Flash of light outside. Lightning? No, sky was too clear before, but weather could have changed. He goes to the window. Headlights. Sounds of a car coming down the dirt road. He goes outside. Their car. She drives it as far forward as it can go without hitting the parking log, stops to shift it into reverse, sees him and waves. He holds up his hand. She backs into the parking space he cut out of the woods this summer. Hand brake, lights off and she steps out of the car as he comes around the front of it. “I was worried, where were you?” he says. “Say hello first, say hello.” “Hello. So?” “Grief, what a reception after so many hours. I tried to get you several times but our phone was always dead. There, now don’t you feel bad?” and she puts up her face and they kiss. “I was just on the phone — thirty minutes ago, and it was working.” “Who called so late? I hope not my father.” “Wrong number.” “Then it must have started working again around that time till up to an hour and a half ago, because that was the last time I tried to call.” “Actually, it was for the Drickhoffs. I picked it up impulsively, so could be our phone still isn’t working fully. We can worry about it tomorrow. But why were you so late in getting back?” “Can’t we go inside first? It’s getting cold for me.” They start for the house, his arm around her shoulder, other hand holding her hand. She looks straight up. “See any shooting stars tonight?” “I didn’t look.” “You didn’t even go on the deck for a minute? That’s all it would have taken. The first clear night in three and the best week for it.” “I was only interested in the front of the house — our car coming down and you driving it.” “I met Rick and Arlene at the movie and went for tea with them.” They go inside. “That’s what I tried to call you about.” “What place would be open now?” “Not now — before. Little past eleven. We got to the Frigate as it was closing. They didn’t mind us having coffee and tea — we also wanted desserts but they were all out — because they were cleaning up around us. They do unbelievably well there and have a good menu. We should go. Hire a babysitter a few days in advance and make it an early dinner.” “OK. But why a little past eleven? Why’d it take so long to get there, is what I mean? When did the movie end?” “At eleven.” “Why so late?” “Why so many questions?” “Because I was worried. I imagined all sorts of awful things happening to you.” “Maybe you wanted them to.” “That’s silly. Where’d that come from?” “I don’t know. Interrogating me. I did try calling you though.” “But when you couldn’t reach me, what did you think I’d think was happening to you?” “I thought you’d know everything was all right even if I didn’t call you. I just thought, well, that you’d at least wouldn’t get worried. Truth is, I thought you’d be asleep by now. That you’d read and have some wine and then get so tired from the rea ling and wine or maybe even television, that you’d go to sleep long before I came back. In other words, that you wouldn’t even be in a mental state to worry. It’s past one. What are you doing up? You usually get to sleep at ten — eleven, the latest.” “I was worried. Just never do it again, OK?” “What?” “If you can’t reach me, then come straight home.” “Why? If I can’t reach you and it’s getting to where I was expected back much earlier, check the phone to see if it’s working. If it isn’t, assume I’m trying to get you but can’t because the phone’s not working.” “I tried the phone. I just remembered. I got a dial tone.” “Probably long after I stopped trying to call you, right? Because you don’t think I’d call past twelve, do you? Not even past eleven-thirty. You’d be sleeping, I’d think. Or the Drickhoffs would, and the phone would wake them. I even asked the operator — you forgot to tell me something, I forgot to tell you this — and she said our connection wasn’t working. And since there were no reports of lines being down, to try again in fifteen minutes. Well, fifteen minutes was eleven forty-five, so I wasn’t going to try again. But that’s it, all right? How was Olivia?” “She woke up crying before — the Drickhoffs call — but it was quick. Gave her water, sang a song, she went back to sleep. Actually, I carried her downstairs because I had to get back to the caller; I’d asked her to hold so I could attend to Olivia.” “That person say why she called so late?” “She said ‘pretty urgent.’” “It should have been very urgent. Extremely. Anyway, I’m sorry for the confusion and that you worried so much. I am.” “I thought you had a car crash. I even imagined it. Worse, I saw myself alone with Olivia for the rest of my life. At least the next fifteen years of it, and the two of us always sad that you had died. That the fetus died also so late in its development made me sad too. I thought people would feel sorry for me. I saw myself at your funeral. I saw myself not teaching classes this fall. Just grieving, mourning, going a little crazy, but taking care of Olivia for the next year best as I could. Real self-pity. I don’t know why I went so far with these thoughts. That I’d never love any woman again as I did you. Like that. It’s possible I took some pleasure in all the attention I got — but real sadness. I actually sat here crying for about a minute over my imagined loss of you.” “Maybe it was from the drink over there. How many you have?” “That only came after I started thinking about it. Could be you’re right though. Brandy can do that.” “Brandy?” “I felt I needed something stiff to relax me. I even saw myself sitting here a year later drinking brandy from the same juice glass and staring out the window, remembering the night of the crash exactly a year before. Olivia was again upstairs. In my thoughts. I’d rented the cottage for the summer. Everyone said I shouldn’t. That it would bring up old stuff better left where it was, but I said it was my final farewell to you. Of my mourning. That I had to come back here to get through the next few years. That’s what I said, but I don’t quite know now what I meant. Olivia wanted to come back too. She liked it that the Hahn kids were just around the loop. I did too. And another practical reason: that it was the one place around here I could afford. Maybe I’m nuts for having gone so far in these thoughts, and the crying. What do you think?” “I think that I’m glad to be back. And that I didn’t die. Very glad of that. Also, that I probably shouldn’t go to movies alone at night. Anywhere far alone. It’s become too uncomfortable to drive, and what if the baby started? Oh, I could take care of that. But that if we go to White Hill or any long distance, for you to do all the driving from now on. That puts a big strain on you when we go back to New York, but what else can I do? I’ll be even bigger then.” “I definitely should have had more control over myself before. Thought what you said I should have. Such as picking up the phone around eleven or so, or anytime when it’s more than a half-hour after you said you’d be home. Next time I’ll do that.” “There won’t be a next time for months.” “With the next baby then.” “What next baby?” “Or if you change your mind one afternoon soon and go out alone and aren’t back a half-hour after you said you’d be.” “Wait, whoa. What’s with this next baby business? Not only that it came out of nowhere and doesn’t much relate to what we were talking about, but who’s having one?” “Don’t you want to have three?” “Only if I’m carrying twins, which I’m not.” “Maybe if it’s relatively easy having two, we’ll want to have another. We should leave it open. I’ve always wanted — imagined having — three.” “First time you’ve said that.” “I’m sure I have before. I love it when you’re pregnant. That’s not why I want three. I just love having one and know I’ll love, or very much think I will, having two, and want a third because I think if 11 be the right number for us and for the first two. They can play off one another, and other things.” “I don’t understand. Maybe it’s your brandy, or me. Anyway, it’s not something to think or talk seriously about now.” “You don’t want to have some brandy — can’t have any, right? Why do I ask? I know you can’t.” “Truth is, it’s probably late enough to. Just about all the damage that can be done to it has been done. Still, best to play safe. I’m going to get some milk.” She kisses him. “Somehow I really enjoy all the attention I didn’t know you were giving me before, morbid as it was. I just wish, my sweetie, it hadn’t hurt you so.” Kisses him again and goes to the kitchen. He follows her. “How was the movie?” he says.