read it out loud.
“I love you, my husband. You have made my life a dream that I thought would never come true. When you are away from me I feel the way you hold me and when I make up our bed it makes me tingle just to see your imprint in the sheets. I love you a lot and I will be yours forever. You are the best man I've ever known. All my love.” And he turned and they kissed over the Xs drawn across the bottom of the card.
“That's enough. That's for later,” she said, drawing away from him. He looked at her with such love and in that second he couldn't imagine that he'd ever bad a life without her.
“You drive a hard bargain,” he told her. “So. Get dressed and come into the Official Birthday Room.” The Official Birthday Room was the living room. There was a box, a large, beautifully wrapped box, and he opened it. There was a beat-up baseball and two well-used gloves, together with a note.
This is the old-time saturday you told me about. Remember the way it was when you were a kid? Playing catch with your dad? Going to Shepherd's Drugstore with your pals? Then reading a comic book out under the trees? Going to the double feature at the Orpheum? Have fun! Love—xxx, Donna.
“I'll be your dad. I get the catcher's mitt, so—let's go, son,” she said. She had a little trouble keeping the cap on all that hair. Finally she hairpinned it in place somehow, a Mets cap that had been a gift to Eichord from a guy he'd worked with once, and he followed her out into the yard.
“Burn it in there,” she said. She had on one of his old shirts and a pair of shorts you couldn't see somewhere under the shirt tail. “Burn one in to your old dad.'
“Hate to say this but you don't look anything like old dad.” She pushed out even the voluminous shirt front.
“Cut the talk, son, ‘n burn one in.'
“Okay.” He pitched one to her.
“Come on, boy,” she told him, “you can throw harder than that. I'm not no sissy girl.'
“Right, Dad.” He threw another.
She hopped around blowing on her hand. “Okay,” she said, “that wraps up the catch game. Besides I gotta get these rented gloves back.” He laughed. “You made Dad's hand sting. Later you can kiss it and make it well.'
“I aims to please.'
“I hear that. Okay. It's time to read our comic book under the tree.” She went and returned with a sack in her hand, motioning for him to come with her. They sat under a red maple.
“Look what came in the mail.'
“What on earth?” It looked like one of the old-time comic books that he used to subscribe to. Sure enough, there was an old mailing sticker on the familiar brown paper with his name and his address where he'd grown up. “Where in hell—'
“I'll never tell.” She had found an old copy of Children's Activities Magazine and soaked his mailing label off the cover and glued it to the wrapper she'd made for the comic. He removed it gently from the container and opened it.
“MY GOD! Walt Disney's Comics & Stories! I haven't seen one of those in thirty years. Where on earth?'
“Some guy up in Missouri sells old comic books. I remembered you telling me about the covers.'
“Huey and Dewey and Louie with Uncle Donald,” he said, smiling one of the biggest smiles she'd ever seen on his face. The nephews were watching Donald about to go skiing. But two rows of tiny animals, birds, and assorted hangers-on had lined up on the back of each of Donald's skis. “That's the way I remember them. I got this one, and Tarzan and Red Ryder. Three comics a month from the same company—I'll never forget it.'
“I know—I know. I wrote it all down. I thought about getting you a Tarzan, too, but I didn't know how you'd feel about my selling the car, so I held off on that one.” They laughed.
“Okay,” Donna told Jack when he'd finished perusing the adventures of the ducks. “Let's go to the drugstore.” They went off to the side of the house and there was something about the size of a Volkswagen parked in the space between the Eichord's house and the next-door neighbor's.
Eichord said, “I think I can guess. By the size of it you've purchased a time machine and we're going to get in and go back to 1947?'
“That's right,” she said, going “Tadaaaaaaaa” as she pulled the sheets off the surprise.
“Oh, NO!” He laughed. “Where on earth did you get THESE?'
“That's a long story. When we were in Dallas I remembered you talking about the drugstore, and drooling about the old days at the drugstore, and those sundaes and the ice water after the bad game, and your description of the big fan overhead, and the little wire chairs with the heart shapes, and the marble table. Anyway, I saw an ad for the table and chairs at a garage sale, so I got ‘em for us.'
“Perfect.'
“Well, the table is wood and not marble but you can pretend.'
“Yeah.” He sat down on the tiny chair with great care.
“Wait there,” she told him. She returned from the kitchen with a sundae, complete with fudge topping, nuts, whipped cream, and a cherry.
“AHA,” he yelled in recognition as she also placed a glass of water in front of him.
“Yes, sir. Only the best for my darlin'. A genuine Coca-Cola glass full of old-time ice water.'
“I love it,” he said with heartfelt feeling, taking a delicious, incredible bite of the ice-cream concoction and a sip of the cold water. “Just as I remember. Wonderful.'
“Okay.'
“Fabulous. Pure essence of Shepherd's Drugstore.” He finished in a wave of nostalgic contentment. Some wife.
“So far so good. Let's see—the game of catch. The comic book. I got ‘em out of order but anyway—then the drugstore. Okay. Time to go to the show.” She pulled him back into the house and led him to his easy chair in front of the television in the living room and picked his feet up, sliding an ottoman up under his legs, then slipping his bedroom shoes off. He was still dressed in slacks, T-shirt, and his old Leo Gorcey pinback hat that he'd worn to play catch in. Nobody's perfect, he thought wryly.
She sat a small box in his lap.
“You're KIDDING! A CRIME CLUB movie! A serial! MY GOD IS THIS REALLY THE GREEN HORNET! FROM 1939?” He read the tape labels out loud. “How in hell did you find these?'
“Same guy I got the comic book from.” She took one of the tapes from him and went over to their video machine. “I've been practicing. Watch.” She had learned how to insert the tape. She pushed play. “Have fun. I'm going shopping,” she said, leaving Jack Eichord mesmerized in front of a buzzing hornet's image as his childhood began to flash before his eyes.
He watched four chapters of the old Green Hornet movie, wishing there was someone he could talk to who would understand the delight of the experience. Somebody he could tell about Al Hodge, whose voice had been synched to the lead character's speech. Al Hodge, out of the time warp on Eichord's happy birthday. He was halfway through the Crime Club movie when he heard the car pull up.
Donna blew in with her arms loaded down.
“Need a hand?” he said, revealing no intention to move from his seated position.
“I think I'll be able to manage. You having a good time?'
He smiled and nodded.
About fifteen minutes passed and he heard a radio playing or some music coming faintly from the bedroom. Another ten minutes or so and the movie ended, so he shut the equipment off and got up, then went into the bedroom to tell her how much he was enjoying his day.
“Mmmmmm,” he said. Donna was in a wispy thing that covered her shoulders and most of her large, high breasts. Matching wisp of a bikini. “Nice.” God, she looked good.
“Fire-engine red.'
“Yeah,” he said, his heart in his throat.
“Come on over.'
“Okay,” he said, wasting no time.
“Do I know what you like or what?'
