SILVER & STILL BURNING

by A.G. Seymour 

Because Desire Doesn't Have an Expiration Date

Chapter One — Nadine Comes Home

“Take a little more off the sides.”

 The barber stopped clipping.

 Three men waiting along the wall stopped talking.

 Somewhere behind Solomon Matthias Dumstrey, a newspaper lowered.

 His barber, Jerome, stared at Solomon's reflection in the mirror. “A little more?”

 “Yes.”

 “You've been coming to me for eleven years.”

 “I know how long I've been coming here.”

 “And for eleven years, every time I ask whether you want me to take a little more off the sides, you tell me—and I quote—‘Don't get creative with my head.’”

 Laughter broke out around the barbershop.

 Solomon frowned at all of them through the mirror. “A man can't change his mind?”

 “Not about his hair at fifty-seven.”

 “I'm fifty-seven, Jerome. I'm not dead.”

 That earned a louder round.

 Solomon shook his head, but there was a smile beneath it.

 “Just clean it up,” he said. “And blend the gray.”

 Jerome's hands stopped again.

 Solomon closed his eyes.

 He had said too much.

 “Blend the gray?”

 “Don't start.”

 “Oh, I'm not starting anything.” Jerome turned toward the room. “Gentlemen, Mr. Solomon Dumstrey has just asked me to blend his gray.”

 “I said don't start.”

 A man near the coat rack called out, “Who's she?”

 “My wife.”

 The room went momentarily quiet.

 Then somebody said, “Oh.”

 Solomon turned his head.

 Jerome pushed it straight again.

 “Hold still.”

 “What does ‘oh’ mean?”

 The man shrugged. “Nothing. I thought maybe you were getting divorced.”

 “Divorced?”

 “Or had a girlfriend.”

 Solomon's expression changed.

 Jerome saw it in the mirror and pointed the clippers at him. “Don't get yourself thrown out of my shop. Williams is joking.”

 “I don't have a girlfriend.”

 “That's what you just said.”

 “I have Nadine.”

 There was something in the way he said her name that quieted the joke before it could become another one.

 Solomon settled back into the chair.

 “Nadine comes home tonight.”

 Jerome's eyebrows rose. “Spain?”

 “Two weeks.”

 “That's why you're in here acting seventeen?”

 “Fifteen.”

 “What?”

 “I was fifteen when I first saw her.”

 Solomon's mouth curved.

 He could still see her.

 Homestead High School. Sophomore year. Nadine Elise Burow walking through a hallway with books hugged against her chest and brunette hair falling around her shoulders.

 He had stared.

 Then spent almost two years doing absolutely nothing useful about it.

 Jerome laughed. “How long did it take you to ask her out?”

 “None of your business.”

 “Long time, then.”

 “Senior year.”

 The barbershop erupted.

 “Two years?”

 “Man!”

 “Construction tycoon scared of a teenage girl!”

 “I wasn't a construction tycoon at fifteen.”

 “What were you?”

 “Scared of a teenage girl.”

 Solomon laughed with them.

 He didn't mind telling it anymore.

 At fifty-seven, there was something rather wonderful about admitting that the woman who had shared his bed for thirty-five years had once made him afraid to say hello.

 What Solomon hadn't known then was that Nadine had been waiting.

 She told him that after they were married.

 He had nearly fallen out of bed.

 Two years.

 Two entire years wasted because Solomon thought Nadine Burow couldn't possibly be interested in him while Nadine Burow apparently went home wondering whether Solomon Dumstrey would ever get enough sense to ask her out.

 They had been making each other crazy for more than forty years.

 Some things endured.

 “Don't cover the gray,” Solomon said suddenly.

 Jerome looked at him.

 “I thought you said blend it.”

 “I changed my mind. Clean it up. Leave the silver.”

 “There you go.”

 “She likes it.”

 Jerome smiled. “That's all that matters.”

 “It is tonight.”

 There were noises behind him.

 Solomon looked into the mirror. “All of you need hobbies.”

 “We have hobbies,” Williams said. “Right now, it's you.”

 Solomon ignored him.

 He studied his reflection instead.

 His hair was certainly thinner than it had been when Nadine married him. There was no point pretending otherwise. Silver had moved decisively into the dark strands at his temples, and his beard had surrendered even more territory.

 His face was older.

 So was hers.

 Thank God.

 He had no desire to be twenty-two again.

 Twenty-two-year-old Solomon had come home from Houston with more ambition than money, a trade beneath his hands, a head full of impossible plans, and one certainty.

 He was going to marry Nadine Burow.

 Four years of letters had settled that.

 Letters.

 His sons couldn't understand it.

 Sven had once asked why Solomon hadn't simply texted their mother.

 Solomon had stared at him until Nadine laughed herself breathless.

 There had been no texting.

 No FaceTime.

 No social media.

 No little device in his pocket allowing him to see Nadine whenever he wanted.

 There had been a telephone attached to a wall by a cord, long-distance charges, Nadine's father occasionally answering before she did, and envelopes.

 Hundreds of envelopes.

 Mequon to Houston.

 Houston to Mequon.

 By the second year, postal workers knew their names.

 By the fourth, Solomon knew Nadine's handwriting from across a room.

 He still did.

 “Why two weeks?” Jerome asked.

 Solomon returned to the present. “Business. Her salon in Spain. Staffing, some expansion planning, meetings. Nadine doesn't know how to go anywhere and just have one meeting.”

 “Neither do you.”

 “That's different.”

 “How?”

 “I'm me.”

 Jerome snorted.

 Solomon's phone vibrated beneath the barber cape.

 He ignored it.

 It vibrated again.

 Then again.

 He sighed. “Get that for me.”

 “I'm your barber, not your secretary.”

 “My hands are trapped.”

 “You own a construction company. Escape.”

 Solomon managed to get one hand beneath the cape and pulled out his phone.

 The family group chat.

 Of course.

Bella: Has Mom landed yet?

Karl: Dad said tonight.

Ingrid: That wasn't the question.

Bjorn: Why are we tracking Mom's flight like she's twelve?

Bella: Because Dad has probably checked it 46 times.

 Solomon frowned.

 He had checked it six.

 Possibly seven.

 A new message appeared.

Sven: Dad, did you put gas in Mom's car?

 Solomon stared at the screen.

 He typed.

Dad: Why would I need to put gas in your mother's car?

 Three dots appeared immediately.

Sven: Because she asked you before she left.

 Solomon stopped breathing.

 Another message.

Magnus:  😂😂😂 

 Then Bella.

Bella: HE FORGOT.

 Then Ingrid.

Ingrid: Daddy.

 Then Karl.

Karl: Amateur move.

 Solomon typed with one finger.

Dad: I have been married longer than any of you have been alive. Mind your business.

Karl: You have been married longer than I've been alive by eleven months.

 Solomon stared.

 Jerome was watching him in the mirror.

 “Children?”

 “Unfortunately.”

 “Thought they all moved out.”

 “They moved out of my house. Apparently they remain in my telephone.”

 That got another laugh.

 But Solomon smiled as he put the phone away.

 All six.

 Karl. Ingrid. Bjorn. Bella. Sven. Magnus.

 His and Nadine's noisy, expensive, beautiful life's work.

 The youngest two had been gone for two months.

 Two months.

 Solomon was still learning the silence.

 Nadine was having a harder time.

 He had found her standing in Sven's room three nights before her business trip, holding a sweatshirt that boy had left behind.

 She hadn't been crying.

 That somehow made it worse.

 “Do you think they'll ever need me again?” she'd asked.

 Solomon had walked across the room and pulled his wife against his chest.

 He hadn't told her not to be silly.

 He hadn't reminded her that Karl called three times a week, Ingrid still wanted her mother's opinion before making major decisions, Bjorn routinely appeared on video calls holding two-year-old Knoll like an offering, Bella telephoned whenever life annoyed her, and Sven and Magnus seemed physically incapable of locating important documents without maternal intervention.

 Need changed.

 That was the trouble.

 For thirty-four years, somebody had been shouting “Mom” from somewhere inside their house.

 Now nobody did.

 Solomon missed it too.

 But beneath the missing was something he had almost felt guilty admitting.

 He liked being alone with his wife.

 There.

 He said it.

 At least inside his own head.

 He liked walking downstairs Saturday morning and finding nobody sprawled across the kitchen.

 He liked coming home and discovering the food he had put in the refrigerator was still there.

 He liked that nobody needed a vehicle.

 Nobody had practice.

 Nobody had friends over.

 Nobody appeared at their bedroom door at eleven-thirty at night asking a question that absolutely could have waited until morning.

 And when Nadine walked from their bathroom wearing one of her soft nightgowns, Solomon no longer had to wonder whether a child was about to materialize in the hallway.

 He was enjoying the empty nest.

 He simply needed Nadine to come home so he could enjoy it properly.

 “You smiling again,” Jerome said.

 “Cut my hair.”

 “I am cutting your hair.”

 “Then concentrate.”

 Jerome laughed.

 Forty minutes later, Solomon stood outside the barbershop in the sharp Wisconsin afternoon and rubbed one hand over his freshly trimmed beard.

 Good.

 He looked good.

 Not young.

 Good.

 There was a difference, and at fifty-seven Solomon had finally learned to appreciate it.

 His body had changed too.

 The shoulders remained broad. His arms still carried some of the strength earned during the years when he worked beside men he now employed. But his waist had thickened, and there was a comfortable belly above his belt that had resisted every January promise he'd made about getting rid of it.

 Nadine liked it.

 That woman would put her hand on his stomach when they were lying in bed as though it had been placed there specifically for her convenience.

 His knees were another matter.

 The left one was already complaining about the cold.

 Tonight Nadine would notice.

 She always noticed.

 She'd get that ointment from her bedside drawer, sit beside him and rub it into his knee while fussing that he needed to stop walking construction sites in Wisconsin weather as though he were still twenty-five.

 And Solomon would let her fuss.

 He had missed being fussed at.

 He had even missed hearing her complain about his socks.

 Not enough to start picking them up, apparently.

 But he had missed it.

 His phone rang.

 This time it was not one of the children.

 He looked at the screen.

Nadine.

 His entire face changed.

 “Hello, beautiful.”

 Her laugh crossed thousands of miles and landed directly in his chest.

 “Hello yourself.”

 “Where are you?”

 “Chicago.”

 Solomon straightened. “Chicago?”

 “My connection came in early.”

 “How early?”

 “Early enough that you might want to stop pretending you haven't been tracking my flight.”

 He looked around as though someone might have reported him.

 “I haven't been tracking your flight.”

 “Solomon Matthias Dumstrey.”

 Lord, he loved when she said his entire name.

 “What?”

 “I know you.”

 “You've been away too long. Your memory is unreliable.”

 “Mm-hmm.”

 He heard airport noise behind her.

 Then she said, softer, “I missed you.”

 The teasing left him.

 “I missed you too, baby.”

 There was a small silence.

 Thirty-five years married, and there were still silences between them that didn't need filling.

 “I'll be home tonight,” she said.

 “I know.”

 “Did you remember to put gas in my car?”

 Solomon closed his eyes.

 From somewhere inside the barbershop, Jerome saw him through the window and started laughing.

 “I am handling it.”

 “You forgot.”

 “I said I'm handling it.”

 Nadine laughed.

 God, he had missed that sound.

 “Go put gas in my car, Solomon.”

 “Yes, ma'am.”

 “And don't cook.”

 His eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

 “Last time you cooked while I was away, you sent Bella a picture and she called me in Spain to ask whether you were safe.”

 “That was one incident.”

 “You burned water.”

