“I know.” I took a deep breath. “And I’d do it again, too.”
Studying me for a moment, she gave my arm a squeeze. “I’m glad we stopped, too, even if we don’t get to have dinner here.”
Surrounded by a streetlight halo, she looked almost ethereal.
“Is there anyplace else you’d like to go?” I asked.
She tilted her head. “Do you like music?”
Ten minutes later, we were seated at a table in the pizza parlor we’d passed earlier. Though I’d planned on candlelight and wine, we ended up ordering beer with our pizza.
Jane, however, didn’t seem disappointed. She spoke easily, telling me about her classes in Greek mythology and English literature, her years at Meredith, her friends, and anything else that happened to be on her mind. For the most part, I simply nodded and asked enough questions to keep her talking for the next two hours, and I can honestly say that I’d never enjoyed someone’s company more.
In the kitchen, I noticed that Jane was eyeing me curiously. Forcing the memory away, I put the finishing touches on our meal and brought the food to the table. After taking our places, we bowed our heads and I said grace, thanking God for all that we had been given.
“You okay? You seemed preoccupied a couple of minutes ago,” Jane commented as she forked some salad into her bowl.
I poured a glass of wine for each of us. “Actually, I was remembering our first date,” I said.
“You were?” Her fork stopped in midair. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I slid her glass toward her. “Do you even remember it?”
“Of course I remember,” she chided me. “It was right before we went home for Christmas break. We were supposed to go to dinner at Harper’s, but we found a stray, and we missed our reservation. So we had dinner at this little pizza place down the street instead. And after that . . .”
She squinted, trying to recall the exact order of events.
“We got in the car and drove out to see the decorations along Havermill Road, right? You insisted that I get out of the car so we could walk around, even though it was freezing. One of the houses had set up Santa’s village, and when you walked me over, the man dressed as Santa handed me the gift that you’d picked out for me for Christmas. I remember being amazed that you’d gone through all that trouble on a first date.”
“Do you remember what I got you?”
“How could I forget?” She grinned. “An umbrella.”
“If I recall correctly, you didn’t seem too thrilled about it.”
“Well,” she said, throwing up her hands, “how was I supposed to meet any guys after that? Having someone walk me to my car was my modus operandi back then. You have to remember that at Meredith, the only men around were teachers or janitors.”
“That’s why I picked it out,” I said. “I knew exactly how you operated.”
“You didn’t have a clue,” she said with a smirk. “I was the first girl you ever dated.”
“No, you weren’t. I’d dated before.”
Her eyes were playful. “Okay, the first girl you’d ever kissed, then.”
This was true, though I’ve come to regret that I ever told her this, since she’s never forgotten this fact and it tends to come up in moments like this. In my defense, however, I said: “I was too busy preparing for my future. I didn’t have time for such a thing.”
“You were shy.”
“I was studious. There’s a difference.”
“Don’t you remember our dinner? Or the drive over? You barely said anything to me at all, except about your classes.”
“I talked about more than that,” I said. “I told you that I liked your sweater, remember?”
“That doesn’t count.” She winked. “You were just lucky I was so patient with you.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “I was.”
I said it the way I would have wanted to hear it from her, and I think she caught the tone in my voice. She smiled briefly.
“Do you know what I remember most from that night?” I went on.
“My sweater?”
My wife, I should add, has always had a quick wit. I laughed but was clearly in a more reflective mood and went on. “I liked the way you stopped for the dog, and were unwilling to leave until you made sure he was safe. It told me your heart was in the right place.”
I could have sworn she blushed at my comment, but she quickly picked up her wineglass, so I couldn’t be sure. Before she could say anything, I changed the subject.
“So is Anna getting nervous yet?” I asked.
Jane shook her head. “Not at all. She doesn’t seem worried in the slightest. I guess she believes that it’s all going to work out, like it did today with the pictures and the cake. This morning, when I showed her the list of all we had to do, all she said was, ‘I guess we’d better get started, then, huh?’”
I nodded. I could imagine Anna saying those words.
“What about her friend, the pastor?” I asked.
“She said she called him last night, and he said he’d be happy to do it.”
“That’s good. One less thing,” I offered.
“Mmm.” Jane fell silent. I knew her mind was beginning to turn to the activities of the coming week.
“I think I’m going to need your help,” she said at last.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Well, you’ll need a tux for you, Keith, and Joseph, of course. And Daddy, too. . . .”
“No problem.”
She shifted in her seat. “And Anna is supposed to be getting the names of some of the people she’d like to invite. We don’t have time to send any invitations, so someone’s going to have to call. And since I’m out and about with Anna, and you’re on vacation . . .”
I held up my hands. “I’d be glad to take care of it,” I said. “I’ll start tomorrow.”
“Do you know where the address book is?”
This is the type of question with which I’ve become quite familiar over the years. Jane has long believed that I have a natural inability to find certain items within our home. She also believes that while I misplace objects occasionally, I have assigned her the responsibility of knowing exactly where it is I might have misplaced them. Neither of these things, I might add, is completely my fault. While it’s true that I don’t know where every item in the house is located, this has more to do with different filing systems than any ineptitude on my part. My wife, for instance, believes the flashlight logically belongs in one of the kitchen drawers, while my reasoning tells me it should be in the pantry where we keep the washer and dryer. As a result, it shifts from one location to the next, and because I work outside the home, it’s impossible for me to keep up with such things. If I set my car keys on the counter, for instance, my instincts tell me they will still be there when I go to look for them, while Jane automatically believes that I will look for them on the bulletin board near the door. As to the location of the address book, it was plain to me that it was in the drawer by the phone. That’s where I put it the last time I used it, and I was just about to say this when Jane spoke up.