in Chippewa Falls, but whatever big-city ambitions it may have entertained were undercut by the realities of a small-town budget. Over the years, this had meant small enclosures and animals that simply stared out from behind bars, like prisoners. Recently, the zoo had been greatly improved, but Vivian had memories of visiting the zoo and only wanting to leave. Or better yet, to find some way to liberate those animals, black bears running for the closest forest, tigers, lions, and zebras running down the streets, confused but giddy with their newfound freedom.

She sat on a park bench between the girls while they chewed their hot dogs. If they felt any nervousness about moving here, they didn’t show it. Vivian had driven them past the school where Ainsley would begin kindergarten; Addison’s day care was only a block away from the new apartment. Then around the neighborhood. Playgrounds, grocery stores, restaurants. It was wonderful, really. People from seemingly every culture around the world.

When they returned to the apartment, it was late afternoon. Melissa and Charlie were seated on the front porch, drinking beer. The girls ran past them, up a steep set of stairs to their new home. There was only the sound of laughter now, laughter and footfalls tripping down that staircase all the way out to the street.

I bet that tastes good, Vivian said, from halfway up those steps. She leaned against the wood rail. You two deserve it. That was a lot of work.

She couldn’t quite untangle in her own mind what it would mean to disappear alcohol completely from her life, or Charlie’s. And could he be an alcoholic and do this, what they were doing now? A beer or two. That didn’t seem too harmful. That seemed like restraint.

Couldn’t have done it without your boyfriend here, Melissa said, giving Charlie a light slap on the back.

I avoided having kids for just this reason, he joked. You have kids, you’re going to be moving them around for, what, the first five years of their adult life? Guaranteed. Dorms, apartments, the first new house. I have friends who just got exhausted and started hiring moving companies. Friends who, if they were smart, should have founded some moving companies.

I don’t believe that, Vivian said, swatting at him. Shush.

No, it’s true. They’re invalids now. All because their kids kept moving. One of my friends, he was a tremendous athlete back in college, played a few years of pro football. Now he looks like Quasimodo, all bent over. It’s because he moved his daughter to nine different apartments in six years. Nine.

Vivian glanced behind Charlie, and there was already an empty bottle of beer sitting on the porch.

Should I get us some pizza? she asked. You two must be hungry.

I can go too, Charlie said, lurching forward from his seat only to grab at the small of his back. Let me. Seriously.

Seriously, Vivian said, sit down. What are you always telling me? Relax? Well, so, relax. The pizzeria’s just around the corner.

Can I at least give you some money, please? he asked, reaching awkwardly for his wallet.

No, you can’t.

See, this is what happens, he told Melissa. Now I’m immobilized. She’s probably going to want to drive us home too.

I absolutely will be driving us home, Charlie. You’ve had two beers now.

Speaking of beers, he said, shaking his empty bottle over an empty flowerpot, could you kindly grab me another, please? They’re going down easy.

Are you sure? Vivian asked.

He gave her the slightest look, a look she hadn’t seen from him in decades. A dismissive look, a look of condescension. Then the look disappeared nearly as quickly as it had developed. She found herself walking up the stairs and touching his shoulder gently, with her hand, as if to communicate, to ask again, Are you sure? In the kitchen she reached into the refrigerator and plucked two bottles of beer, then set them on the counter near the sink. She searched the kitchen drawers for an opener and, coming up short, just stood there a moment, taking the place in.

It was a very nice unit. The landlord, a friend of Melissa’s, had bought this turn-of-the century fixer-upper and divided it into two apartments, renovating just about everything. The Doug fir flooring was newly sanded and finished. The walls painted. New appliances. The windows were old, sure, but there was a kind of charm or character in the way they allowed light to pass into this long rectangle of space.

Hearing the girls giggling in their bedroom, Vivian carried the two unopened bottles to the doorway of their little room and peered inside. They were standing at the window, which looked down into a neighbor’s tiny backyard. Vivian joined the girls, and watched as an old woman was engaged in what looked to be her tai chi practice. Vivian stood with them, watching, until the woman glanced up to smile and wave. Immediately the girls dropped onto the floor, as if the woman might somehow not notice the young faces spying on her, but Vivian shifted both bottles to one hand to give a wave back. The girls were whispering on the floor. Vivian sat down on the new bunk bed Charlie had purchased and assembled.