 “You cannot burn water.”

 “Apparently you can.”

 “Nadine.”

 “Solomon.”

 He smiled into the cold.

 “I love you.”

 Her voice changed.

 “I love you too.”

 Then, because she had known him since he was fifteen:

 “And what are you up to?”

 His smile widened.

 “Nothing.”

 “That sounded like something.”

 “Come home and find out.”

 Silence.

 Different silence.

 Solomon waited.

 When Nadine spoke again, her voice had dropped just enough to send a slow warmth through the center of him.

 “Solomon.”

 “What?”

 “Go put gas in my car.”

 She hung up.

 Solomon stood on the sidewalk staring at his telephone.

 Then he laughed.

 Fifteen years old all over again.

 No.

 Better.

 Fifty-seven.

 Thirty-five years of marriage.

 Six children.

 Three grandchildren.

 A bad left knee.

 A little too much stomach.

 Silver at his temples.

 And Nadine Elise Burow Dumstrey was coming home tonight.

 Solomon headed for his car.

 He had gas to buy.

 Flowers to pick up.

 Shoes and socks to get off a bathroom floor.

 And absolutely no intention of behaving his age.

Chapter Two — Home

Nadine Elise Dumstrey knew her husband was up to something before she reached baggage claim.

 Thirty-five years of marriage had taught her the different versions of Solomon Matthias Dumstrey’s voice, and the one she'd heard on the telephone from Chicago belonged to a man with plans.

 Not construction plans.

 She smiled to herself.

 Those she understood.

 Solomon could stand in front of drawings for a forty-story structure and discuss foundations, steel loads, budgets, permits, subcontractors, schedules, safety requirements, and things Nadine had stopped pretending to understand sometime around 1996.

 But when that man said, Come home and find out, in that particular voice?

 Nadine understood perfectly.

 She pulled her carry-on behind her through Milwaukee Mitchell International Airport and adjusted the camel-colored wool coat over her arm.

 She was tired.

 Not delicately tired.

 Not the sort of tired cured by a cup of tea and ten minutes with her feet elevated.

 She was fifty-seven-year-old, transatlantic-flight, airport-food, somebody's-child-kicked-the-back-of-her-seat, menopause-decided-sleep-was-optional tired.

 And she wanted her own bed.

 Her own shower.

 Her own pillow.

 Her own bathroom.

 Her own night cream.

 And Solomon.

 Especially Solomon.

 Her phone buzzed.

 She looked.

Family Circus

 Nadine stopped walking.

 She had changed the name of their family group chat three years ago after forty-seven messages arrived while she was attempting to conduct a meeting.

 She opened it.

Bella: MOM LANDED.

 Nadine frowned.

Nadine: How do you know?

Bella: I have sources.

Ingrid: She means Dad.

Karl: Welcome home, Mom.

Bjorn: Welcome home!

 A photograph appeared.

 Knoll.

 Her two-year-old grandson was sitting at a kitchen table with something orange covering most of his face.

 Nadine enlarged the picture.

Nadine: What is on my grandbaby?

Bjorn: Spaghetti.

Nadine: Why is spaghetti in his eyebrows?

Lisa: Your son was supervising dinner.

 Nadine laughed aloud.

Bjorn: Betrayal in my own home.

 Another message arrived.

Karl: Liam says hi. Astrid wants to know what you brought her.

Nadine: Tell my beautiful babies Grandma brought hugs.

 Three dots.

Karl: Astrid says hugs are not from Spain.

 Nadine laughed harder.

 That child.

Nadine: Tell Astrid Grandma has something in her suitcase.

Karl: Suddenly you are her favorite person again.

 Then came Sven.

Sven: MOM

 Nadine stopped.

 There it was.

 One word.

 Four capital letters.

 Her heart reacted before her mind could tell it not to.

Nadine: Yes, baby?

Sven: Where is my birth certificate?

 Nadine closed her eyes.

 Of course.

 She had been home in Wisconsin approximately nine minutes.

Nadine: Fireproof cabinet in Dad's office. Second drawer. Blue folder marked SVEN.

Sven: You're the best.

 Then:

Sven: Love you Mom.

 Her throat tightened.

 Ridiculous.

 Absolutely ridiculous.

 She was standing in an airport getting emotional because an eighteen-year-old boy couldn't locate his birth certificate.

 Nadine blinked quickly.

Nadine: Love you too.

 Magnus appeared next.

Magnus: Since everybody's here...

Bella: Oh no.

Magnus: I got the preliminary information about Italy.

 Nadine stopped walking completely.

 People moved around her.

 Suitcases rolled past.

 Announcements echoed overhead.

 Italy.

 She had known it was coming.

 Magnus had talked about the exchange program for months. It fit his major. It was an extraordinary opportunity. Nadine had encouraged him to apply.

 She had meant every word.

 Apparently she had not considered the possibility that the university might have the audacity to accept him.

Nadine: That's wonderful, sweetheart.

 She stared at the message before sending it.

 Then she added:

Nadine: I am so proud of you.

 She sent that too.

 Because she was.

 Both things could be true.

 She could be proud of the wings and hate the distance they created.

 Nadine tucked her phone into her handbag and resumed walking.

 For eighteen years, Sven and Magnus had occupied enormous amounts of physical space.

 Shoes.

 Backpacks.

 Sports equipment.

 Friends.

 Food.

 Noise.

 Arguments.

 Music.

 Laundry.

 Requests for money.

 Requests for rides.

 Requests for food while standing directly in front of a refrigerator containing food.

 Mom.

 Mom?

 Mom!

 MOM!

 Then August came.

 Two dormitories.

 Two campuses.

 Two goodbyes.

 Two empty bedrooms.

 And silence.

 She had raised four children into adulthood before Sven and Magnus left. She should have been an expert.

 She wasn't.

 Karl had left first, but Ingrid was still home.

 Then Ingrid left, but Bjorn and Bella were there.

 Then the first twins left, and the younger twins were still boys.

 There had always been another child at the breakfast table.

 This time there wasn't.

 “You raised them to leave.”

 Nadine murmured the reminder beneath her breath.

 It didn't help.

 Her phone buzzed again.

 She expected another child.

 It was her husband.

Solomon: Where are you?

 Nadine looked around.

Nadine: Walking to baggage claim.

 His response came immediately.

Solomon: Stop walking.

 She frowned.

Nadine: Why?

Solomon: Because I said so.

 Nadine's eyebrows went up.

 Oh.

 Really?

Nadine: You have been away from me too long if you have forgotten who you married.

 Nothing.

 Nadine smiled.

 She resumed walking deliberately.

 Thirty seconds later:

Solomon: Nadine.

 She ignored him.

Solomon: Woman.

 She laughed.

 Then she heard him.

 “Nadine.”

 She stopped.

 There were hundreds of people in the airport.

 She knew his voice anyway.

 Nadine turned.

 And there he was.

 Solomon stood perhaps twenty feet away in a dark wool overcoat, one hand tucked into the pocket and the other holding flowers.

 Not roses.

 Thank goodness.

 Solomon knew better.

 Deep burgundy dahlias, cream ranunculus, eucalyptus and something soft and green she couldn't identify.

 But Nadine barely looked at the flowers.

 She looked at him.

 Fresh haircut.

 Beard trimmed.

 Silver untouched.

 Her eyes narrowed.

 Solomon's mouth moved.

 Just slightly.

 That arrogant little almost-smile.

 Nadine slowly looked him over.

 He had dressed.

 Not merely put on clothes.

 Dressed.

 Dark trousers. Beautiful shoes. A soft sweater beneath his overcoat. The watch she'd given him for their thirtieth anniversary.

 And that haircut.

 Nadine began walking toward him.

 Solomon stayed exactly where he was.

 His eyes moved over her with an intimacy that had nothing to do with exposed skin.

 Nadine had traveled comfortably. Black trousers. Low boots. A cream knit top beneath a long cardigan. Her silver-and-brunette hair was twisted loosely at the nape of her neck, and after hours of travel she suspected half of it had escaped.

 Her face was bare except for moisturizer, lip balm and whatever mascara had survived the Atlantic Ocean.

 She had never felt more observed.

 When she reached him, she stopped.

 “Hello.”

 “Hello.”

 Her eyes went to his hair.

 Then his beard.

 Then back to his eyes.

 “You got a haircut.”

 “Needed one.”

 Nadine stared.

 Solomon tried to hold the expression.

 He failed first.

 She smiled.

 “You went to Jerome.”

 “I always go to Jerome.”

 “Mm-hmm.”

 “What?”

 “Nothing.”

 “That's my line.”

 “I know.”

 He handed her the flowers.

 Nadine took them, but before she could smell them, Solomon reached for her.

 There was nothing dramatic about the embrace.

 That was what nearly undid her.

 His arms simply came around her, familiar and solid, and Nadine went into them as though her body had been waiting two weeks to finish an interrupted movement.

 She pressed her face against his chest.

 His coat was cold.

 He was warm beneath it.

 And there it was.

 His aftershave.

 She closed her eyes.

 Home.

 Solomon's hand moved slowly over her back.

 “You alright?”

 Nadine nodded against him.

 “I'm tired.”

 “I know.”

 “I smell like an airplane.”

 “You smell like Nadine.”

 “I absolutely do not.”

 “You do to me.”

 She pulled back enough to look at him.

 There were more lines beside his eyes than when they were young.

 She loved those too.

 Her fingers moved to his temple.

 “You left the silver.”

 “You like it.”

 “I do.”

 “I know.”

 “There he is.”

 “Who?”

 “The man I married. I was wondering when the modesty would disappear.”

 “I've never misrepresented myself.”

 Nadine laughed.

 Solomon looked at her mouth.

 She saw it happen.

 After thirty-five years, she knew that look too.

 His hand moved to the back of her neck.

 “Solomon.”

 “What?”

 “We are in an airport.”

 “I know where we are.”

 “People are looking.”

 “I don't know those people.”

 Then he kissed her.

 Not indecently.

 Not yet.

 But not like a man greeting someone he'd merely missed either.

 His mouth settled over hers with slow, warm certainty, and Nadine's fingers tightened around the front of his coat.

 Goodness.

 Two weeks.

 It had only been two weeks.

 Apparently two weeks was plenty.

 When Solomon lifted his head, Nadine looked at him.

 “Fresh haircut.”

 He said nothing.

 “Beard.”

 Silence.

 “Anniversary watch.”

 “Nadine.”

 “You dressed up.”

 “I put on clothes.”

 “You coordinated.”

 “I always coordinate.”

 “You wore two different black socks to Karl's birthday dinner.”

 “They were both black.”

 “One was navy.”

 “That remains unproven.”

 She laughed.

 Then she leaned closer.

 “You got handsome for me.”

 Solomon looked down at his wife.

 Something changed in his face.

 “Yes.”

 The answer was so simple that Nadine's teasing disappeared.

 “Yes,” he repeated. “I did.”

 Her heart gave a ridiculous little thump.

 “You've been my husband for thirty-five years.”

 “I know.”

 “You don't have to impress me.”

 “I know.”

 “Then why?”

 His thumb brushed the side of her neck.

 “Because my girl was coming home.”

 Nadine looked away.

 “Don't.”

 “Don't what?”

 “Make me cry in baggage claim.”

 “I didn't say anything.”

 “You know what you said.”

 “I said my girl was coming home.”

 “Exactly.”

 Solomon kissed her forehead.

 “Come on. Let's get your luggage.”

 He took her carry-on.

 Nadine followed him.

 Then she noticed.

 “Solomon.”

 “What?”

 “You're limping.”

