Dinner was nearly ready when Jane walked in the door later that evening. I set the oven on low—tonight was chicken cordon1 bleu—and I wiped my hands as I left the kitchen.
“Hey there,” I said.
“Hey. How’d it go with the calls?” she asked, setting her purse on the end table. “I forgot to ask you earlier.”
“So far, so good,” I said. “Everyone on the list said they could make it. At least the ones that I’ve heard from, anyway.”
“Everyone? That’s . . . amazing. People are usually on vacation this time of year.”
“Like us?”
She gave a carefree laugh, and I was pleased to see that she seemed in a better mood. “Oh, sure,” she said with a wave, “we’re just sitting around and relaxing, aren’t we?”
“It’s not so bad.”
She caught the aroma2 from the kitchen, and her face took on a puzzled expression. “Are you making dinner again?”
“I didn’t think you’d be in the mood to cook tonight.” She smiled. “That was sweet.” Her eyes met mine and seemed to linger a bit longer than usual. “Would you mind if I shower before we eat? I’m kind of sweaty. We were in and out of the car all day.”
“Not at all,” I said, waving a hand.
A few minutes later, I heard water moving through the pipes. I sautéed the vegetables, reheated the bread from the night before, and was setting the table when Jane entered the kitchen.
Like her, I had showered after returning from Noah’s house. Afterward3 I’d slipped into a new pair of chinos, since most of my older ones no longer fit. “Are those the pants I bought for you?” Jane asked, pausing in the doorway4.
“Yeah. How do they look?”
She gave an appraising5 look.
“They fit well,” she remarked. “From this angle, you can really tell you’ve lost a lot of weight.”
“That’s good,” I said. “I’d hate to think I suffered this past year for nothing.”
“You haven’t suffered. Walked, maybe, but not suffered.”
“You try getting up before the sun, especially when it’s raining.”
“Oh, poor baby,” she teased. “Must be tough being you.”
“You have no idea.”
She giggled6. While upstairs, she too had slipped into a pair of comfortable pants, but her painted toenails peeked7 out beneath the hems8. Her hair was wet, and there were a couple of water spots on her blouse. Even when she wasn’t trying, she was one of the most sensual women I’ve ever seen. “So get this,” Jane said. “Anna says Keith is thrilled with our plans. He sounds more excited than Anna.”
“Anna’s excited. She’s just nervous about how it’ll all turn out.”
“No, she’s not. Anna never gets nervous about anything. She’s like you.”
“I get nervous,” I protested.
“No, you don’t.”
“Of course I do.”
“Name one time.”
I thought about it. “All right,” I said. “I was nervous when I went back for my final year of law school.”
She considered this before shaking her head. “You weren’t nervous about law school. You were a star. You were on the Law Review.” “I wasn’t nervous about my studies, I was scared about losing you. You started teaching in New Bern, remember? I just knew some dashing young gentleman was going to swoop10 in and steal you away. That would have broken my heart.” She stared at me curiously11, trying to make sense of what I’d just said. Instead of responding to my comment, however, she put her hands on her hips12 and tilted13 her head. “You know, I think you’re getting caught up in all this, too.” “What do you mean?”
“The wedding. I mean, making dinner two nights in a row, helping14 me out with all the plans, waxing nostalgic like this. I think all the excitement’s getting to you.”
I heard a ding as the oven timer went off.
“You know,” I agreed, “I think you might be right.” I wasn’t lying when I told Jane that I was nervous about losing her when I went back to Duke for my final year, and I’ll admit I didn’t handle these challenging circumstances as well as I might have. I knew going into my last year that it would be impossible for Jane and me to maintain the kind of relationship we’d developed over the past nine months, and I found myself wondering how she would react to this change. As the summer wore on, we discussed this a few times, but Jane never seemed worried. She seemed almost cavalier in her confidence that we’d manage somehow, and though I suppose I could have taken this as a reassuring15 sign, I was sometimes struck by the thought that I cared for her more than she cared for me.
Granted, I knew I had good qualities, but I don’t regard my good qualities as extraordinarily16 rare. Nor are my bad qualities extraordinarily dire17. In fact, I consider myself average in most respects, and even thirty years ago, I knew I was destined18 for neither fame nor obscurity.