So you two decided that even though you could each have your own room, you wanted to stick together, huh?

Well, yeah, Ainsley replied, we thought the other room could be yours, Grandma. If you ever wanted to live with us.

Would you like that? Vivian asked, emotion causing her voice to wobble.

Sure, Addison said, but Mom says that maybe you’ll move in with your boyfriend.

Oh, is that what she said? Vivian was quiet for a moment. Well, would that be okay? If I moved into Charlie’s house?

Do you want to? Ainsley asked, crawling back onto the bed now to peer out the window again.

Maybe, Vivian allowed.

I like Charlie, Ainsley volunteered. And he really likes you, Grandma.

You think so?

Both girls looked at each other, giggled, and Addison said, Duh, Grandma.

Vivian rubbed their heads and walked the two bottles down to Charlie and Melissa, who were laughing and nodding their heads as the sun set to the west, over Minneapolis.

I couldn’t find an opener, she said, exhaling.

That’s okay, Charlie said, freeing his keys from a pocket. Everyone should keep a church key on their key ring. He popped the tops off both bottles of beer and handed one to Melissa.

I’ll be back, Vivian said, kissing Charlie on the cheek. She could feel his skin beneath her lips, hot with sunburn.

She ordered three large pizzas—Melissa and the girls loved cold pizza as leftovers—and perched herself at the bar to wait for their food. A server brought her a cold glass of water, which she drank gratefully. The pizzeria was filled with young couples and young families. Black families, Asian American families, Latin American families… There were gay couples, old people, artist types. This place, this simple restaurant, gave her some measure of comfort. Melissa wouldn’t have to worry about fitting in here. Everyone fit in here. The neighborhood felt safe, interconnected, tight.

Before she knew it, three pizza boxes were set before her, steam escaping from the folds in the cardboard. She paid the bill and walked back to the house. Melissa and Charlie were, if not drunk, certainly feeling no pain. She called the girls down to the porch, passed everyone paper plates and paper napkins, and they ate as the new evening drooped slow and blue over the city, lights blinking on and cars cruising by.

Which friend owns the house, dear?

Oh, Christine Cooper. Remember her? From high school? She’s doing amazing. Works for Target corporate. She’s great.

Did you reconnect on your girls’ weekend?

Melissa cocked her head to the side and continued chewing her pizza crust. Then pointed a finger at her mom and said, brightly, Exactly—that’s how I found out about this place.

But Vivian had seen something. It wasn’t just Melissa’s pause either. Charlie, sitting beside her, had flicked his eyes at Melissa just for a moment before aiming them down, at his feet, and keeping them there, even now.

Before her question, he’d been boisterous and loud. But now he was completely withdrawn. Even his shoulders were hunched, as if he were trying to disappear. And the way Melissa was also avoiding her eyes. And the quiet that now settled over the porch, leavened only by the girls’ chitter-chatter.

Girls, Vivian said, setting her plate on the railing of the porch, would you like to watch some TV? Come on. Bring your pizza. Grandma will make you some Kool-Aid, and you can watch a movie in your new house. Your first movie. She all but whisked the girls back up the stairs. Minutes later, she stood before Melissa and Charlie, quietly fuming.

Now, I don’t know what’s going on. But something sure as hell is. I swear to god, it better not be between the two of you, because I don’t think my heart could take it. But maybe that’s what’s been happening all along, huh? Maybe that’s what’s been going on, and I’ve just been too old or too stupid not to see it.

No, Mom, that’s not it. Mom—

Please don’t patronize me. I knew something was off. I just knew it. So come on. Come clean with me. No more lies now.

They both sat silently on the stoop, staring at the sidewalk, their pizza pushed aside, Charlie now pouring out the dregs of his beer, wiping his hands on the thighs of his pants, and sighing deeply.

Charlie? Are you in love with her? Is that it? Treat the old lady nice, right, but sleep with the one who’s really got it?

Stop it, he said. Vivian, please, stop. You’re going to embarrass yourself.