 “I am not.”

 “Your left knee?”

 “My knee is fine.”

 “It's cold.”

 “I live in Wisconsin. I'm aware.”

 “You were outside at a site this week, weren't you?”

 He kept walking.

 “Solomon.”

 “I have employees.”

 “That was not my question.”

 “I supervise those employees.”

 “From inside.”

 “Buildings are generally constructed outside, Nadine.”

 She stopped.

 Solomon took three more steps before realizing she wasn't beside him.

 He turned.

 Nadine pointed at him.

 “Tonight. Ointment.”

 His expression became suspiciously agreeable.

 “All right.”

 She narrowed her eyes.

 “You agreed too quickly.”

 “My knee hurts.”

 “You just said it was fine.”

 “A man can reassess his medical condition.”

 Nadine stared at him.

 Solomon smiled.

 She started walking again.

 “Fresh haircut has made you foolish.”

 He caught up.

 “You like the haircut.”

 “I do.”

 “You like the beard.”

 “I do.”

 “You like the coat.”

 “It's a nice coat.”

 “You like me.”

 Nadine looked sideways at him.

 “Occasionally.”

 He put his hand at the small of her back.

 She smiled.

 By the time they reached Mequon, night had settled over Wisconsin.

 Nadine watched familiar streets pass outside the passenger window.

 She had talked almost the entire drive.

 Spain.

 The salon.

 A manager who was brilliant with people and terrible with inventory.

 A stylist Nadine wanted to promote.

 A lease issue.

 A new service she was considering.

 Solomon listened.

 He always listened when she talked business.

 Not indulgently.

 Seriously.

 He asked questions.

 Sometimes annoying ones.

 Good ones.

 They had built their businesses side by side, neither one treating the other's work like a hobby.

 When Nadine had been an apprentice washing hair and sweeping floors, Solomon had listened to her describe the salon she would own one day.

 When Solomon was working for his uncle in Houston and writing home about structures he wanted to build, Nadine had believed him before there was evidence anyone else should.

 They had been ambitious together before ambition produced anything impressive.

 Nadine turned toward him.

 “What?”

 Solomon glanced at her. “What, what?”

 “You're quiet.”

 “I'm driving.”

 “You've driven and talked before.”

 “I like listening to you.”

 She rested her head against the seat.

 “Did you miss me?”

 He looked over.

 “Don't ask stupid questions.”

 She smiled.

 “Did you?”

 “Nadine.”

 “I want to hear it.”

 Solomon reached across the console and took her hand.

 “I missed you.”

 She threaded her fingers through his.

 “I missed you too.”

 They drove that way for several minutes.

 Then Nadine sighed.

 “Magnus might go to Italy.”

 “I saw.”

 “He'll be so far away.”

 “He's already far away.”

 “That's not helpful.”

 “Sorry.”

 She looked out the window.

 “I told him I was proud.”

 “You are.”

 “I am.”

 “You can be proud and hate it.”

 Nadine turned back.

 Solomon squeezed her hand.

 “I hate it too.”

 “You do?”

 “Of course I do. That's my boy.”

 She studied him.

 “You seem so happy they're gone.”

 Solomon's eyebrows rose.

 “I am happy they're gone.”

 Nadine smacked his arm.

 He laughed.

 “You know what I mean.”

 “No, I don't.”

 “Yes, you do. I miss them. I don't want them back.”

 That surprised a laugh out of her.

 “I love all six of our children,” Solomon continued. “I would walk through fire for every one of them. I will also personally drive any one of them back to his or her own residence if they attempt to permanently move into our home.”

 “Solomon!”

 “We did our job.”

 “They're our children.”

 “They are grown people.”

 “The twins are eighteen.”

 “They can vote.”

 “They still need us.”

 “They're supposed to need us differently.”

 That quieted her.

 Solomon brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

 “And now,” he said, “I get you back.”

 Nadine's eyes moved toward him.

 “You never lost me.”

 “No. But I shared you.”

 Her chest tightened.

 “With Karl first. Then Ingrid. Then Bjorn and Bella. Then God apparently decided we were too rested and sent Sven and Magnus.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “For thirty-four years,” Solomon continued, “somebody needed something from you before I could finish asking what you wanted.”

 She looked at him.

 “I liked being needed.”

 “I know.”

 “I still do.”

 “I know that too.”

 His thumb moved over her hand.

 “But maybe now you get to want something before somebody needs something.”

 Nadine didn't answer.

 She wasn't sure she knew how.

 They turned onto their street.

 Their house appeared ahead, warmly lit against the cold Wisconsin night.

 Nadine felt the familiar ache of seeing it without cars crowding the driveway.

 Then Solomon pulled into the garage.

 He turned off the engine.

 Neither moved.

 Nadine looked toward the door leading into the house.

 “It's going to be quiet.”

 “Yes.”

 “I don't know if I like quiet.”

 Solomon unfastened his seat belt.

 “I have plans for that.”

 Nadine slowly turned her head.

 There it was again.

 That voice.

 “Solomon.”

 He got out of the car.

 Nadine laughed beneath her breath.

 “Lord, help me.”

 He opened her door.

 She took his hand.

 Inside, the house smelled faintly of cedar, clean linen and—

 Nadine stopped.

 She looked toward the kitchen.

 “You didn't cook?”

 “No.”

 “Good.”

 “I ordered dinner.”

 “From where?”

 “Your favorite.”

 She turned.

 Solomon was removing her coat.

 His hands lingered at her shoulders.

 Nadine noticed.

 She also noticed the flowers already arranged on the dining table.

 Candles.

 Not lit yet.

 Wine chilling.

 Two place settings.

 No television.

 No laptop.

 No construction drawings.

 No children.

 Her eyes went back to him.

 “You planned dinner.”

 “Yes.”

 “You cleaned.”

 “I employ people.”

 “You cheated.”

 “I delegated.”

 Nadine laughed.

 Then she looked down the hallway.

 Her eyes narrowed.

 “Did you pick up your shoes?”

 Solomon became very still.

 “Solomon.”

 “I believe so.”

 “You believe so?”

 “I was under considerable time pressure.”

 Nadine handed him the flowers.

 She walked toward their bedroom.

 “Nadine.”

 She kept going.

 “Nadine, you've been traveling all day.”

 She reached the bathroom.

 Stopped.

 Looked down.

 One shoe.

 One sock.

 Right in the middle of the floor.

 Nadine closed her eyes.

 Thirty-five years.

 Behind her, Solomon said carefully, “I can explain.”

 She turned.

 This man built hospitals.

 Towers.

 Commercial complexes.

 Structures requiring hundreds of workers and millions upon millions of dollars.

 He could coordinate engineers, architects, contractors, inspectors and government agencies across ten states.

 A sock had defeated him.

 Nadine pointed.

 “Pick it up.”

 Solomon picked it up.

 “The shoe too.”

 He picked up the shoe.

 She folded her arms.

 He put both away.

 “Anything else?”

 “Yes.”

 “What?”

 “Come here.”

 He did.

 Nadine reached up and ran both hands over the sides of his freshly cut hair.

 Solomon's expression changed.

 “Very nice.”

 “You've mentioned that.”

 “I hadn't inspected it properly.”

 Her fingers moved into the silver at his temples.

 His hands settled around her waist.

 Nadine felt his thumbs against the softness at her sides.

 Her body had not returned to what it had been before six children.

 It had never been required to.

 There were pale stretch marks low across her abdomen, more along her hips and thighs, others curving onto her buttocks—maps left behind by pregnancies, weight, years and living.

 Solomon knew each one.

 Some he remembered appearing.

 Some he had kissed for decades.

 Nadine had stopped thinking of them as flaws so long ago she couldn't remember when.

 Solomon certainly didn't treat them as such.

 His hands tightened slightly.

 She looked into his eyes.

 “You really did all this because I was coming home?”

 “Yes.”

 “After thirty-five years?”

 “Especially after thirty-five years.”

 Her smile softened.

 “You're sweet.”

 “Don't tell anybody.”

 “I'll put it in the family chat.”

 “I'll divorce you.”

 “No, you won't.”

 “No,” he admitted. “I won't.”

 Nadine kissed him.

 This time she started it.

 She had intended something soft.

 A thank-you.

 A welcome home.

 Instead, Solomon made a low sound against her mouth and pulled her closer.

 Nadine felt his belly against hers.

 Warm.

 Solid.

 Familiar.

 She slid one hand down his chest and rested it there.

 Solomon broke the kiss just enough to breathe.

 “Dinner.”

 “Later.”

 His eyebrows rose.

 Nadine smiled.

 “I've been on airplanes all day. I need a shower.”

 “Oh.”

 The disappointment was immediate.

 She laughed.

 “Don't pout.”

 “I'm not pouting.”

 “You're fifty-seven years old.”

 “And?”

 “And you are standing in our bathroom pouting because your wife wants to bathe.”

 “I support hygiene.”

 “How generous.”

 Nadine stepped away.

 She reached for the zipper of her suitcase.

 Then paused.

 She looked over her shoulder.

 Solomon was still standing there.

 Watching.

 “Do you need something?”

 “No.”

 “Then why are you still here?”

 “I live here.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “Go light your candles, Romeo.”

 His eyes narrowed pleasantly.

 “You called me Romeo.”

 “Go.”

 He went.

 Eventually.

 Nadine closed the bathroom door and leaned against it.

 She smiled.

 Then she looked at herself in the mirror.

 Silver and brunette hair escaping everywhere.

 Tired eyes.

 Dry airplane skin.

 A hot flash threatening at the base of her neck.

 She began laughing.

 So much for the glamorous international businesswoman returning from Europe.

 Nadine pulled the pins from her hair.

 Silver-streaked waves fell around her shoulders.

 She looked at herself again.

 Fifty-seven.

 She liked the woman looking back.

 Not every day.

 But most days.

 She liked what the face knew.

 She liked the silver.

 She liked that her hands had built something.

 She even liked the body beneath her clothes—the softer waist, full thighs, stretch marks and all.

 It had carried four pregnancies.

 Six children.

 It had been held by the same man for thirty-five years.

 It was hers.

 And apparently, judging by the way Solomon had been looking at her, it was still causing trouble.

 Nadine turned on the shower.

 Twenty minutes later, Solomon was lighting the dining room candles when he smelled it.

 Sandalwood.

 Rose petals.

 He stopped.

 Twenty-two years.

 Nadine had used the same shampoo for twenty-two years.

 He knew that scent better than some people's faces.

 He turned.

 His wife stood at the end of the hallway.

 She had changed into soft trousers and a loose, plum-colored sweater. Her damp hair fell around her shoulders, silver running beautifully through brunette.

 No makeup.

 No heels.

 No performance.

 Just Nadine.

 Solomon forgot about the candle in his hand.

 She noticed.

 “Are you going to set the house on fire?”

 He looked at the flame.

 “Oh.”

 Nadine laughed.

 Solomon blew it out.

 Then looked at her again.

 “What?”

 He shook his head.

 “Nothing.”

 “You've been saying ‘nothing’ since I landed.”

 “I like looking at you.”

 Her expression softened.

 “Even like this?”

 Solomon frowned.

 “Like what?”

 She gestured toward herself.

 “Travel-worn. No makeup. Hair doing whatever it wants.”

 He stared at her.

 “Nadine.”

 “What?”

 “Come here.”

 She did.

 Solomon put both hands around her waist.

 “I spent two years at Homestead trying to get enough courage to ask you out.”

 “I know.”

 “I spent four years in Houston waiting to come home and marry you.”

 “I know that too.”

 “I've watched you give me six children.”