Jane, on the other hand, could have become anyone she chose. I’ve long since decided19 that Jane would be equally at home in either poverty or wealth, in a cosmopolitan20 setting or a rural one. Her ability to adapt has always impressed me. When looked at together—her intelligence and passion, her kindness and charm—it seemed obvious that Jane would have made a wonderful wife to just about anyone.
Why, then, had she chosen me?
It was a question that plagued me constantly in the early days of our relationship, and I could come up with no answer that made sense. I worried that Jane would wake up one morning and realize that there was nothing special about me and move on to a more charismatic guy. Feeling so insecure, I stopped short of telling her how I felt about her. There were times I’d wanted to, but the moments would pass before I could summon the courage. This is not to say that I kept the fact that I was seeing her a secret. Indeed, while I was working at the law firm over the summer, my relationship with Jane was one of the topics that came up regularly over lunch with the other summer associates, and I made a point of describing it as close to ideal. I never divulged21 anything that I later regretted, but I do remember thinking that some of my fellow co-workers seemed jealous that I was successfully forging ahead not only professionally, but personally as well. One of them, Harold Larson—who, like me, was also a member of the Law Review at Duke—was particularly attentive22 whenever I mentioned Jane’s name, and I suspected that this was because he too had a girlfriend. He’d been dating Gail for over a year and had always spoken easily about their relationship. Like Jane, Gail was no longer living in the area, having moved to be near her parents in Fredericksburg, Virginia. Harold had mentioned more than once that he planned to marry Gail as soon as he graduated.
Toward the end of the summer, we were sitting together when someone asked us whether we planned to bring our girlfriends to the cocktail24 party that the firm was throwing in our honor as a send-off. The question seemed to upset Harold, and when pressed, he frowned.
“Gail and I broke up last week,” he admitted. Though it was clearly a painful topic, he seemed to feel the need to explain. “I thought things were great between us, even though I haven’t gotten back to see her much. I guess the distance was too much for her, and she didn’t want to wait until I graduated. She met someone else.”
I suppose it was my memory of this conversation that colored our last afternoon of the summer together. It was Sunday, two days after I’d brought Jane to the cocktail party, and she and I were sitting in the rockers on the porch at Noah’s house. I was leaving for Durham that evening, and I remember staring out over the river and wondering whether we would be able to make it work or whether Jane, like Gail, would find someone to replace me.
“Hey, stranger,” she finally said, “why so quiet today?”
“I’m just thinking about heading back to school.”
She smiled. “Are you dreading25 it or looking forward to it?”
“Both, I guess.”
“Look at it this way. It’s only nine months until you graduate, and then you’re done.”
I nodded but said nothing.
She studied me. “Are you sure that’s all that’s bothering you? You’ve had a glum26 face all day.”
I shifted in my seat. “Do you remember Harold Larson?” I asked. “I introduced you to him at the cocktail party.”
She squinted27, trying to place him. “The one who was on Law Review with you?
Tall, with brown hair?”
I nodded.
“What about him?” she asked.
“Did you happen to notice that he was alone?”
“Not really. Why?”
“His girlfriend just broke up with him.”
“Oh,” she said, though I could tell she had no idea how this related to her or why I was thinking about it.
“It’s going to be a tough year,” I began. “I’m sure I’ll practically live in the library.”
She put a friendly hand on my knee. “You did great the first two years. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”
“I hope so,” I continued. “It’s just that with everything going on, I’m probably not going to be able to make it down every weekend to see you like I did this summer.”
“I figured that. But we’ll still see each other. It’s not like you won’t have any time at all. And I can always drive up to see you, too, remember.” In the distance, I watched as a flock of starlings broke from the trees. “You might want to check before you come. To see if I’m free, I mean. The last year is supposed to be the busiest.”
She tilted her head, trying to decipher my meaning. “What’s going on, Wilson?”
“What do you mean?”
“This. What you just said. You sound like you’ve already been thinking up excuses not to see me.”
“It’s not an excuse. I just want to make sure you understand how busy my schedule is going to be.”
Jane leaned back in her chair, her mouth settling into a straight line. “And?” she asked.
“And what?”