Well, someone’s got to start telling me something.

Let’s go home, Vivian.

Home? she repeated, starting to cry, starting to feel her body shudder with rage and disappointment and confusion. Home? What home? Your home?

Come on, he said, standing. I’ll take you to your house in Chippewa. Or you come to my place. Look, we’re all tired. Come on. He held out his hand for her.

No, Charlie, Melissa said, holding her head in her hands. This is on me.

What’s going on? Vivian asked, alarmed all over again.

Mom, Melissa said, let’s take a walk. I can explain everything. And let’s just be clear—there’s no reason to be mad at Charlie. He didn’t do anything.

A small bare laugh escaped the younger woman, and she steadied her face again in seriousness. I am in no way attracted to Charlie, Mom. He’s just—Charlie is just my friend. Okay? He’s been nothing but good to me. Besides, I’m totally not attracted to older guys. I promise.

Vivian held her elbows in her hands, staring at Charlie as if she had no reason to believe her daughter.

Mom? Look at me. I’m telling the truth. This isn’t about Charlie at all. Now, will you please come with me? Just a short walk. She reached for her mother’s hand, but Vivian turned slightly, as if she were not ready for the walk, as if the evening gloom had chilled her body to the point she just wanted to get warm again.

I can clean up, Charlie offered, and keep an eye on the girls.

Thanks, C, Melissa offered, giving his arm a quick squeeze.

Then Vivian and Melissa were walking toward the stately houses on Grand Avenue, with their wide emerald lawns, their towering oak trees, windows all aglow with amber light. Parents pushing expensive high-canopied strollers passed them by. It was two blocks before Melissa said anything.

Mom, I had an abortion.

Vivian stopped. Closed her eyes. Clenched her fists. What? When?

That weekend. That weekend I lied to you about having a girls’ weekend here, with my friends. I needed an excuse to be away for a couple of days.

And Charlie helped you…

Melissa nodded her head. He was the only one I could trust. And, Mom, he didn’t want to help me. Definitely not at first. He was afraid of something like this happening. He didn’t want to do anything to hurt you, or disappoint you, but I kept asking him. I was desperate. He was so kind, Mom.

How though? How did this even happen?

My boss. At work. We’d been fooling around a little bit and…I don’t know what to say. It was all wrong. He’s married, for one thing. I should have said no. Sometimes, like early on, I wanted it, you know? I wanted to fool around. But towards the end…

Oh, sweetie. How are you? How is your body?

I’m okay, okay. I didn’t want… God, I know it sounds awful. It’s hard to say out loud, but I didn’t want another child. I’m barely hanging on as is.

But, Melissa, why didn’t you talk to me? Why didn’t you ask for my help?

Because Mom—I knew you would’ve freaked. I knew you would’ve berated me, made me feel guilty. I feel guilty enough. At least with Charlie, he didn’t say anything. He just, you know, got me to the clinic and then took care of me afterwards. We talked about our lives. And I’m sorry, Mom. I feel like I’ve been a screwup, you know? That I’ve made your life harder, and that isn’t at all what I ever wanted or planned. It’s part of the reason why I wanted to make this move. To start fresh. Charlie helped me see that—that I didn’t have to keep living the same way, in the same rut. God, I’m just…sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

Melissa was crying now, standing there on that street corner, traffic moving past them like a river of light, sound, and steel.

Mom, it’s done, Melissa finally said, collecting herself. It wasn’t meant to be. I’m sorry. A million times over, I’m sorry. I’m trying to be better.

Vivian closed her eyes, exhaled, let all her disappointment and anger and confusion go, and then hugged her daughter, who immediately collapsed in her arms crying, repeatedly saying, I’m sorry, Mom, I’m so sorry.

It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s okay.

I’m sorry I lied to you.

It’s okay.

I didn’t mean for it to happen. I feel so stupid.

It’s done now. Okay? It’s done.

They were quiet for a moment. Then Vivian said, Well, maybe now’s the right time to tell Charlie about Jessie. An airing of grievances. No, not grievances. An airing of secrets. She looked at Melissa. Reached out for her hands. As if to steady herself. As if to communicate years of secrecy and shame from her body to her daughter’s, like osmosis.