 Her eyes warmed.

 “I've watched you build five salons from a dream you used to write me about on notebook paper.”

 Nadine swallowed.

 “I watched brunette turn silver.”

 His fingers touched one gleaming strand beside her face.

 “And I am telling you, Nadine Burow, after all these years, you are still one hell of a woman.”

 Her eyes filled.

 “Solomon.”

 “No crying.”

 “You started it.”

 “I was complimenting you.”

 “You should know better.”

 He kissed the corner of her eye.

 Nadine wrapped her arms around his middle and laid her head against him.

 For a moment they simply stood there.

 Then Solomon's stomach growled.

 Nadine lifted her head.

 They stared at each other.

 She burst out laughing.

 Solomon sighed.

 “Dinner.”

 “Yes, baby. Dinner.”

 He took her hand.

 They walked toward the table.

 The house was quiet.

 But for the first time since the twins had left, Nadine didn't hear the emptiness.

 She heard Solomon pulling out her chair.

 She heard glasses touching.

 She heard her husband's laugh.

 And somewhere between the first bite of dinner and Solomon reaching beneath the table to put his hand on her knee, Nadine began to understand something.

 Maybe the children leaving had not closed the door on the most important part of her life.

 Maybe it had opened one.

 And judging from the look Solomon was giving her across that candlelit table, her husband fully intended to walk through it.

Chapter Three — The Letters

The first thing Nadine did the next morning was reach for Solomon.

 The second thing she did was realize he was not there.

 Her hand moved across warm sheets, found only the faint impression his body had left behind, and stopped.

 She opened one eye.

 “Solomon?”

 Nothing.

 The bedroom was quiet except for the low hum of the furnace.

 Morning light pressed softly through the curtains, pale and cold, and for several seconds Nadine remained exactly where she was, cocooned beneath the blankets.

 Her body felt pleasantly heavy.

 Her hair was somewhere between elegant silver-brunette waves and a complete collapse of professional standards.

 She did not care.

 She smiled into the pillow.

 Dinner had gone cold.

 That was all she was prepared to say about that.

 Nadine stretched one leg beneath the sheets and felt an answering ache in muscles she had not consulted before making certain decisions the night before.

 At fifty-seven, there were consequences.

 Apparently she was willing to live with them.

 She laughed quietly.

 Then she heard something downstairs.

 A cabinet door.

 Another one.

 A muffled curse.

 Nadine's smile disappeared.

 Oh no.

 She sat up.

 “Solomon!”

 Silence.

 Then:

 “I have it under control.”

 Nadine threw back the covers.

 That sentence had never once preceded anything she wanted to see.

 She reached for her robe.

 By the time she entered the kitchen, Solomon stood in front of the stove wearing gray sweatpants, a long-sleeved thermal shirt and an expression of deep concentration.

 There was flour on the counter.

 Eggshell in the sink.

 Something suspicious was happening in a skillet.

 Nadine stopped in the doorway.

 “No.”

 Solomon looked over his shoulder.

 “Good morning.”

 “No.”

 “Coffee's ready.”

 “Solomon.”

 “I am making breakfast.”

 “I can see that.”

 He turned back toward the stove.

 Nadine stared at him.

 His hair was still slightly mussed from sleep despite yesterday's fresh cut, and there was a softness to him in the morning that she rarely saw outside weekends and vacations.

 The thermal shirt stretched across his shoulders and rested comfortably over his stomach.

 His feet were bare.

 One sock lay beneath the kitchen table.

 Of course it did.

 Nadine walked over, picked it up and tossed it at him.

 The sock hit him between the shoulder blades.

 Solomon turned.

 “What was that for?”

 “You know.”

 He looked down at the sock.

 “Oh.”

 “Exactly.”

 He bent, picked it up, and put it on the counter.

 Nadine stared.

 “Why is it on the counter?”

 “Temporary holding area.”

 “It is a kitchen.”

 “Also a horizontal surface.”

 “Take it upstairs.”

 “I am cooking.”

 “You are committing something near food.”

 Solomon looked offended.

 “You loved dinner.”

 “You ordered dinner.”

 “Still my decision.”

 Nadine poured herself coffee.

 She watched him over the rim of the mug.

 He was humming.

 That concerned her almost as much as the skillet.

 “What are you making?”

 “French toast.”

 Nadine slowly lowered her cup.

 “With what?”

 “Bread.”

 “I understand the general concept.”

 “Then why are you interrogating me?”

 “Because the last time you made French toast, Karl was eleven and the smoke detector filed for divorce.”

 “That was an equipment failure.”

 “That was cinnamon on fire.”

 Solomon pointed the spatula at her.

 “You are being negative.”

 “I am being alive.”

 He turned back to the skillet.

 Nadine laughed and walked behind him.

 She put her arms around his waist.

 Solomon stilled.

 Her cheek rested between his shoulder blades.

 “Good morning,” she said.

 His free hand covered hers.

 “Good morning.”

 They remained like that.

 Warm kitchen.

 Coffee.

 Winter light.

 A skillet possibly in danger.

 Nadine pressed a kiss between his shoulders.

 Solomon turned his head slightly.

 “You keep doing that and breakfast is going to burn.”

 “That would imply it hasn't already.”

 He laughed.

 She held him a moment longer.

 Then she felt it.

 His left knee shifted.

 A small stiffness.

 Nadine stepped back.

 “It hurts.”

 “No.”

 “Solomon.”

 “Not much.”

 “You were limping yesterday.”

 “I was walking.”

 “You were limping while walking.”

 He sighed.

 “Cold bothers it.”

 “I know.”

 She looked toward the clock.

 “You have anywhere to be this morning?”

 “No.”

 “Good.”

 “Why?”

 “Because after breakfast, you're sitting down and I'm putting ointment on it.”

 Solomon looked pleased.

 Nadine narrowed her eyes.

 “Don't look like that.”

 “Like what?”

 “Like you've just won something.”

 “I enjoy being cared for.”

 “You enjoy being spoiled.”

 “Same family.”

 Nadine shook her head.

 The front door opened.

 Both of them froze.

 Footsteps.

 Then a child's voice.

 “Grandma!”

 Nadine's entire face transformed.

 “Liam?”

 She was halfway across the kitchen before Karl appeared in the doorway carrying a bakery box, with ten-year-old Liam behind him and Astrid bouncing at his side.

 “Surprise.”

 “Grandma!”

 Astrid launched herself forward.

 Nadine dropped into a crouch and caught her.

 “Oh, my baby!”

 Astrid wrapped both arms around her neck.

 “You're back!”

 “I am.”

 “Did you bring my thing?”

 Karl closed his eyes.

 “Astrid.”

 “What? She said there was something in her suitcase.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “Good morning to you too.”

 Astrid kissed her cheek.

 “Good morning. Did you?”

 “Yes.”

 Astrid cheered.

 Liam approached with considerably more dignity.

 Nadine opened one arm.

 He walked into it immediately.

 “My handsome boy.”

 “Hi, Grandma.”

 She kissed the top of his head.

 “You got taller.”

 “I did not.”

 “You did.”

 “Mom measured me last week.”

 “Grandmothers have better measuring systems.”

 Liam smiled.

 Solomon stood by the stove watching his wife.

 There it was.

 The thing he had been thinking about since the boys left.

 Nadine did not become less of a mother because the house was empty.

 She did not become less needed.

 The shape of it was simply changing.

 Karl handed Solomon the bakery box.

 “I brought backup.”

 Solomon looked inside.

 Pastries.

 “Traitor.”

 “I smelled something from the driveway.”

 Nadine laughed.

 Karl hugged her.

 “Welcome home, Mom.”

 She held him tightly.

 Her oldest.

 Thirty-four years old, married, a father himself, and still somehow the baby who had taught her how terrifying motherhood could be.

 “You look tired,” Karl said.

 Nadine pulled back.

 “Thank you very much.”

 “I meant from traveling.”

 “Better.”

 Karl glanced at his father.

 Then at his mother.

 Then back at his father.

 His eyes narrowed slightly.

 Solomon raised one eyebrow.

 Karl's mouth twitched.

 Nadine saw the exchange.

 “What?”

 “Nothing.”

 “Why are all the men in this family suddenly saying nothing?”

 “Genetics,” Karl said.

 Nadine looked at him.

 Karl reached into the bakery box.

 “Croissant?”

 Within ten minutes the kitchen was full.

 Astrid was telling Nadine an extremely complicated story involving school, a missing purple marker and a girl named Elise who apparently had committed an unforgivable social crime.

 Liam was showing Solomon something on a tablet.

 Karl was standing at the counter drinking coffee.

 Solomon's French toast had been quietly abandoned.

 Nadine sat with Astrid tucked against her side.

 And the house did not feel empty.

 Not even a little.

 Her phone buzzed.

Ingrid Calling

 Nadine answered.

 “Good morning.”

 “Put me on video.”

 “Why?”

 “Because Karl said he was at your house and I want to see you.”

 Nadine switched to video.

 Ingrid's face appeared.

 “Mom!”

 Nadine smiled.

 “Hi, baby.”

 “You look good.”

 Karl leaned into view.

 “She just got out of bed.”

 Nadine slapped his arm.

 Ingrid's eyes widened.

 Then slowly narrowed.

 “Oh.”

 Nadine stared at her.

 “What does ‘oh’ mean?”

 Karl started laughing.

 Solomon turned away from the stove.

 “Ingrid Liv.”

 “What? I didn't say anything.”

 “You were about to.”

 “No, I wasn't.”

 Voyce's voice came from somewhere off-screen.

 “Yes, you were.”

 Ingrid turned.

 “Stay out of this.”

 Voyce appeared briefly behind her, lifted one hand in greeting and said, “Morning, Mr. and Mrs. Dumstrey.”

 “Morning, Voyce,” Nadine said.

 Solomon nodded.

 Ingrid looked back at her mother.

 “I called to say welcome home.”

 “That is very sweet.”

 “And to tell you Dad texted all of us yesterday telling us not to come over last night.”

 Nadine's head turned slowly.

 Solomon became fascinated by the coffee machine.

 “He did what?”

 Karl covered his mouth.

 Ingrid was delighted.

 “He said, and I quote, ‘Your mother is coming home. Give us one evening.’”

 Nadine looked at Solomon.

 He kept his back turned.

 “Solomon Matthias Dumstrey.”

 Karl coughed into his fist.

 Liam looked up.

 “Why did Grandpa need one evening?”

 Silence.

 Absolute silence.

 Karl nearly choked.

 Ingrid disappeared from the video screen, laughing.

 Astrid looked between the adults.

 “Was Grandma tired?”

 “Yes,” Solomon said immediately.

 “Your grandmother was very tired.”

 Nadine pressed her lips together.

 Karl grabbed the bakery box.

 “Children, who wants pastries in the dining room?”

 “I do!”

 “Me too.”

 He ushered them out with the speed of a man preserving civilization.

 Ingrid returned to the screen wiping her eyes.

 “You are terrible,” Nadine said.

 “I love you.”

 “Goodbye, Ingrid.”

 “Mom—”

 Nadine hung up.

 She turned toward Solomon.

 He was smiling.

 “You sent that message?”

 “Yes.”

 “To all six?”

 “Yes.”

 “Why?”

 “I wanted my wife.”

 Nadine folded her arms.

 He walked toward her.

 “You embarrassed me.”

 “They are grown.”

 “They are still our children.”

 “They know we're married.”

 “That is not the same thing.”

 Solomon's hands came to her waist.

 Nadine tried not to smile.

 Failed.

 “You are impossible.”