“And what exactly does that mean? That you don’t want to see me anymore?” “No,” I protested, “of course not. But the fact is that you’ll be here, and I’m going to be there. You know how hard long-distance relationships can be.” She crossed her arms. “So?”
“Well, it’s just that they can ruin the best of intentions, and to be honest, I don’t want either of us to get hurt.”
“Get hurt?”
“That’s what happened to Harold and Gail,” I explained. “They didn’t see each other much because he was so busy, and they broke up because of it.” She hesitated. “And you think the same thing’s going to happen to us,” she said carefully.
“You have to admit the odds29 aren’t in our favor.”
“The odds?” She blinked. “You’re trying to put what we have into numbers?”
“I’m just trying to be honest. . . .”
“About what? Odds? What does that have to do with us? And what does Harold have to do with anything?”
“Jane, I . . .”
She turned away, unable to look at me. “If you don’t want to see me anymore, just say it. Don’t use a busy schedule as an excuse. Just tell me the truth. I’m an adult. I can take it.”
“I am telling you the truth,” I said quickly. “I do want to see you. I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did.” I swallowed. “I mean . . . well . . . you’re a very special person, and you mean a great deal to me.” She said nothing. In the silence that followed, I watched in surprise as a single tear spilled down her cheek. She swiped at it before crossing her arms. Her gaze was focused on the trees near the river.
“Why do you always have to do that?” Her voice was raw.
“Do what?”
“This . . . what you’re doing now. Talking about odds, using statistics to explain things . . . to explain us. The world doesn’t always work that way. And neither do people. We’re not Harold and Gail.”
“I know that. . . .”
She faced me, and for the first time, I saw the anger and pain I’d caused her. “Then why did you say it?” she demanded. “I know it’s not going to be easy, but so what? My mom and dad didn’t see each other for fourteen years, and they still got married. And you’re talking about nine months? When you’re only a couple of hours away? We can call, we can write. . . .” She shook her head. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I’m just scared about losing you. I didn’t mean to upset you. . . .”
“Why?” she asked. “Because I’m a special person? Because I mean a great deal to you?”
I nodded. “Yes, of course you do. And you are special.”
She took a deep breath. “Well, I’m glad to know you, too.” With that, understanding finally dawned on me. While I meant my own words as a compliment, Jane had interpreted them differently, and the thought that I had hurt her made my throat suddenly go dry.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it sounded.
You are very special to me, but . . . you see, the thing is . . .” My tongue felt as if it were twisted, and my stammering30 finally elicited31 a sigh from Jane. Knowing I was running out of time, I cleared my throat and tried to tell her what was in my heart.
“What I meant to say was that I think I love you,” I whispered. She was quiet, but I knew she’d heard me when her mouth finally began to curl into a slight smile.
“Well,” she said, “do you or don’t you?”
I swallowed. “I do,” I said. Then, wanting to be perfectly32 clear, I added, “Love you, I mean.”
For the first time in our conversation, she laughed, amused by how hard I’d made it. Then, raising her eyebrows35, she finally smiled. “Why, Wilson,” she said, drawing out the words in exaggerated southern fashion, “I think that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Surprising me, she suddenly got up from her chair and sat in my lap. She slipped an arm around me and kissed me gently. Beyond her, the rest of the world was out of focus, and in the waning36 light, as if disembodied, I heard my own words coming back to me.
“I do, too,” she said. “Love you, I mean.”
I was remembering this story when Jane’s voice broke in.
“Why are you smiling?” she asked.
She stared at me from across the table. Dinner was casual tonight; we had filled our plates in the kitchen, and I hadn’t bothered to light a candle. “Do you ever think about the night you came to visit me at Duke?” I asked. “When we finally got to go to Harper’s?”
“That was after you got the job in New Bern, right? And you said you wanted to celebrate?”
I nodded. “You wore a strapless black dress. . . .”
“You remember that?”
“Like it was yesterday,” I said. “We hadn’t seen each other in about a month, and I remember watching from my window as you got out of the car.” Jane looked faintly pleased. I went on. “I can even remember what I was thinking when I saw you.”
“You can?”
“I was thinking that the year we’d been dating was the happiest year I’d ever had.”
Her gaze dropped to her plate, then met mine again, almost shyly. Buoyed37 by the memory, I plunged38 on.