You’re not angry at me? Melissa asked.

How could I be angry at you, with what I need to share with Charlie?

***

When they arrived back at the apartment, Charlie and the girls were asleep on the couch, the TV flashing from its newly mounted perch on the wall. Charlie was in the middle, a girl under each arm, his own head back, mouth open. Some of the windows were open, and the linen curtains lifted in the evening breeze like the hem of a dress.

I hate to wake him up, Vivian whispered, even if I am a little angry with him.

Melissa reached out for mother’s arm. Don’t be angry at him, Mom. Please. He only wanted two things—to help me out, and not to make you angry. He loves you so much, Mom. And we can all see that he’s the best thing that has happened to you in, like, forever.

Vivian felt herself chewing her bottom lip. For so many years—decades, in fact—every decision she had made, had been predicated on the priority of keeping her family together. Under one roof. Safe. So she could protect everyone. But today, today, had been a sea change. They were not all under one roof, moving forward, and it was difficult for her to see that as a triumph. That all those years of hard work and heartbreak had led to this day, this independence, these unlikely people gathered in this house in Saint Paul, Minnesota.

Well, she sighed, if you need me, for anything, sweetheart, just call, okay?

I know, Mom. I will. I will need your help.

All right, then. I guess I should wake this lug up. She placed her cold hands inside his shirt, on his shoulders, and he startled awake, looking at her, she thought, with apprehension, which she found just a little bit endearing. Come on, old man, she said. It’s our time to go.

On the ride home, he was quiet in the passenger seat. He never once asked to drive, or commented on some fancy ice cream parlor or top-notch brewery he knew in Stillwater or Hudson. He just watched the lights of the suburbs as they moved back east, first out of the Twin Cities metro area, and then over the Saint Croix River, and back into Wisconsin. In the countryside east of Hudson, the levels of ambient light decreased, and she could no longer see his face as easily. Only the briefest of snapshots in the passing lights of the oncoming cars on the other side of the highway. But she knew he was awake.

I have another daughter, she said, suddenly, squeezing the steering wheel and feeling her eyes well up with tears before she’d even begun, really. She glanced across the car at him. After we separated, she said. She felt relief. A release. A pressure slowly decreasing.

He sat up and looked at her, as vulnerable as she could ever recall him looking.

I should have told you, she said, but…it wouldn’t have made anything better. You weren’t ready back then, and I could hardly have known what sort of man you’d become. I didn’t know. I was young and—

Wait? You’re saying this daughter, she’s my daughter? I have a daughter?

Yes, she’s your daughter, Charlie.

When? When did you—

A month or so after we separated. I didn’t even know where you were at that point. I didn’t have a phone number for you or anything. You signed those papers and disappeared.

He sighed. Well, where is she now? Is she okay? Does she know about me? Can I see her?

She lives in Eau Claire. In a group home.

A group home? I don’t understand. Is she okay? Can I see her tonight?

It’s late already. I don’t think we could stop tonight. But we could see her tomorrow.

Why is she in a group home?

She has Down syndrome, Charlie.

Down syndrome?

He was silent a moment, several moments, as he took all this in. So how old is she now? he asked.

Nearly forty. Actually, she’ll turn forty this summer. August first.

I can’t believe it. What’s her name? My daughter’s name? He was crying now, happy tears running down his face, like warm rain. I have a daughter, he whispered, running his hands back and forth through his hair.

Jessica. Jessica Ann. She has my last name. Peterson. But I call her Jessie.

I don’t know what to say, Charlie said. Sometimes, it feels like I could keep saying, I’m sorry, for the rest of my life, and it wouldn’t be enough. Everything you’ve been through. He was silent for a long time. The moon was a ripe peach over the night-black treetops. I can’t wait to meet her. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.

Then they drove and drove through the night, but Viv noticed he had tucked himself against the door, made himself small. He was looking out the window determinedly, and not saying a word, or reaching for her hand as he sometimes did. The miles clicked by, and the minutes too. Just silence. She peered over at him, but his face was turned, and now she didn’t know if he was lying or not. Maybe he was angry. Maybe he was irate. She supposed he had a right to be. This secret she had buried for so long. A daughter that might have changed his life, might have brought him back here sooner. And what then? Might he have matured faster? Quit drinking sooner? They would never know.

