The Husband She Couldn't Forget

“You do listen to the weather, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Then you know we’re having an Indian summer.”

She hadn’t known that. “Study the compass, Rolland.”

He shrugged. “Okay.”

There was a bridge ahead that crossed a small creek. “Do you like to cook?”

“Yeah.”

“When was the last time you cooked some food?”

“Uh, I don’t know. But if I could cook something today, I’d make sirloin steak, grilled asparagus, fresh baked apple pie over a bed of rice and red wine.”

“That sounds delicious. Are you sure you’d put the pie over the rice?”

“Yeah, definitely. Do you like asparagus?”

“Sometimes. Do you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had them.”

“Rolland, where did you get the menu if you’ve never had the food?”

“TV. When I was recuperating I watched all those chef shows where the head chef would yell at the other chefs.”

“That’s terrible.” She headed across the bridge and liked the sound of the brook beneath.

“You become sadistic when your bones take six weeks to heal. I got crazy for a while—I’d yell, ‘burn the chef.’ I didn’t say I was a nice person, Melanie.”

She couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “You’re right, you didn’t. I suppose I can’t hold it against you given your state.”

He spun around and walked backward and she watched him. “I have another great menu.” The delight in his eyes was captivating.

“Okay, tell me.”

“I’d make veal amandine.”

“What side dishes?”

“Vanilla ice cream, sweet potatoes and corn.”

“You’re just trying to make me laugh and it’s not going to work.”

“If you bake the corn with the sweet potatoes, it’s really good. Somebody needs to watch more TV.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you. I’ve never had it. Is it really good?”

“I don’t know. I’m just messing with you.”

“Rolland, you’re a mess.”

He looked down at his shirt again.

“Not really. Come on. Let’s look at these flowers. Do you know what a rose smells like?”

“A rose.”

“Okay, smarty-pants, but what does it smell like?”

“A plant.”

“You know there’s a difference between flowers and plants.” She walked him over to a bush and pulled one down. She smelled it and offered it to him.

“I like watching you, Melanie. You look like you’re enjoying it.”

“Now you try.”

He smelled the flower and then took his time working the pink blossom from the branch.

“What does it smell like?”

“Fresh air.”

“Think about it. Does it smell sweet or fruity?”

“I can’t tell.”

“Try again, Rolland. And this time, really focus.”

“Should I smell the flower just like you?”

“Yes. Now focus.”

He closed his eyes and inhaled. His chest rose and his Adam’s apple moved up and down as if he were eating something. Slowly his eyes opened and when their gazes met, there was sunlight in his eyes.

“What does it smell like?”

“It smells sweet.”

“Rolland, that was very good.”

They walked on and she chose daffodils and hydrangeas, petunias and more roses, until Rolland found a tree and sat down underneath its shade.

“Can you spread out your blanket so we can rest?” He pointed at her dress.