 “You married me.”

 “I was twenty-two.”

 “You had four years to reconsider.”

 She laughed.

 Karl returned to the kitchen.

 “I am deeply regretting coming back in here.”

 Nadine pushed Solomon away.

 “Your father has no shame.”

 Karl poured more coffee.

 “I've known that since middle school.”

 Solomon stared at his son.

 “Be careful.”

 Karl smiled.

 “No disrespect, Dad.”

 “Plenty detected.”

 The kitchen filled with laughter again.

 Later, after Karl took Liam and Astrid home, after Nadine distributed the gifts from Spain and promised Astrid another visit soon, after Ingrid called back because apparently being hung up on had not discouraged her, and after Bjorn video-called with Lisa and Knoll, the house finally quieted.

 Nadine stood in the foyer looking at the closed front door.

 Solomon came behind her.

 “You alright?”

 She nodded.

 “Better.”

 He understood.

 Of course he did.

 Nadine turned.

 “Come sit down.”

 “Why?”

 “Your knee.”

 “Oh.”

 He tried not to look too pleased.

 She pointed toward the family room.

 “Go.”

 “Yes, ma'am.”

 Solomon sat on the sofa while Nadine went upstairs.

 She returned with the ointment and a small towel.

 He rolled his sweatpants carefully above the knee.

 Nadine sat beside him.

 Her fingers touched the joint.

 “Cold?”

 “Mostly.”

 “Swollen?”

 “A little.”

 “You need to listen to your body.”

 “My body talks too much.”

 Nadine opened the jar.

 “So does its owner.”

 Solomon smiled.

 She began working the ointment gently into his knee.

 Her hands were warm.

 He watched them.

 Same hands that had washed hair as an apprentice.

 Same hands that had held newborn babies.

 Same hands that signed contracts now.

 Same hands that still reached for him at night.

 “You know,” he said, “you don't have to do that.”

 “I know.”

 “Then why do you?”

 Nadine glanced up.

 “Because you're mine.”

 Solomon went still.

 She kept rubbing the ointment into his knee.

 “That sounded possessive.”

 “It was.”

 “I like it.”

 “I know.”

 He leaned back.

 For several minutes, neither spoke.

 Then Nadine noticed something beneath the side table.

 A corner of a cardboard box.

 “What's that?”

 Solomon followed her gaze.

 His expression changed.

 Nadine stopped rubbing.

 “What?”

 “Nothing.”

 “There it is again.”

 She bent and pulled the box out.

 It was old.

 Not dirty.

 Carefully kept.

 The cardboard had softened with age, and someone had reinforced the bottom with tape years earlier.

 On top, in Nadine's own handwriting, were two words.

SOLOMON — HOUSTON

 Her breath caught.

 “Oh my God.”

 Solomon said nothing.

 Nadine lifted the lid.

 Envelopes.

 Dozens.

 Bundles tied with faded ribbon.

 Postmarks.

 Stamps.

 Paper yellowed slightly at the edges.

 Her handwriting.

 His.

 She touched the top envelope.

 “How did this get down here?”

 “I brought it out.”

 “When?”

 “While you were gone.”

 “Why?”

 Solomon looked at her.

 “Couldn't sleep one night.”

 Nadine slowly lifted one of the bundles.

 The ribbon had once been burgundy.

 “Solomon.”

 “I know.”

 “You kept all of them?”

 He frowned.

 “Of course I kept them.”

 Her eyes filled.

 “All?”

 “I think so.”

 Nadine looked into the box.

 There had to be hundreds.

 She pulled out one envelope.

 Houston, Texas.

 1989.

 Her name written across the front in Solomon's younger handwriting.

Miss Nadine Elise Burow

 She smiled.

 “You always wrote my whole name.”

 “I liked your whole name.”

 “You still do.”

 “I still like you.”

 She gave him a look.

 “Romantic.”

 “I have range.”

 Nadine carefully opened the envelope.

 The paper inside had been folded three times.

 She unfolded it.

 His handwriting moved across the page in dark blue ink.

 Her throat tightened before she read a single word.

 Twenty-year-old Solomon.

 Somewhere in Houston.

 Probably exhausted.

 Probably sitting at a small table after work.

 Writing to her.

 Nadine read silently for a moment.

 Then laughed.

 “What?”

 “You complained about your uncle making you get up at five in the morning.”

 “He was unreasonable.”

 “You work at six now.”

 “I became unreasonable.”

 She kept reading.

 Her smile slowly softened.

 Solomon watched her.

 “What does it say?”

 “You don't remember?”

 “I wrote hundreds.”

 Nadine looked down again.

 She read the line twice.

 Then a third time.

 Solomon leaned closer.

 “Nadine?”

 She handed him the letter.

 He took it.

 Near the bottom of the page, twenty-year-old Solomon had written:

I keep thinking about coming home. Not Wisconsin. You. I think you're what home means to me now.

 Solomon stopped.

 He stared at the words.

 Nadine looked at him.

 “You wrote that at twenty.”

 “I was dramatic.”

 “You were in love.”

 “I still am.”

 Her face changed.

 Solomon folded the letter carefully.

 Nadine touched his cheek.

 “You really meant it?”

 He looked at her.

 “Then?”

 “Yes.”

 “Yes.”

 “And now?”

 Solomon's hand covered hers.

 “More.”

 Nadine leaned into him.

 He kissed her forehead.

 The box of letters sat open between them.

 Outside, Wisconsin winter pressed against the windows.

 Inside, thirty-five years of marriage sat quietly around them.

 Children.

 Grandchildren.

 Businesses.

 Arguments.

 Bills.

 Hospitals.

 Birthdays.

 Funerals.

 School plays.

 Airports.

 Hot flashes.

 Bad knees.

 Silver hair.

 A sock beneath the kitchen table.

 And beneath all of it, somehow, the same two people who had once waited for letters.

 Nadine rested her head against Solomon's shoulder.

 “Read me another one.”

 He reached into the box.

 “You sure?”

 “Yes.”

 He selected an envelope.

 Opened it.

 Then smiled.

 “Oh, this one is yours.”

 Nadine sat up.

 “Give me that.”

 Solomon moved it out of reach.

 “No.”

 “Solomon.”

 He began reading.

 “Dear Solomon—”

 “Give me my letter!”

 “You sent it to me.”

 “I was nineteen!”

 “You were apparently very affectionate at nineteen.”

 Nadine lunged for the page.

 Solomon laughed and held it higher.

 His knee protested.

 He winced.

 Nadine immediately stopped.

 “See?”

 “I am fine.”

 “You are not fine.”

 “You attacked an injured man.”

 “You were reading my private letter.”

 “You mailed it to me.”

 “Thirty-eight years ago!”

 “Still legally mine.”

 Nadine stared at him.

 Then she smiled.

 Slowly.

 Solomon recognized that smile.

 “What?”

 “Nothing.”

 He narrowed his eyes.

 “Nadine.”

 She stood.

 “Stay there.”

 “Why?”

 “Because your knee hurts.”

 “And?”

 “And I have ways of getting that letter back that don't require chasing you.”

 Solomon went very still.

 Nadine walked toward the stairs.

 Halfway there, she looked over her shoulder.

 Her silver-brunette hair fell over one shoulder.

 “Coming?”

 Solomon looked at the letter.

 Then at his wife.

 Then down at his knee.

 He stood carefully.

 “Suddenly feels much better.”

 Nadine laughed and continued upstairs.

 Solomon followed.

 The letter remained in his hand.

 For the moment.

Chapter Four — Sunday Table

Sunday at the Dumstrey house had never been quiet.

 Not even now.

 By eleven-thirty, Solomon had opened the front door seven times, Nadine had reheated coffee twice, Astrid had left one mitten in the foyer and one in the powder room, Liam had taken over half the family room with a school project, Karl was arguing with Bjorn over a football game, Ingrid had arrived carrying dessert and absolutely no intention of helping with lunch, and Bella had somehow entered the house, kissed both parents, stolen a piece of bread and disappeared upstairs without answering a single question.

 Nadine stood in the kitchen and smiled.

 This was what she had missed.

 Not merely the children.

 The occupation of space.

 The way family expanded into every room.

 Voices overlapping.

 Doors opening.

 Somebody laughing from another floor.

 A grandchild calling, “Grandma!”

 A grown child calling, “Mom!”

 And Solomon calling from six feet away as if she were in another state.

 “Nadine!”

 She turned.

 “What?”

 “Where's the carving knife?”

 She stared at him.

 “In the knife drawer.”

 “I looked.”

 “No, you opened the drawer.”

 “Same thing.”

 “It is absolutely not the same thing.”

 Solomon opened the drawer again.

 Nadine walked over, moved one utensil and lifted the carving knife.

 He looked at it.

 Then at her.

 “It was hiding.”

 “Of course.”

 From the island, Ingrid laughed.

 “Daddy, how do you run a company?”

 Solomon pointed the knife at his daughter.

 “Very successfully.”

 “Do you have people who find things for you?”

 “Yes.”

 “That explains a lot.”

 Voyce Craig Foxx leaned against the counter beside her and shook his head.

 “Leave your father alone.”

 “Thank you, Voyce.”

 Voyce looked at Solomon.

 “I wasn't defending you. I just don't want her starting on me.”

 The kitchen erupted.

 Nadine laughed so hard she had to put one hand on the counter.

 Solomon looked around his own house as though every person in it had betrayed him.

 “None of you respect me.”

 Karl walked in carrying a stack of plates.

 “I respect you, Dad.”

 Solomon nodded.

 “Thank you.”

 Karl continued, “Just not enough to lie.”

 Solomon closed his eyes.

 Nadine kissed his cheek.

 “There, there.”

 He looked at her.

 “You're enjoying this.”

 “Immensely.”

 His hand settled at the small of her back.

 Nadine felt the familiar warmth of it immediately.

 Then Astrid appeared.

 “Grandma, can I have juice?”

 “Yes, sweetheart.”

 “Can I pour it?”

 “No.”

 “Why?”

 “Because I love my floor.”

 Astrid considered that.

 “Can Grandpa pour it?”

 Nadine looked at Solomon.

 “No.”

 The room exploded again.

 Solomon stared at his wife.

 “You have gone too far.”

 “Your record with liquids is poor.”

 “I poured concrete for twenty-five years.”

 “That is not juice.”

 Astrid tugged Nadine's sleeve.

 “Grandma?”

 “Yes, baby.”

 “Are you and Grandpa fighting?”

 Nadine smiled.

 “No.”

 Astrid looked at Solomon.

 “Are you sure?”

 Solomon crouched slightly so they were closer to eye level.

 “Your grandmother has been teasing me since 1987.”

 Astrid's eyes widened.

 “That long?”

 “That long.”

 “Why do you let her?”

 Solomon looked at Nadine.

 His expression changed.

 Softened.

 “Because I like her.”

 Astrid smiled.

 Nadine's heart did something embarrassingly young.

 After all these years, that man could still do that with one sentence.

 Lunch stretched into the afternoon.

 Karl and Martha sat near the end of the long dining table with Liam and Astrid between them.

 Ingrid and Voyce occupied the opposite side.

 Bjorn and Lisa had driven in with Knoll, who spent most of the meal attempting to feed himself and missing his mouth by an impressive margin.

 Bella sat beside him and wiped sauce from his cheek every few minutes while insisting she was not good with children.

 “You're doing fine,” Lisa said.

 Bella looked horrified.

 “Do not say that too loudly.”

 Bjorn laughed.

 “Afraid somebody will assign you one?”

 “Yes.”

 Nadine heard it.

 She did not react.