You’re not angry at me? Vivian asked.

Well, he said, laughing a little bitterly, I wish you’d told me back in October or November. I mean, I guess maybe I wished you’d told me twenty years ago, or ten, or even five. Yeah, I’ve missed a lot of time. But…I guess I understand. Why would you tell me if I wasn’t going to stick around? Or if I was a drunk? Or mean? No, no, no. I’m not angry. How could I be angry? He reached for her hand. I can’t believe what you’ve just given me. This gift.

Vivian took a breath. The reason why I was so upset with Melissa, isn’t that she made the wrong choice. She made the right choice, for her. And anyway, it’s done with. It’s just that I almost made the same choice with Jessie, with our daughter. It’s actually a lot harder now. Harder than it was back then. Legally, I could have done it. And, believe me, I thought about it. You were gone and I panicked. But I had this aunt and uncle and, I don’t know how they knew, how they got wind. But they offered me a place to stay. Out in Montana. North of Missoula. I’d never been out there. One weekend, they came to Chippewa Falls for a reunion or something, and I just loaded up my things and drove right back with them. You remember how it was, how things were handled back then? A girl would be pregnant one day, then she’d disappear for a year or two, and come back, like nothing had ever happened? Well, that was me.

He said nothing, only squeezed her hand.

It was a blessing, actually. They were so kind. So patient. They owned this ranch out there, and I had all the silence I needed. All the peace. To recover from you—from our divorce. I delivered Jessie right in their home. A midwife came out and helped me, held my hand. See, they knew everyone. And it worked out. But what was most important to me is that they introduced me to Jessie’s parents. To the people that raised her. Because I just—couldn’t. I did my best, but I couldn’t. I tried. For two years, I tried. But I was too young, and I couldn’t stay there forever. So, my aunt and uncle introduced me to the Stapletons. They were farmers. Wheat farmers. The gentlest people you could imagine. We made everything official. She had a wonderful childhood. They sent photographs. Letters. But I couldn’t visit. I didn’t have the money or the time, and soon enough, I was remarried, and then Melissa arrived.

So that’s one thing that is hard. We decided, me and the Stapletons, that Jessie would only know me as her aunt. If I ever met her, or if I sent her mail or money, that’s how I’d present myself, as her aunt. So maybe you can be an uncle. The Stapletons were—they’re gone now, both of them—they were angels. But they definitely had a code. They said that being a mother was more than just a word. And being a mother was about more than blood bonds, too. It was a privilege. It came with responsibilities. The day-to-day. The nitty-gritty. They didn’t think it was right that they do the work of parenting only to have to split the credit. That was hard for me, because of course I was still her mother. Her mom. I was the one who’d brought her into the world and named her and breastfed her and cared for her. But I couldn’t argue with them. So I accepted it. And you’ll have to understand it too, Charlie. I wouldn’t want you to enter her life and confuse her.

I understand. God, I feel like a broken record, but I’m just so sorry, Vivian. I should have been there for you.

Well, you’re here now, she said.

I always wanted a daughter, he said. Sometimes, when I’m driving around town, I’ll see a woman who would be about Jessie’s age, and I’ll think—and I know it’s stupid—but I’ll think, there she is. And I’ll imagine everything about her. Where she lives, who she’s married to, how many grandchildren I have, her job…

Vivian chuckled. Well, Jessie probably isn’t anything you might have imagined. She’s different. Wonderfully different. When I gave her up to the Stapletons, all I was focused on were her needs. How much work she’d be. All the attention she’d need. All the ways I thought she wouldn’t be able to function in the world. I didn’t understand the first thing about Down syndrome.

Now her laughter dried up, as years of regret, love, and loss blew over this subject that for decades had been entirely secret. Also, the unexpected joys of that time, all kept hidden.

But I shouldn’t have been afraid, she said at length. I never should have been afraid of my own daughter. All she needed was love. Love and patience.