“Do you remember what I got you? For Christmas?” It was a moment before she answered. “Earrings39,” she said, her hands traveling absently to her earlobes. “You bought me diamond earrings. I knew they were expensive, and I remember being shocked that you’d splurged that way.” “How do you know they were expensive?”
“You told me.”
“I did?” This I didn’t remember.
“Once or twice,” she said, smirking40. For a moment we ate in silence. Between mouthfuls, I studied the curve of her jawline and the way the late evening sunlight played across her face.
“It doesn’t seem like thirty years have passed, does it?” I said.
A shadow of that old familiar sadness flitted across her face. “No,” she said, “I can’t believe Anna’s actually old enough to get married. I don’t know where the time goes.”
“What would you have changed?” I asked. “If you could?” “In my life, you mean?” She looked away. “I don’t know. I guess I would have tried to enjoy it more while it was happening.”
“I feel the same way.”
“Do you really?” Jane looked genuinely surprised.
I nodded. “Of course.”
Jane seemed to recover. “It’s just—please don’t take this the wrong way, Wilson, but you usually don’t wallow in the past. I mean, you’re so practical about things. You have so few regrets. . . .” She trailed off. “And you do?” I asked softly.
She studied her hands for a moment. “No, not really.” I almost reached for her hand then, but she changed the subject, saying brightly, “We went to see Noah today. After we left the house.” “Oh?”
“He mentioned that you’d stopped by earlier.”
“I did. I wanted to make sure it was okay if we used the house.” “That’s what he said.” She moved some vegetables around with her fork. “He and Anna looked so cute together. She held his hand the whole time she was telling him about the wedding. I wish you could have seen it. It reminded me of the way he and Mom used to sit together.” For a moment, she seemed lost in thought. Then she looked up. “I wish Mom were still around,” she said. “She always loved weddings.”
“I think it runs in the family,” I murmured.
She smiled wistfully. “You’re probably right. You can’t imagine how much fun this is, even on such short notice. I can’t wait until Leslie gets married and we have time to really concentrate on it.”
“She doesn’t even have a serious boyfriend, let alone someone who wants to propose to her.”
“Details, details,” she said, tossing her head. “It doesn’t mean we can’t start planning it, does it?”
Who was I to argue? “Well, when it does happen,” I commented, “I hope that whoever proposes gets my permission in advance.” “Did Keith do that?”
“No, but this wedding’s such a rush, I wouldn’t have expected him to. Still, it’s one of those character-building experiences I think every young man should go through.”
“Like when you asked Daddy?”
“Oh, I built a lot of character that day.”
“Oh?” She gazed at me curiously.
“I think I could have handled it a little better.”
“Daddy never told me that.”
“That’s probably because he took pity on me. It wasn’t exactly the most opportune41 of moments.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Because I never wanted you to know.”
“Well, now you have to tell me.”
I reached for my glass of wine, trying not to make a big deal out of it. “All right,” I said, “here’s the story. I’d come by right after work, but I was supposed to meet with the partners again later that same night, so I didn’t have much time. I found Noah working in his shop. This was right before we all went to stay at the beach. Anyway, he was building a birdhouse for some cardinals42 that had nested on the porch, and he was right in the middle of tacking43 the roof on. He was pretty intent on finishing the work before the weekend, and I kept trying to figure out a way to work the subject of you and me into the conversation, but the opportunity wasn’t there. Finally, I just blurted44 it out. He asked me if I’d get him another nail, and when I handed it to him, I said, ‘Here you go. And oh, by the way, that reminds me—would you mind if I married Jane?’ ” She giggled. “You always were a smooth one,” she remarked. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, given the way you proposed. It was so . . .” “Memorable45?”
“Malcolm and Linda never get tired of that story,” she said, referring to a couple we’d been friends with for years. “Especially Linda. Every time we’re with other people, she begs me to tell the story.”
“And of course, you’re willing to oblige.”
She raised her hands innocently. “If my friends enjoy my stories, who am I to withhold46 them?”
As the easy banter47 continued through dinner, I was conscious of everything about her. I watched as she cut the chicken into small bites before eating it, and the way her hair caught the light; I smelled the faintest trace of the jasmine gel she’d used earlier. There was no explanation for this longer-lasting newfound ease between us, and I didn’t try to understand it. I wondered if Jane even noticed. If so, she gave no indication, but then neither did I, and we lingered over dinner until the remains48 grew cold on the table. The story of my proposal is indeed memorable, and it never fails to provoke gales49 of laughter among those who hear it.