 Bella's life was Bella's life.

 She had learned that lesson with six children.

 Love them.

 Guide them.

 Then get out of the way.

 At least try.

 The twins joined by video call from their separate universities.

 Sven appeared first, hair disheveled and apparently eating something directly from a takeout container.

 Nadine frowned.

 “What is that?”

 “Food.”

 “I know it is food. What kind?”

 Sven looked down.

 “I think noodles.”

 Nadine closed her eyes.

 “You think?”

 “Mom, they're noodles.”

 “Are there vegetables?”

 “Probably.”

 Solomon leaned toward the screen.

 “Your mother asked whether there are vegetables.”

 “Dad.”

 “Answer.”

 Sven sighed.

 “There are green things.”

 Nadine looked at Solomon.

 “Green things.”

 Solomon nodded solemnly.

 “Progress.”

 Magnus joined a minute later.

 He looked far too pleased with himself.

 Nadine knew that face.

 “What?”

 “Nothing.”

 “There it is again.”

 Magnus laughed.

 “I got the full information packet for Italy.”

 The table quieted.

 Nadine smiled immediately.

 “That is wonderful.”

 Magnus watched her closely.

 “Mom.”

 “What?”

 “You don't have to do that.”

 “Do what?”

 “Act like you aren't about to cry.”

 “I am not about to cry.”

 Ingrid looked at Karl.

 Karl looked at Bella.

 Bella took a sip of wine.

 Nobody said anything.

 Nadine narrowed her eyes.

 “You people are irritating.”

 Magnus grinned.

 “I haven't decided yet.”

 “You should go.”

 The words came out before Nadine could soften them.

 Magnus blinked.

 She took a breath.

 “You should go,” she repeated. “If it fits your program and you want it, go.”

 “Really?”

 “Yes.”

 She looked around the table.

 At Karl.

 Ingrid.

 Bjorn.

 Bella.

 Sven on one screen.

 Magnus on another.

 Her six children.

 “I did not spend my life raising you so you could stay small enough to make me comfortable.”

 Silence.

 Then Solomon's hand covered hers beneath the table.

 Magnus smiled.

 “Thanks, Mom.”

 Nadine swallowed.

 “You'll call.”

 “Of course.”

 “Often.”

 “Mom.”

 “Often.”

 Magnus laughed.

 “Yes, ma'am.”

 Solomon squeezed her hand.

 She squeezed back.

 After lunch, the family spread throughout the house.

 Children upstairs.

 Grandchildren downstairs.

 Voyce and Karl disappeared into Solomon's study.

 Ingrid and Martha were discussing something near the fireplace.

 Bjorn had fallen asleep on the sofa with Knoll on his chest.

 Lisa took a photograph.

 Bella stole it and promised to use it against him later.

 Nadine stood at the kitchen sink washing a serving bowl.

 Solomon came up behind her.

 She felt him before he touched her.

 His body settled against hers.

 His arms came around her waist.

 His chin rested near her shoulder.

 Nadine smiled.

 “People are here.”

 “They know we're married.”

 “That excuse again?”

 “It remains true.”

 She rinsed the bowl.

 His mouth brushed her temple.

 Nadine closed her eyes.

 “Thank you.”

 “For what?”

 “Not telling me not to be sad.”

 Solomon was quiet.

 His hands rested over her stomach.

 The softness there.

 The old stretch marks beneath her clothing.

 The evidence of years neither of them would trade.

 “You are allowed to miss them,” he said.

 “I know.”

 “You are also allowed to enjoy them being gone.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “You are committed to that position.”

 “Very.”

 She leaned back against him.

 “It's strange.”

 “What is?”

 “I spent years thinking if I could just get one uninterrupted hour, I'd be happy.”

 “You used to lock yourself in the bathroom.”

 “And somebody would still knock.”

 “Sven once slid a note under the door.”

 “He needed poster board.”

 “At nine o'clock at night.”

 Nadine laughed.

 Then her smile faded slightly.

 “And now nobody knocks.”

 Solomon tightened his arms.

 “Maybe now I get to.”

 She turned her head.

 “What?”

 He kissed just below her ear.

 “Knock.”

 Nadine laughed and elbowed him gently.

 “You are terrible.”

 “I am your husband.”

 “Those are not mutually exclusive.”

 He kissed her again.

 This time slower.

 Nadine's fingers tightened around the edge of the sink.

 “Solomon.”

 “Mm?”

 “My family is twenty feet away.”

 “Our family.”

 “That does not improve your case.”

 He chuckled against her neck.

 Then footsteps entered the kitchen.

 Solomon stepped away with astonishing speed.

 Bella stopped in the doorway.

 She looked at Nadine.

 Then Solomon.

 Then Nadine again.

 “Did I interrupt something?”

 “No,” both parents said.

 Bella's eyebrows rose.

 “Uh-huh.”

 Nadine pointed toward the refrigerator.

 “What do you want?”

 “Water.”

 “Then get water.”

 Bella opened the refrigerator.

 Solomon picked up a dish towel and began drying a plate with enormous concentration.

 Bella filled a glass.

 Nobody spoke.

 Finally she said, “You two are weird.”

 Solomon looked up.

 “You exist because we're weird.”

 Bella froze.

 Nadine covered her face.

 “Solomon!”

 Bella made a sound of absolute disgust.

 “Dad!”

 He laughed.

 Bella fled with her water.

 Nadine hit him with the dish towel.

 “You did not have to say that.”

 “I did.”

 “You absolutely did not.”

 “It was factual.”

 “You enjoy terrorizing your children.”

 “Only the grown ones.”

 By early evening, coats were gathered.

 Containers of leftovers were distributed.

 Astrid remembered her missing mitten.

 Liam forgot his tablet and had to come back.

 Knoll cried because he wanted to remain with Grandpa.

 Bjorn promised they would visit again soon.

 Martha hugged Nadine twice.

 Ingrid kissed her mother's cheek and whispered, “You look happy.”

 Nadine looked at her daughter.

 “I am.”

 Ingrid smiled.

 “Good.”

 Then she was gone.

 The front door closed.

 Silence returned.

 Nadine stood in the foyer.

 Solomon came beside her.

 Neither moved.

 The house looked slightly wrecked.

 A toy car beneath the console table.

 One tiny sock near the stairs that almost certainly belonged to Knoll.

 A paper napkin on the floor.

 Two glasses still on the coffee table.

 Evidence.

 Nadine bent and picked up the toy car.

 She smiled.

 “You okay?”

 “Yes.”

 This time she meant it.

 Solomon took the toy from her and placed it on the table.

 Nadine looked around.

 “They'll come back.”

 “Constantly.”

 She smiled.

 “Probably without warning.”

 “Definitely.”

 “And call.”

 “Too much.”

 “And need us.”

 Solomon looked at her.

 “Always.”

 Nadine nodded.

 Something inside her settled.

 Not completely.

 Maybe never completely.

 But enough.

 Solomon reached for her hand.

 “What?”

 “Come upstairs.”

 She stared.

 “Solomon Matthias Dumstrey.”

 “What?”

 “We just spent an entire day with our family.”

 “I know.”

 “There are dishes.”

 “They will still exist tomorrow.”

 “The house is a mess.”

 “I've seen worse.”

 “Knoll left a sock.”

 “Finally. Somebody else's sock.”

 Nadine laughed.

 Solomon tugged gently on her hand.

 She did not move.

 He looked at her.

 “What?”

 Nadine smiled.

 “You really are enjoying this empty-nest thing.”

 His expression became completely unapologetic.

 “Nadine, I have been waiting thirty-four years to have you to myself.”

 Her smile slowly disappeared.

 Not from displeasure.

 From the way he was looking at her.

 Warm.

 Intent.

 Familiar.

 Still hungry.

 After all this time.

 She stepped closer.

 “Thirty-four?”

 “Karl arrived before our first anniversary.”

 “He did.”

 “I love that boy.”

 “I know.”

 “Very much.”

 “I know.”

 “But his timing was terrible.”

 Nadine burst out laughing.

 Solomon put both arms around her.

 She slid hers around his neck.

 The house was quiet.

 But it no longer sounded empty.

 It sounded private.

 There was a difference.

 Nadine looked up at her husband.

 His hair was thinning.

 Silver bright at his temples.

 Lines beside his eyes.

 Softness at his middle.

 The left knee that would probably ache before bedtime.

 The same mouth she had wanted to kiss when she was seventeen.

 The same man.

 And not the same man at all.

 Better.

 Lived in.

 Loved in.

 Hers.

 She touched his cheek.

 “Upstairs?”

 Solomon's eyebrows rose.

 “Was that a question?”

 “No.”

 His smile came slowly.

 Nadine took his hand.

 And this time, she led him.

Chapter Five — The Life Between

Nadine woke sometime after midnight with Solomon's hand resting across her stomach.

 Not politely at her waist.

 Not carefully above the blanket.

 Across her stomach.

 Heavy.

 Warm.

 Possessive in the absentminded way of a man who had been sleeping beside the same woman for thirty-five years and apparently believed she might roll away if he didn't keep one hand on her.

 Nadine smiled into the darkness.

 She could hear his breathing behind her.

 Slow.

 Deep.

 A little rougher than it had been when they were young.

 He did not snore exactly.

 That was Solomon's position.

 Nadine's position was that the man occasionally produced noises powerful enough to disturb wildlife.

 Tonight he was quiet.

 She shifted slightly.

 His hand tightened.

 Nadine froze.

 Solomon made a low sound and moved closer, his face finding the back of her neck without waking.

 His nose disappeared into her hair.

 She felt him breathe in.

 Sandalwood and rose petals.

 Even asleep.

 Twenty-two years of the same shampoo, and Solomon still nestled into her hair as though the fragrance existed solely for him.

 Nadine closed her eyes.

 She had not expected this part.

 Not when she was seventeen.

 Not when she was nineteen and waiting for his letters from Houston.

 Not even when she was twenty-two and standing beside him in a wedding dress with the absolute certainty that she knew what marriage meant.

 At twenty-two, forever had seemed romantic.

 At fifty-seven, forever smelled like aftershave and ointment for aching knees.

 It sounded like somebody saying, Did you pay the property tax?

 It looked like reading glasses left on the kitchen island.

 It was hospital waiting rooms.

 Baby bottles.

 Mortgage papers.

 Report cards.

 College tuition.

 Arguments over whose turn it was to call the plumber.

 Funerals.

 Birthdays.

 Businesses nearly failing.

 Businesses finally succeeding.

 Five salons.

 Ten-state construction licenses.

 Six children.

 Three grandchildren.

 And one sock in places no sock had any business being.

 Nadine smiled again.

 Solomon's fingers flexed against her stomach.

 Her smile softened.

 She knew exactly what rested beneath his hand.

 Softness.

 Stretch marks.

 A body that had expanded and contracted through four pregnancies.

 Marks low across her belly that had once been angry purple and red and were now pale silver.

 Lines along her thighs.

 More across the fullness of her buttocks.

 There had been a time after Karl was born when she had stood in the bathroom and stared at the changes with disbelief.

 Twenty-three years old.

 Exhausted.

 Leaking from places she hadn't known could leak.

 Her breasts sore.

 Her stomach soft.

 Her beautiful baby sleeping badly in the next room.

 She remembered asking Solomon if he thought she looked different.

 He had stared at her as though the question made no sense.

 Then he had said, “You had a whole person in there, Nadine.”

 She had cried.

 Partly because she was hormonal.

 Partly because she was tired.

 Mostly because Solomon had been twenty-three and had somehow understood that she did not need him to tell her nothing had changed.

