The oatmeal belches a few big round bubbles as George gives it a final stir and turns off the burner. Shrr-thump, shrr-thump . . . he hears Ada’s walker clomp down the hallway.

“Good morning, dear,” she says as she eases herself down at the kitchen table.

“Good morning.” George places two bowls of steaming porridge on the table. “How was

your night?”

“It was okay. And yours?”

The teakettle screams, demanding George’s attention. He fills their mugs with boiling water, dips a tea bag into Ada’s, then spoons a heaping mound of Folgers crystals into his own.

Ada blows on a scoop of oatmeal before tasting.

“Oh, Georgie, you forgot the sweetener.”

“So I did,” George says as he takes the lid from the sugar bowl and scatters a helping of

white granules over Ada’s oatmeal.

“Sprinkled, not stirred.” George smiles.

“Sprinkled, not stirred.” Ada smiles back.

“What is on your agenda for today?” Ada asks.

“Not much,” George replies. “Do my crossword, water the plants, and I may get a haircut this afternoon.”

George reaches across the table and with his spoon catches an errant drib of oatmeal as it slides down Ada’s chin.

“I think I’d like to go for that car ride we’ve talked about,” Ada says.

“What—”

“You know, the car ride,” Ada repeats.

“Today?” George says.

“Yes, today.”

“Are you positive?” George asks.

“Yes,” Ada says. “Quite. It’s a perfectly clear day, the clearest I’ve had in a while.”

“All right then, if you’re sure.”

“Yes, my dear, I’m quite sure.”

“Then where shall we go?” George asks.

“How about that spot down on River Road? Where we used to take the kids on picnics. Remember?”

“I also remember us skinny-dipping there before the kids came along.” George laughs. “Maybe we can do that today too.”

“Wouldn’t that be something,” Ada says. “I’ll go get dressed while you tidy up the kitchen.”

“And I’ll make us some sandwiches to take.” George carries their empty bowls to the sink.

When Ada returns, she is wearing a soft yellow cotton summer dress that fastens down the front with mother-of-pearl snaps. A white lace collar frames her neck, and knee-high hose are bunched around her bone-thin ankles.

“You’ll need to help me with my stockings, Georgie,” Ada says.

“Not a problem,” George replies. “You look lovely.”

“Give me your arm, dear,” Ada says. “I won’t be needing my walker today.”

Ada loops her arm through George’s as they make their way across the kitchen and into the darkened garage. George feels for the switch, and with a flip, the sixty-watt bulb dimly lights their way. After helping Ada into the passenger side, George goes around and gets behind the wheel. He puts the key in the ignition, and after a few hesitant groans the engine comes to life.

“Oh my,” George says, “I forgot the sandwiches.”

“I’ll be waiting.” Ada smiles and offers George a blue-veined hand, which he envelops in both of his own. He lingers for a moment, then leans across the seat and tenderly kisses her cheek.

George is careful to securely close the door to the garage once he is back in the kitchen.

He then goes to the porch and takes a seat on the glider.

Screek, screek, screek—the glider whines as George rocks back and forth.

Percival, the neighborhood cat, winds its way between George’s ankles before jumping onto the glider and curling up by his side. George absentmindedly strokes the fleshy nape of Percival’s neck. A ruby-throated hummingbird silently hovers at the red-rose feeder. It is soon joined by another, and then another.

After a time, George checks his watch and then makes his way around the house to the driveway. He enters the code into the keypad, and the garage door awakens with a rumble and slowly travels upward. The air in the garage hangs heavy—redolent with exhaust—as George reaches through the open car window and shuts off the engine. Once back in the kitchen he picks up the receiver from the 1980s-era touch-tone wall phone, the same one the kids tease him about. George punches in the numbers. On the third ring a calm voice picks up.

“911, what is your emergency?”