This sharing of history is fairly common in our social circle, and when we socialize, my wife and I cease to be individuals. We are a couple, a team, and I’ve often enjoyed this interplay. We can each hop28 into the middle of a story that the other has begun and continue the other’s train of thought without hesitation50. She might begin the story in which Leslie was leading a cheer at a football game when one of the running backs slipped near the sideline and began careening toward her. If Jane pauses, I know it is my signal to inform them that Jane was the first to leap out of her seat to make sure she was okay, because I was paralyzed with fear. But once I finally summoned the will to move, I bounded through the crowd, pushing and shoving and knocking people off balance, much like the running back a moment before. Then, in the moment I take a breath to pause, Jane easily picks up where I left off. I am amazed that neither of us seems to find this out of the ordinary, or even difficult. This give-and-take has become natural for us, and I often wonder what it is like for those who don’t know their partners quite so well. Leslie, I might add, was not injured that day. By the time we reached her, she was already reaching for her pom-poms. But I never join in the story of my proposal. Instead I sit in silence, knowing that Jane finds it much more humorous than I. After all, I didn’t intend for it to be a humorous event. I was sure it would be a day she would always remember and hoped that she would find it romantic.
Somehow, Jane and I had made it through the year with our love intact. By late spring we were talking about getting engaged, and the only surprise was when we would make it official. I knew she wanted something special—her parents’ romance had set a high bar. When Noah and Allie were together, it seemed as if everything turned out perfectly. If it rained while they were out together—a miserable51 experience, most would admit—Allie and Noah would use it as an excuse to build a fire and lie beside each other, falling ever more deeply in love. If Allie was in the mood for poetry, Noah could recite a series of verses from memory. If Noah was the example, I knew I must follow his lead, and for this reason, I planned to propose to her on the beach at Ocracoke, where her family was vacationing in July.
My plan, I thought, was inspired. Quite simply, after picking out an engagement ring, I planned to hide it in the conch I had picked up the year before, with the intention that she would find it later, when we were out scouring52 the beach for sand dollars. When she did, I planned to drop to one knee, take her hand, and tell her that she would make me the happiest man in the world if she would consent to be my wife.
Unfortunately, things didn’t go exactly as planned. A storm was in full swing that weekend, with heavy rain and winds strong enough to make the trees bend almost horizontal. All day Saturday, I waited for the storm to abate53, but nature seemed to have other ideas, and it wasn’t until midmorning Sunday that the sky began to clear.
I was more nervous than I’d imagined I would be, and I found myself mentally rehearsing exactly what I wanted to say. This sort of rote9 preparation had always served me well in law school, but I didn’t realize that my preparation would keep me from speaking to Jane as we made our way along the beach. I don’t know how long we continued to walk in silence, but it was long enough for the sound of Jane’s voice to startle me when she finally spoke23 up. “The tide’s really coming in, isn’t it?”
I hadn’t realized that the tide would be so affected54 even after the storm had passed, and though I was fairly certain that the shell was safe, I didn’t want to take any chances. Concerned, I started to walk even more quickly, though I tried my best not to arouse her suspicion.
“Why the rush?” she asked me.
“Am I rushing?” I answered.
She didn’t seem satisfied with my response and finally slowed down. For a little while, until I spotted55 the conch, at least, I walked by myself, a few steps ahead of her. When I saw the high-water marks in the sand near the shell, I knew we had time. Not a lot, but I felt myself relax a bit.
I turned to say something to Jane, unaware56 that she had already stopped a little ways back. She was bending toward the sand, one arm extended, and I knew exactly what she was doing. Whenever she was at the beach, Jane had a habit of looking for tiny sand dollars. The best ones, the ones she kept, were paper-thin and translucent57, no larger than a fingernail.
“Come quick!” she called out without looking up. “There’s a whole bunch right here.”
The conch with the ring was twenty yards ahead of me, Jane was twenty yards behind. Finally realizing that we’d barely said more than a few words to each other since we’d been on the beach, I decided to go to Jane. When I reached her, she held up a sand dollar before me, balancing it like a contact lens on the tip of her finger.