Before the Stapletons both passed away, she continued, they contacted me, and we set up a plan for Jessie. She’d move back here, into a group home. She’d have a little trust. Enough money to cover all her needs, plus a little more, for security. And I would be around for her. This was only two years ago, actually.

She was shaking her head again, shaking away the past, all of her mistakes. But I should have told you earlier. Of course, I should’ve. I don’t know why I was so afraid. But I was. I was afraid. I felt guilty. I felt terrible for abandoning my daughter. For giving up on her. Just because she was different. I mean, that made me a monster, right? Who does that? Who gives up like that? On their own flesh and blood? On their own daughter? But I have to admit that telling you now, sharing this with you… It’s also a relief. A tremendous relief. I always worried what would happen to her if—when—I’m not around anymore. I know she’d always have Melissa, but now… Now she has you, too.

He reached out, across the darkness of the car, and gripped Vivian’s shoulder, before moving his hand upward to gently massage her earlobe and run the backs of his fingers against her wet face.

I wish, he began, I wish that we could stop looking back. I wish that we could just start moving forward. In a new way. You’re happy when you’re with me? Aren’t you?

Of course, Charlie. I’m so happy.

I am too. I’m as happy as I can ever remember. Even the hard times, like tonight. But it feels real to me, and important. I just found out that I have a daughter. A daughter. I’m as excited about living, about my life as I’ve ever been. I can’t wait to meet her, can’t wait for tomorrow. And I bet you feel the same way. Maybe everything has worked out.

Well, she’ll love you, that much is for sure. And she’s perfect, Charlie. She’s exactly who she is. That’s what I love most about her.

Hey, he said, I need to apologize for one more thing, and then I hope I’m done. At least for today. I’m sorry we were drinking. It was a hot day, and we’d worked and worked, and well, it’s just really hard to beat a cold beer. But I need to stop. To stop drinking, altogether, I know that. I’m ready. I really am. I hope you can see that. That I make mistakes, but I’m trying.

I know it, Charlie. And I see it, I do.

They drove on, in silence, past sleeping farms, past sad little motels, brightly lit parking lots and fast-food joints, past factories and warehouses, and expanses of forests.

When you’re our age, she began, there’s no one left to ask for advice. We’re supposed to have the answers. We’re supposed to be the wise ones. And there’s so much in our past, and a whole lot less up on ahead. I find myself just lost in my past, thinking about my mistakes, wishing I could redo things. I don’t want to, but it’s what I do. At night, in bed. I wish I had done this, or that. Do you do that to yourself?

Well, yes and no. Because where would I even start? I never thought about our wedding vows. Like, you told me, with your second marriage you felt you had no choice but to stay with your husband—’til death do us part—all that jazz. When you and I were married, I was just in love. I never considered time, or sickness, or death. Vivian, I was like—a kid. I was just a stupid kid, totally in love. I thought everything would last forever.

And it’s the opposite, isn’t it? Everything is so fragile. And nothing lasts.

Or its lasts only as long as it can. As long as it should. I think our best days, our happiest days are still ahead of us. I keep saying that because I want you to believe it too. I want you to believe in us, in me.

She sighed, I don’t want to sleep at my house. I don’t know that I can take that right now. That quiet.

Sleep with me, then. Please. At my house. Or sleep with Blueberry, anyway. He likes you. Charlie raised an eyebrow in the dark, rakishly. Come on. What do you say?

He is a sweet dog, she said. Sure, I’ll sleep at your house. I haven’t been seeing Shelby enough either. My dream was always to have a horse, and really, I ought to be there every day. But I’ve been so busy.

Well? he asked again. What do you think? Spend the night?

Sure.

With me? Or Blueberry?

I’ll sleep with you, she said, smiling.

***

When she woke the next morning, Charlie was no longer beside her, but Blueberry stood vigil at the foot of the bed, staring at her, wagging his tail, his breath hot and smelling of kibble and warm saliva. She sat up, stretched, then reached to massage his muzzle. There was a nice view from Charlie’s bedroom, looking out over a pasture and a small pond. The sun had risen, and there was fog over the pond and near the tree line at the edge of the pasture.

