They were in Aix-en-Provence, had just attended an organ concert in an old church, were walking out of the church when he saw what looked like notices, a couple with drawings of hearts on them, pinned to a message board on the wall. “What are these?” he asked her, and she said “Banns — public notices of the couples announcing their engagements.” “What a nice idea. Let’s post one,” and she said “You can’t, unless you’re going to get married.” “Let’s get married, then: here, in Aix,” and she said “Are you crazy?” “Why? Linda and Lewis will be here in two days. So before we all drive up to Paris together, they can be our witnesses as well as best man and maid of honor.” “You’re really talking foolish, Martin. If we ever did marry, I’d want my parents to be there and I’d think you’d want your mother and a number of our friends there too. But the point is, if I’m to take you seriously, that I’m not ready to marry you,” and he said “Too bad — but think of it, though. Married in this sweet-smelling ancient city, birth and burial place of Cézanne and I think just the birthplace of Milhaud. A quiet simple ceremony. A delicious dinner that night of just the four of us, with the best wine and champagne and maybe an accordionist to play a few traditional Provençal tunes. Chartres and Paris and various chateau towns along the way for our honeymoon. And then flying home as new bride and groom and, if you want, a wedding reception we’ll give in our apartment for family and friends. And you say you eventually want children, so we could even arrange your being pregnant before we get back. I wish we didn’t have to pass up this opportunity,” and she said “We have to. Sweet an idea as it is, it’s ridiculous.” “When can I propose to you then, where you’d most likely say yes?” and she said “We’ll talk about it in four to five months. If we’re still a compatible couple and we feel about each other the way we do now, it’s possible I’ll accept. But, you know, you might change your mind by then,” and he said “Never. You’re the only girl for me.”
It was their second summer together. They were driving back from Maine, on the Belfast road to Augusta. She was driving and he was trying to pick up either the Bangor or Portland public radio stations, when a dog ran out on the road and she hit it. The dog flew over the right side of the car and landed on the shoulder. She pulled over, was crying, saying “Oh, my God, I killed a dog. I didn’t mean it. I was driving carefully, but it jumped out on me,” and he said “I know; it wasn’t your fault; take it easy.” He unfastened their seatbelts, put his arms out and she went into them and he hugged her. “It’ll be all right. Don’t think you’re responsible. The dog’s probably done this with cars a number of times and this was the only time it was hit. But we have to deal with it. You’re too upset, so you stay here. I really don’t want to look at it, but I’ll go see how it is. Though at the speed we were going — and it wasn’t excessive — and hitting it front on — I’m sure it’s dead.” Other cars had stopped on both sides of the road. There were already a few people around the dog when he got out of the car. “I saw it all,” a woman said. “You’re not to blame for it. It’s its owner for letting it roam free like that.” A girl of about fourteen sat beside the dog, rested its head on her lap and petted it and felt its nose and chest and said “It’s not breathing, poor thing.” “My friend was at the wheel,” he said to the woman. “She was driving well below the speed limit. She’d be out here now but she’s too upset over it.” “I can imagine,” a man said. “I saw it too, but from the other way. The dumb dog just zoomed in front of your car as if he wanted to kill himself. I’ll vouch for your friend too, when the trooper comes.” “How will we get one?” and the man said “I’ll turn around and call from the convenience store no more than a mile from here. But you see, if you kill an animal on the road — even a deer but not something like a skunk or fox or raccoon — you got to stay with it till an official report’s made.” “Will that take long?” and the man said “It could. Not a top priority for a trooper to attend to, especially during vacation season. I hope you don’t have someplace you have to get to right away.” Then the dog stirred. “It’s alive,” someone shouted. Raised itself on its front legs and then stood on all fours, wobbly at first and then straight, and ran into the woods. “Well, what do you know,” the man said. “Here we were about to conduct funeral services for it, and it scoots away. Smart fella. Didn’t want to be buried alive.” “Did it look okay?” he said, and the man said “I didn’t see wounds or blood. I’d say you and your friend are off the hook. I know I feel good about it, and nobody has to wait around.” “Thank you all,” he said. “You’ve been very kind.” They went back to their cars. He checked the car they’d rented to see if there was any damage. There was some shit on the front bumper, but no dents or anything. He told himself he’d wipe it off the next time they stop for gas or to pee, if it didn’t fall off first. He got in the driver’s seat. She’d moved to the passenger seat. “Did you see?” he said, and she said “I saw. I’ve never been so relieved in my life. The dog must have been in shock. Did it seem all right when it ran away?” and he said “A bit slower, which is to be expected after such an accident, but everything else looked okay. Resilient little cuss. Gave us quite a scare and could have kept us here for hours.” “You were wonderful,” she said, and he said “Thank you,” and she took his hand and kissed it.