“Look at this one.”
It was the smallest one we’d found. After handing it to me, she bent58 over again to start looking for more.
I joined her in the search with the intention of gradually leading her to the conch, but Jane continued to hover59 in the same spot no matter how far I moved away. I had to keep glancing up every few seconds to make sure the shell was still safe.
“What are you looking at?” Jane finally asked me.
“Nothing,” I said. Still, I felt compelled to look again a few moments later, and when Jane caught me, she raised an eyebrow34 uncertainly. As the tide continued to rise, I realized we were running out of time. Still, Jane hovered60 in the same spot. She had found two more sand dollars that were even smaller than the first and she seemed to have no intention of moving. At last, not knowing what else to do, I pretended to notice the shell in the distance.
“Is that a conch?”
She looked up.
“Why don’t you go grab it?” she said. “It looks like a nice one.” I didn’t know quite what to say. After all, I wanted her to be the one to find it. By now the waves were breaking precariously61 close. “Yes, it does,” I said.
“Are you going to go get it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Maybe you should go get it.”
“Me?” She looked puzzled.
“If you want it.”
She seemed to debate a moment before shaking her head. “We’ve got lots of them at the house. No big deal.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
This was not going well. While trying to figure out what to do next, I suddenly noticed a large swell62 approaching the shore. Desperate—and without a word to her—I suddenly bolted from her side, surging toward the conch. I’ve never been noted63 for my quickness, but on that day I moved like an athlete. Sprinting64 as hard as I could, I grabbed the shell like an outfielder retrieving65 a baseball, moments before the wave swept over the spot. Unfortunately, the act of reaching for it left me off balance, and I tumbled to the sand, the air escaping my lungs in a loud whumph. When I stood, I did my best to look dignified66 as I shook the sand and water from my soaked clothing. In the distance, I could see Jane staring wide-eyed at me.
I brought the shell back and offered it to her.
“Here,” I said, breathing hard.
She was still eyeing me with a curious expression. “Thank you,” she said. I expected her to turn it over, I suppose, or move the shell in such a way as to hear the movement of the ring inside, but she didn’t. Instead, we simply stared at each other.
“You really wanted this shell, didn’t you?” she finally said.
“Yes.”
“It’s nice.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome.”
Still, she hadn’t moved it. Growing a bit anxious, I said: “Shake it.”
She seemed to study my words.
“Shake it,” she repeated.
“Yes.”
“Are you feeling okay, Wilson?”
“Yes.” I nodded in encouragement toward the shell.
“Okay,” she said slowly.
When she did, the ring fell to the sand. I immediately dropped to one knee and began looking for it. Forgetting all of what I had intended to say, I went straight to the proposal, without even the presence of mind to look up at her. “Will you marry me?”
When we finished cleaning the kitchen, Jane went outside to stand on the deck, leaving the door cracked open as if inviting67 me to join her. When I went out, I saw her leaning against the rail as she had the night that Anna had broken the news of her wedding.
The sun had set, and an orange moon was rising just over the trees like a jack-o’-lantern in the sky. I saw Jane staring at it. The heat had finally broken and a breeze had picked up.
“Do you really think you’ll be able to find a caterer68?” she asked.
I leaned in beside her. “I’ll do my best.”
“Oh,” she said suddenly. “Remind me to make the reservations for Joseph tomorrow. I know we can get him into Raleigh, but hopefully we can get a connection straight to New Bern.”
“I can do that,” I volunteered. “I’ll be on the phone anyway.”
“You sure?”
“It’s no big deal,” I said. On the river, I could see a boat moving past us, a black shadow with a glowing light out front.
“So what else do you and Anna have to do?” I asked.
“More than you can imagine.”
“Still?”
“Well, there’s the dress, of course. Leslie wants to go with us, and it’s probably going to take at least a couple of days.”
“For a dress?”
“She has to find the right one, and then we have to get it fitted. We talked to a seamstress this morning, and she says that she can work it in if we can get it to her by Thursday. And then, of course, there’s the reception. If there is one, I mean. A caterer is one thing, but if you can pull that off, we still need music of some kind. And we’ll need to decorate, so you’ll have to call the rental69 company. . . .”