 Everything had changed.

 He had simply loved what came after.

 By the time Ingrid arrived a year later, Nadine had stopped expecting her body to return to anybody's previous version of it.

 By the first twins, she had stopped caring.

 By Sven and Magnus, she had laughed when Solomon traced a new mark along her hip and announced that the boys were apparently redecorating.

 Now, almost eighteen years after her final pregnancy, the marks were simply hers.

 Solomon's hand moved over one of them in his sleep.

 Nadine felt a strange rush of tenderness.

 She turned carefully.

 His eyes opened.

 “Where are you going?”

 His voice was thick with sleep.

 “Nowhere.”

 “Then stop moving.”

 Nadine laughed softly.

 “You're holding me hostage.”

 “Correct.”

 He pulled her closer.

 She settled against him.

 “Were you awake?”

 “No.”

 “You answered quickly.”

 “I am very talented.”

 “You're ridiculous.”

 His eyes closed again.

 Nadine touched the silver at his beard.

 “Solomon.”

 “Mm?”

 “Do you remember when Karl was born?”

 One eye opened.

 “I remember you threatening to kill me.”

 “I was in labor.”

 “You were very specific.”

 “You deserved it.”

 “I was standing twelve feet away.”

 “You caused the situation.”

 Solomon laughed into the pillow.

 Nadine smiled.

 “Do you remember after?”

 His expression changed.

 “Yes.”

 “I thought I looked terrible.”

 “You looked tired.”

 “I looked like I'd been hit by a bus.”

 “You had just had a baby.”

 “I asked if I looked different.”

 Solomon's mouth curved.

 “You did.”

 “You weren't supposed to agree.”

 “You were different.”

 “I know.”

 “You were somebody's mother.”

 Nadine became quiet.

 He reached up and moved a strand of hair away from her face.

 “I had never seen you like that before.”

 “Like what?”

 “Scared.”

 Her eyes searched his.

 Solomon continued, “You could handle anybody. Your father. Your teachers. Salon owners. Me. But that little boy scared the hell out of you.”

 “He scared you too.”

 “He still does.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “Karl is thirty-four.”

 “He has children. That means he can multiply problems.”

 She nudged him.

 “Be serious.”

 “I am.”

 He touched her stomach.

 “Nadine, you asked me whether I still wanted you.”

 Her breath caught.

 She had forgotten that part.

 Or perhaps chosen not to remember it.

 “Did I?”

 “Yes.”

 Solomon's thumb moved slowly along her skin beneath the hem of her nightshirt.

 “You were standing in the bathroom crying because your body had changed, and you asked whether I still wanted you.”

 Nadine swallowed.

 “What did you say?”

 “I said I wanted you to go to sleep because you'd been awake for almost two days.”

 She stared at him.

 Then burst out laughing.

 Solomon smiled.

 “You were never smooth.”

 “I had a newborn.”

 “You should have told me I was beautiful.”

 “I did.”

 “When?”

 “The next morning.”

 “I don't remember.”

 “You were asleep.”

 Nadine laughed harder.

 Solomon rolled slightly onto his back.

 His knee shifted.

 He winced.

 Nadine noticed immediately.

 “There.”

 “Nothing.”

 “You just made a face.”

 “I moved wrong.”

 She sat up.

 “Stay there.”

 “Nadine.”

 “Stay.”

 He sighed.

 The bedside lamp came on.

 Nadine opened the drawer and removed the ointment.

 Solomon watched her.

 “You realize it is one-thirty in the morning.”

 “Your knee doesn't own a clock.”

 “I was sleeping.”

 “You woke up.”

 “You woke me.”

 “Details.”

 She pulled the blanket aside.

 Solomon bent his knee enough for her to reach it.

 Nadine rubbed a small amount of ointment between her palms.

 Then she began massaging it gently around the joint.

 Solomon relaxed.

 “There.”

 “Mm.”

 “Better?”

 “Maybe.”

 “Maybe?”

 “Keep going. I need more evidence.”

 Nadine looked up.

 He was smiling.

 “You are shameless.”

 “I learned from you.”

 “Liar.”

 Her thumbs worked slowly around his knee.

 He watched her hands.

 “Those still hurt?”

 Nadine looked down at them.

 “Sometimes.”

 “Which fingers?”

 “Mostly these two.”

 She showed him.

 Years of styling hair had left their own little reminders.

 Nothing dramatic.

 Just stiffness now and then.

 Solomon reached for her hand.

 He rubbed her knuckles.

 Nadine smiled.

 “This is quite a picture.”

 “What?”

 “Two old people in bed rubbing joints.”

 Solomon frowned.

 “Who's old?”

 “We are fifty-seven.”

 “We are mature.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “You have a belly and a bad knee.”

 “And you like both.”

 “I like the belly.”

 His eyebrows rose.

 “Say that again.”

 “No.”

 “You just admitted it.”

 “I have always admitted it.”

 “You've spent twenty years telling me to lose fifteen pounds.”

 “For your blood pressure, not because I want you looking like one of those men who lives at a gym.”

 Solomon stared at her.

 Nadine continued rubbing the ointment into his knee.

 “I don't want a washboard stomach.”

 “That is very convenient, considering.”

 She slapped his thigh.

 “Ow.”

 “That wasn't your bad knee.”

 “You assaulted me.”

 “Go to sleep.”

 Solomon caught her wrist before she could move away.

 “Come here.”

 Nadine leaned toward him.

 He kissed her.

 Slowly.

 Sleepily.

 No urgency.

 No performance.

 Just his mouth against hers in the middle of the night.

 When he let her go, Nadine looked at him.

 “What was that for?”

 “You.”

 She smiled.

 “I love you, Solomon.”

 “I love you too.”

 She turned off the lamp.

 They settled beneath the blankets again.

 This time Nadine put her hand on his stomach.

 Solomon chuckled.

 “What?”

 “Nothing.”

 “I know that laugh.”

 “You like the belly.”

 “Go to sleep.”

 “You said it.”

 “Solomon.”

 “My wife likes my belly.”

 Nadine pinched him.

 “Ow.”

 “Sleep.”

 He laughed quietly.

 Within minutes his breathing deepened again.

 Nadine stayed awake a little longer.

 Her hand remained where it was.

 Warm stomach beneath her palm.

 Familiar body.

 Her husband.

 Not the seventeen-year-old boy she had once hoped would ask her out.

 Not the twenty-two-year-old man who returned from Houston ready to marry her.

 Not the frightened young father who held Karl as though the hospital might change its mind and take him back.

 Not the thirty-something contractor who came home covered in dust and talked about someday building projects across the country.

 Not even the forty-year-old father who stared at newborn Sven and Magnus and said, “Nadine, there are two of them,” as though she had personally arranged the surprise.

 All of them.

 That was what Solomon was now.

 Every version.

 Accumulated.

 Lived in.

 And so was she.

 Nadine closed her eyes.

 Morning arrived too quickly.

 At seven-fifteen, her phone rang.

 Nadine groaned.

 Solomon did not move.

 Her phone rang again.

 She reached toward the nightstand without opening her eyes.

 “Hello?”

 “Mom?”

 Nadine sat up.

 “Sven?”

 Beside her, Solomon opened one eye.

 “What's wrong?”

 “Nothing's wrong.”

 Nadine's heart continued racing.

 “You cannot call me at seven in the morning and say ‘Mom?’ like that.”

 “Sorry.”

 “What happened?”

 “I need help.”

 Solomon sat up now.

 “What kind of help?” Nadine asked.

 There was a pause.

 “Laundry.”

 Solomon dropped back onto the pillow.

 Nadine closed her eyes.

 “Laundry.”

 “Yeah.”

 “What happened?”

 “I think I ruined everything.”

 “How do you ruin everything?”

 “I put all my clothes together.”

 Nadine slowly turned toward Solomon.

 He was already smiling.

 She pointed at him.

 Don't.

 He covered his mouth.

 “Sven, what did you wash?”

 “Everything.”

 “That is not helpful.”

 “Jeans. T-shirts. Socks. Towels.”

 “What else?”

 Silence.

 Nadine's eyes narrowed.

 “Sven Matthias.”

 “A red sweatshirt.”

 “Oh no.”

 “I think my white shirts are pink.”

 Solomon buried his face in the pillow.

 His shoulders shook.

 Nadine hit him.

 “Your son needs help.”

 “He is a voter.”

 “Solomon.”

 Sven said, “Is Dad there?”

 “No.”

 Solomon lifted his head.

 “I'm right here.”

 Nadine glared.

 Sven groaned.

 “Great.”

 Solomon took the phone.

 “Son.”

 “Dad.”

 “You are eighteen years old.”

 “I know.”

 “You have access to the collective knowledge of mankind on that telephone.”

 “I wanted Mom.”

 The room became quiet.

 Solomon looked at Nadine.

 Her expression changed.

 There it was.

 Not the need she had known when Sven was five.

 Not the need that had filled their house.

 Different.

 Still need.

 Solomon handed the phone back.

 Nadine took it.

 “Okay, baby. Show me what you did.”

 Sven switched to video.

 For the next twenty minutes, Nadine coached her youngest son through separating laundry, treating stains, and accepting the likely permanent pink future of three T-shirts.

 Solomon got out of bed and disappeared downstairs.

 When Nadine finally ended the call, she sat quietly for a moment.

 Then she smiled.

 She found Solomon in the kitchen.

 Coffee was made.

 Nothing was burning.

 She looked suspiciously at the counter.

 “Did you cook?”

 “No.”

 “Good.”

 He handed her a mug.

 Nadine took it.

 Then she wrapped both arms around him.

 Solomon looked down.

 “What is this?”

 “You were right.”

 He immediately smiled.

 “Say more.”

 “Don't ruin it.”

 “Sorry.”

 She rested her head against his chest.

 “They still need me.”

 Solomon's arms came around her.

 “Yes.”

 “Differently.”

 “Yes.”

 “And apparently they need me to explain laundry.”

 “For which I am grateful.”

 Nadine laughed.

 She looked up at him.

 “I think I understand now.”

 “What?”

 “I kept thinking empty nest meant something ended.”

 Solomon waited.

 “But it didn't.”

 “No.”

 “It just changed.”

 “Everything does.”

 She studied him.

 Silver hair.

 Freshly trimmed beard.

 Lines at the corners of his eyes.

 That stomach beneath her hands.

 His knee probably still aching.

 Everything changed.

 And somehow, everything important remained.

 Nadine kissed his chin.

 Solomon looked pleased.

 “What was that for?”

 “You.”

 He smiled.

 “Coffee first?”

 “Yes.”

 “Then?”

 Nadine raised an eyebrow.

 “Then we both go to work.”

 His face fell.

 She laughed.

 “Solomon, we own companies.”

 “Unfortunate.”

 “You have a meeting at nine.”

 “How do you know?”

 “Your calendar is on the refrigerator.”

 He looked toward it.

 “Oh.”

 “And I have five salons that apparently continued existing while I was in bed with you.”

 “Poor management.”

 Nadine laughed.

 She stepped away.

 Then Solomon caught her hand.

 “Dinner tonight?”

 “We live together.”

 “I know.”

 “You're asking me on a date?”

 “Yes.”

 Nadine looked at him.

 Something old and young moved between them.

 Homestead High School.

 A hallway.

 A fifteen-year-old boy who couldn't speak.

 A girl wondering why he wouldn't.

 “Where?”

 “It's a surprise.”

 “Solomon.”

 “Nadine.”

 She smiled.

 “All right.”

 He lifted her hand and kissed it.

 “Seven?”