She smelled coffee and scrambled eggs and bacon. Down in the kitchen, he was whistling and singing. Blueberry trotted off, downstairs she supposed, and she followed the dog. When she entered the kitchen, Charlie was seated on a stool at the granite island, looking at his phone and absent-mindedly scratching the dog’s head. She laid a hand on his shoulder, and he startled a moment, took his eyeglasses off, then leaned back into her body. It was a nice thing, this familiarity, placing his weight against her softness. She kissed his neck and wrapped her arms around his chest and smelled his cologne and soap, and the coffee on his breath.

I love you, he said. And then he started to hum.

Well, I love you too, she said, and it surprised her. How easily the words came. How nice this morning was already.

How’d you sleep last night? she asked.

Not a wink. He smiled. Feels like Christmas morning. Which reminds me, I want to bring a present for her. For Jessie. What does she like? Flowers? Balloons? Does she like snacks? Some kind of treat? Cake? Ice cream?

Vivian smiled. They do a really good job at her home, Charlie, of feeding everyone nutritious meals, you know? They like to keep junk food to a minimum.

Now it was his turn to smile, Right, so, what does she like? Cookies, soda, candy?

She likes orange soda, if you must know. And popcorn with melted butter. She likes to eat peanut butter out of the jar. She’ll eat a whole container if I’m not watching her. Gosh. What else is she into? Garfield. She likes anything related to Garfield. John Candy movies. She likes Korean pop. BTS is her favorite.

Wait—what? Who?

You’re old, so you haven’t heard of them. But everyone else on the planet has.

So, I should buy her an album? Or what? A CD?

No, she laughed. She’s got her own phone. Downloads all her music straight to the phone, like everyone else living in this century. We can’t text her now because she’s probably not awake just yet. She likes to sleep in. But soon enough. Oh, I don’t know where my phone is. Maybe in the car. Doesn’t matter.

What else?

She loves dogs.

He raised his eyebrow. Does she now?

They both looked at Blueberry, who wagged his tail expectantly.

I think we eat some breakfast, then give the dog a bath, then buy some junk food, and go visit our daughter. What do you say?

I can’t think of a better day, she said.

Can I get you a cup of coffee?

Yes, please, she said, sitting down on a stool.

He placed a mug in front of her and sat down too. He was humming again.

What’s that? That you’re humming.

Rocky Raccoon. The Beatles. Rocky Raccoon checked into his room, only to find Gideon’s Bible.

I remember your mom telling me, after we got married, that when you were a kid, and you were happy, you’d always hum while you were eating breakfast. She called you the Wisconsin Humming Bear. I wish I could have seen you then.

She smiled. Say it again.

What? Rocky Raccoon?

No. The first thing.

What? Oh. I love you. And I love that you’re here.

I love you too. It’s nice. Being here. But…

But what?

It’s so quiet, she said, and then began laughing. And then they were kissing. Their hands on each other’s faces. Their fingertips electrified in that way lovers have. Their mouths tasted of coffee and sugar and cream. The kitchen was warm, and their hands were warm, too. His hands on her back and then her breasts. Her hands on the small of his back, then holding, cupping his shoulder blades.

What are we doing? she asked quietly, still kissing him. Aren’t we going to see Jessie? Shouldn’t we get ready?

Shhh, he said.

He took her hand, and they climbed the stairs to his bedroom, closing the door on the dog, who, for a moment, scratched and whined before simply flopping down in resignation.

The bed was still warm. They moved very slowly. They kissed slowly, their lips swollen. Memories blurred and bent into the present. In one moment, they were together in the now, making love as the morning sunlight passed through the windows and shone off the wooden floors. But in other moments, they were making love as they had. In the past. Forty years ago. They were making love in the back seats of cars, windows steamed with their efforts, rain drumming off the roof, sliding down the windshield. They were making love at a party, on a bed all piled with the winter jackets of other guests, laughter just outside the door, the thrill that someone might easily walk in on them and discover them there, on New Year’s Eve. They were making love in the long green grasses of a ridgetop field, at dusk, fireflies blinking on and off, off and on, in the air all around them, while the stars sizzled noiselessly overhead.

When they were done, they lay together on their backs, exhausted from the present, delirious from their return to the past, all of that lovely time travel.