As she spoke, I let out a quiet sigh. I knew I shouldn’t have been surprised, but still . . .
“So while I’m making calls tomorrow, I take it you’ll be off dress shopping, right?”
“I can’t wait.” She shivered. “Watching her try them on, seeing what she likes. I’ve been waiting for this moment ever since she was a little girl. It’s exciting.”
“I’m sure,” I said.
She held up her thumb and forefinger70 in a pinching motion. “And to think that Anna was this close to not letting me do it.”
“It’s amazing how ungrateful children can be, isn’t it.” She laughed, turning her gaze toward the water again. In the background, I could hear crickets and frogs beginning their evening song, a sound that never seems to change.
“Would you like to take a walk?” I asked suddenly.
She hesitated. “Now?”
“Why not?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Does it matter?”
Though she seemed surprised, she answered. “Not really.” A few minutes later, we were making our way around the block. The streets were empty. From the homes on either side of us, I could see lights blazing behind curtains and shadows moving around inside. Jane and I walked on the shoulder of the road, rocks and gravel71 crunching72 beneath our feet. Above us, stratus clouds stretched across the sky, making a silver band.
“Is it this quiet in the mornings?” Jane asked. “When you walk?”
I usually leave the house before six, long before she wakes. “Sometimes. Usually there are a few joggers out. And dogs. They like to sneak73 up behind you and bark suddenly.”
“Good for the heart, I’ll bet.”
“It’s like an extra workout,” I agreed. “But it keeps me on my toes.”
“I should start walking again. I used to love to walk.”
“You can always join me.”
“At five-thirty? I don’t think so.”
Her tone was a mixture of playfulness and incredulity. Though my wife was once an early riser, she hadn’t been since Leslie moved out. “This was a good idea,” she said. “It’s beautiful tonight.” “Yes, it is,” I said, looking at her. We walked in silence for a few moments before I saw Jane glance toward a house near the corner. “Did you hear about Glenda’s stroke?”
Glenda and her husband were our neighbors, and though we didn’t move in the same social circles, we were friendly nonetheless. In New Bern, everyone seemed to know everything about everyone.
“Yes. It’s sad.”
“She’s not much older than I am.”
“I know,” I said. “I hear she’s doing better, though.” We fell back into silence for a while, until Jane suddenly asked, “Do you ever think about your mother?”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. My mother had died in an automobile74 accident during our second year of marriage. Though I wasn’t as close to my parents as Jane was to hers, her death came as a terrible shock. To this day, I can’t recall making the six-hour drive to Washington to be with my father. “Sometimes.”
“When you do, what do you remember?”
“Do you remember the last time we went to visit them?” I said. “When we first walked in the door, and Mom came out of the kitchen? She was wearing a blouse with purple flowers on it, and she looked so happy to see us. She opened her arms to give us both a hug. That’s how I always remember her. It’s an image that’s never changed, kind of like a picture. She always looks the same.” Jane nodded. “I always remember my mom in her studio, with paint on her fingers. She was painting a portrait of our family, something she’d never done, and I remember how excited she was because she was going to give it to Dad for his birthday.” She paused. “I don’t really remember the way she looked after she started getting sick. Mom had always been so expressive75. I mean, she used to wave her hands when she talked, and her face was always so animated76 when she told a story . . . but after the Alzheimer’s set in, she changed.” She glanced over at me. “It just wasn’t the same.”
“I know,” I said.
“I worry about that sometimes,” she said in a low voice. “Getting Alzheimer’s, I mean.”
Though I too had thought about this, I said nothing. “I can’t imagine what it would be like,” Jane went on. “To not recognize Anna or Joseph or Leslie? To have to ask their names when they came to visit like Mom used to do with me? It breaks my heart to even think about it.” I watched her silently, in the dim glow of the houselights. “I wonder if Mom knew how bad it was going to get,” she mused33. “I mean, she said she did, but I wonder if she really knew deep down that she wouldn’t recognize her children. Or even Daddy.”
“I think she knew,” I said. “That’s why they moved to Creekside.” I thought I saw her close her eyes momentarily. When she spoke again, her voice was full of frustration77. “I hate it that Daddy didn’t want to come live with us after Mom died. We have plenty of room.”
I said nothing. Though I could have explained Noah’s reasons for staying at Creekside, she didn’t want to hear them. She knew them as well as I did, but unlike me, she didn’t accept them, and I knew that trying to defend Noah would only trigger an argument.
“I hate that swan,” she added.
There is a story behind the swan, but again, I said nothing. We circled one block, then another. Some of our neighbors had already turned out their lights, and still Jane and I moved on, neither rushing nor lagging. In time I saw our house, and knowing our walk was coming to an end, I paused and looked up at the stars.
“What is it?” she asked, following my gaze.
“Are you happy, Jane?”
Her gaze focused on me. “What brought that up?”
“I was just curious.”
As I waited for her response, I wondered if she guessed the reason behind my question. It wasn’t so much that I wondered whether she was happy in general as happy with me in particular.
She stared at me for a long moment, as if trying to read my mind.
“Well, there is one thing . . .”
“Yes?”
“It’s kind of important.”
I waited as Jane drew a long breath.
“I’ll be really happy if you can find a caterer,” she confessed.
At her words, I had to laugh.
Though I offered to make a pot of decaf, Jane shook her head wearily. The two long days had caught up to her, and after yawning a second time, she told me that she was going up to bed.
I suppose I could have followed her up, but I didn’t. Instead, I watched her head up the steps, reliving our evening.
Later, when I did at last crawl into bed, I slipped under the covers and turned to face my wife. Her breathing was steady and deep, and I could see her eyelids78 fluttering, letting me know that she was dreaming. Of what, I wasn’t sure, but her face was peaceful, like that of a child. I stared at her, wanting and not wanting to wake her, loving her more than life itself. Despite the darkness, I could see a lock of hair lying across her cheek, and I stretched my fingers toward it. Her skin was as soft as powder, timeless in its beauty. Tucking the strand79 of hair behind her ear, I blinked back the tears that had mysteriously sprung to my eyes.
收听单词发音 |
1
cordon
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| n.警戒线，哨兵线 | |
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aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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appraising
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| v.估价( appraise的现在分词 )；估计；估量；评价 | |
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giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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peeked
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| v.很快地看( peek的过去式和过去分词 )；偷看；窥视；微露出 | |
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hems
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| 布的褶边，贴边( hem的名词复数 )； 短促的咳嗽 | |
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rote
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| n.死记硬背，生搬硬套 | |
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swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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divulged
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| v.吐露，泄露( divulge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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cocktail
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| n.鸡尾酒；餐前开胃小吃；混合物 | |
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dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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glum
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| adj.闷闷不乐的，阴郁的 | |
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squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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buoyed
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| v.使浮起( buoy的过去式和过去分词 )；支持；为…设浮标；振奋…的精神 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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earrings
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| n.耳环( earring的名词复数 )；耳坠子 | |
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smirking
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| v.傻笑( smirk的现在分词 ) | |
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opportune
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| adj.合适的，适当的 | |
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cardinals
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| 红衣主教( cardinal的名词复数 )； 红衣凤头鸟（见于北美，雄鸟为鲜红色）； 基数 | |
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43
tacking
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| （帆船）抢风行驶，定位焊[铆]紧钉 | |
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44
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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withhold
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| v.拒绝，不给；使停止，阻挡 | |
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banter
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| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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49
gales
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| 龙猫 | |
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50
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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51
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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52
scouring
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| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
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53
abate
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| vi.(风势，疼痛等)减弱，减轻，减退 | |
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54
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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56
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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59
hover
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| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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61
precariously
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| adv.不安全地；危险地；碰机会地；不稳定地 | |
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62
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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sprinting
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| v.短距离疾跑( sprint的现在分词 ) | |
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retrieving
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| n.检索（过程），取还v.取回( retrieve的现在分词 )；恢复；寻回；检索（储存的信息） | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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caterer
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| n. 备办食物者，备办宴席者 | |
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rental
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| n.租赁，出租，出租业 | |
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70
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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71
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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crunching
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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73
sneak
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| vt.潜行(隐藏,填石缝)；偷偷摸摸做；n.潜行；adj.暗中进行 | |
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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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frustration
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| n.挫折，失败，失效，落空 | |
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78
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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