 “Seven.”

 She started toward the stairs.

 “Nadine.”

 She turned.

 Solomon leaned against the kitchen counter.

 “Wear something pretty.”

 Her eyebrows rose.

 “Excuse me?”

 He grinned.

 Nadine slowly walked back toward him.

 She stopped directly in front of her husband.

 “If you want pretty tonight, Mr. Dumstrey, I suggest you make sure you bring pretty too.”

 Solomon blinked.

 Nadine patted his stomach.

 “Fresh haircut isn't carrying you forever.”

 Then she walked away.

 Solomon stood in the kitchen.

 He looked down at himself.

 Then toward the stairs.

 “Challenge accepted.”

 From upstairs came Nadine's laughter.

Chapter Six — Bring Pretty

At six twenty-three that evening, Solomon Matthias Dumstrey was standing in his closet wearing trousers and no shirt when his oldest son called.

 Solomon looked at Karl's name on the screen and considered ignoring him.

 He answered.

 “What?”

 Karl laughed. “Good evening to you too.”

 “What do you need?”

 “Why do you assume I need something?”

 “You're my child.”

 “I am thirty-four.”

 “And?”

 “I could just be calling to say hello.”

 “Are you?”

 “No.”

 Solomon grunted.

 “What do you need?”

 “I wanted your opinion on the numbers I sent you.”

 “Tonight?”

 There was a pause.

 “Are you busy?”

 “Yes.”

 “At six twenty-three?”

 “Yes.”

 Another pause.

 Then Karl said, “Oh.”

 Solomon closed his eyes.

 There was that word again.

 “What does ‘oh’ mean?”

 “Nothing.”

 “You sound like your mother.”

 “I'll call tomorrow.”

 “Good.”

 “Dad?”

 “What?”

 Karl was laughing now.

 “Have fun.”

 Solomon hung up.

 He stared at the phone.

 Thirty-four years of feeding that boy.

 Housing him.

 Educating him.

 Paying orthodontists.

 Buying shoes for feet that seemed to grow every forty-eight hours.

 And this was the gratitude he received.

 Solomon put the phone facedown.

 Tonight belonged to Nadine.

 He turned toward the mirror.

 The trousers were dark charcoal wool, tailored properly through the leg without pretending he had the waist he'd possessed at twenty-five.

 That had been Solomon's first requirement.

 He had no interest in spending dinner unable to breathe.

 His stomach existed.

 It had earned residency.

 Nadine liked it.

 He was keeping it.

 Within reason.

 He reached for a shirt.

 White.

 No.

 Too much like work.

 Blue.

 Maybe.

 He held it against himself.

 Put it back.

 Deep forest green.

 He considered it.

 Nadine liked him in green.

 He slipped it on.

 Buttoned it.

 Stopped at the collar.

 Tie?

 Absolutely not.

 He opened the top button.

 Looked again.

 Opened another.

 Better.

 He reached for his watch.

 Then his cuff links.

 The good ones.

 Nadine had given them to him on his fiftieth birthday.

 He fastened one.

 Then the other.

 He looked at himself.

 Good.

 Not twenty-seven.

 Not trying to be.

 Fifty-seven.

 Successful.

 Comfortable.

 Silver in his hair.

 More silver in his beard.

 A little thinning at the crown.

 Broad shoulders.

 A stomach that had become a permanent participant in photographs.

 He turned sideways.

 Perhaps not that much of a participant.

 Solomon sucked in.

 Held it.

 Looked.

 Exhaled.

 “No.”

 He was not doing that all evening.

 From the bedroom came Nadine's voice.

 “Doing what?”

 Solomon froze.

 “Nothing.”

 She laughed.

 “You were talking to yourself.”

 “No, I wasn't.”

 “I heard you.”

 “Then why did you ask?”

 “To see whether you'd lie.”

 Solomon smiled.

 She had been home three days.

 The house already felt right again.

 He reached for his jacket.

 Dark camel.

 Soft construction.

 No tie.

 Expensive without shouting about it.

 He slipped it on.

 His left knee protested when he bent to reach his shoes.

 “Damn.”

 Immediately:

 “What happened?”

 “Nothing.”

 The bedroom door opened.

 Solomon straightened.

 Then forgot about his knee.

 Nadine stood in the doorway.

 For a moment neither spoke.

 She had chosen a dress.

 Not the sort of dress a younger woman wore to prove she still possessed something.

 Not the sort of dress designed to conceal every place age had touched her.

 This dress knew exactly who was wearing it.

 Deep plum velvet skimmed her body from shoulder to below the knee, following the fullness of her hips rather than fighting it. The neckline was elegant and open enough to show the long line of her throat. The sleeves were fitted to her wrists.

 Her silver-and-brunette hair was down.

 Not dyed.

 Not disguised.

 Silver illuminated the brunette in sweeping ribbons, and tonight she had styled it into soft, full waves.

 Gold earrings.

 A bracelet.

 Low plum heels sensible enough for Wisconsin and beautiful enough to satisfy Nadine.

 Her makeup was warm and understated.

 Her mouth was berry-colored.

 Solomon stared.

 Nadine leaned against the doorway.

 “Well?”

 He said nothing.

 Her smile grew.

 “Solomon.”

 “I'm thinking.”

 “About?”

 “Canceling dinner.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “No.”

 “We have food downstairs.”

 “We do not.”

 “I can order.”

 “You made a reservation.”

 “I can cancel it.”

 “You asked me on a date.”

 “I have reconsidered the itinerary.”

 Nadine walked toward him.

 Solomon watched every step.

 She stopped close enough to adjust the lapel of his jacket.

 “Forest green.”

 “You like it.”

 “I do.”

 Her fingers moved to the open collar.

 “Two buttons?”

 “Too much?”

 She looked.

 “No.”

 Solomon's mouth curved.

 Nadine touched one cuff.

 “My cuff links.”

 “You told me to bring pretty.”

 She laughed.

 “I did.”

 “How'd I do?”

 Nadine stepped back.

 This time she inspected him.

 Slowly.

 Solomon actually felt nervous.

 Ridiculous.

 He had negotiated contracts worth hundreds of millions of dollars without his pulse changing.

 His wife looked him over and suddenly he was seventeen again.

 Nadine walked around him.

 “Are you circling me?”

 “Yes.”

 “Nadine.”

 “Be quiet. I'm assessing.”

 He laughed.

 She returned to the front.

 Her eyes moved from his shoes to his trousers, across his stomach, chest, beard and freshly cut hair.

 Then she nodded.

 “You brought pretty.”

 Solomon grinned.

 Nadine put one hand against his stomach.

 “And you didn't suck this in.”

 His grin disappeared.

 “How did you know?”

 She burst out laughing.

 “You did!”

 “I briefly evaluated the option.”

 “Oh, Solomon.”

 “It was rejected.”

 Nadine was laughing so hard she had to put both hands on him.

 He shook his head.

 “I'm glad my vulnerability entertains you.”

 She caught her breath.

 “Baby.”

 “What?”

 She patted his stomach.

 “I told you. I like this.”

 “You like telling me you like it.”

 “Because you don't believe me.”

 “I believe you.”

 “Do you?”

 Solomon looked at her.

 Nadine's hand remained there.

 Warm.

 Familiar.

 “Yes.”

 “Good.”

 She kissed him.

 A quick kiss.

 Then another.

 The third lingered.

 Solomon's hand found her hip.

 Nadine pulled back.

 “Dinner.”

 “Still opposed.”

 “Shoes.”

 He sighed.

 “Bossy.”

 “You've known that since Homestead.”

 “Unfortunately.”

 “Yet you wrote me all those letters.”

 “I was young.”

 “And foolish?”

 “Hopelessly in love.”

 Her expression softened.

 “Better answer.”

 The restaurant Solomon had chosen sat along the Milwaukee River, intimate enough to feel special without requiring them to speak in whispers.

 Nadine noticed the table immediately.

 Corner.

 Water view.

 Away from the busiest part of the dining room.

 “You requested this.”

 Solomon pulled out her chair.

 “I did.”

 She sat.

 “Why?”

 “Because I wanted to look at you without people walking past every thirty seconds.”

 Nadine looked up at him.

 “You are laying it on thick tonight.”

 “I haven't even started.”

 Her eyebrows rose.

 Solomon sat opposite her.

 Nadine unfolded her napkin.

 “Should I be concerned?”

 “Probably.”

 She smiled.

 They ordered wine.

 Then dinner.

 And for the first twenty minutes, they did something they hadn't done enough while raising six children.

 They talked about absolutely nothing important.

 A terrible television commercial.

 Jerome's barbershop.

 The stylist in Spain who kept rearranging Nadine's supply room.

 A project manager Solomon liked but who apparently sent emails long enough to qualify as novels.

 The strange sweater Karl had worn on Christmas two years earlier.

 Whether Ingrid had always been nosy or whether marriage to Voyce had somehow encouraged her.

 Then Nadine laughed into her wine.

 “What?”

 She shook her head.

 “I was just thinking.”

 “Dangerous.”

 “Be nice.”

 “I am.”

 Nadine looked around the restaurant.

 “When was the last time we did this?”

 “Ate?”

 “Went on a date.”

 Solomon considered.

 “Anniversary?”

 “That doesn't count.”

 “Why?”

 “Because anniversaries come with an obligation to go somewhere.”

 “Our anniversary isn't an obligation.”

 “You know what I mean.”

 He did.

 Solomon sat back.

 “Too long.”

 “Yes.”

 “Whose fault?”

 “Both.”

 He nodded.

 Nadine ran one finger along the stem of her glass.

 “We got efficient.”

 Solomon looked at her.

 “At marriage.”

 “That's bad?”

 “Not necessarily.”

 She thought about it.

 “We knew who was picking up which child. Who was paying what. Who had to be where. We scheduled vacations around six people. Then their spouses. Then grandchildren.”

 “We were good at it.”

 “Very.”

 “We're still good at it.”

 “I know.”

 She looked at him.

 “But somewhere along the way, we stopped dating.”

 Solomon reached across the table.

 His hand opened.

 Nadine placed hers inside.

 “Then we start again.”

 She smiled.

 “Just like that?”

 “Why not?”

 “We're married.”

 “So?”

 “We live together.”

 “So?”

 “You see me every day.”

 Solomon's thumb moved over her knuckles.

 “That isn't the same as taking you somewhere because I want your company.”

 Nadine went quiet.

 He continued, “I don't want us to spend the next twenty years sitting on opposite ends of the sofa talking about our children.”

 “Twenty?”

 “At least.”

 “You're planning to keep me until seventy-seven?”

 “I'm planning to annoy you much longer than that.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “Wonderful.”

 “You're welcome.”

 Their food arrived.

 Halfway through dinner, Nadine's phone buzzed.

 She looked.

 Then laughed.

 “What?”

 She turned the screen toward him.

 A photograph from Martha.

 Liam and Astrid were sitting at the kitchen table.

 Liam held a book.

 Astrid wore what appeared to be a princess crown, swimming goggles and one of Karl's ties.

 Solomon stared.

 “What is happening?”

 “I have no idea.”

 Another message appeared.

Martha: Astrid says this is business attire.

 Nadine laughed.

 “She gets that from you.”

 “Me?”

 “You own five salons.”

 “I have never attended a business meeting in swimming goggles.”

 “Yet.”

 Nadine sent three heart emojis.

 Then she put her phone facedown.

 Solomon noticed.

 “What?”

 “Nothing.”

 “You're smiling.”

 “I realized something.”

 “What?”

 “Three months ago I would have spent the next twenty minutes answering messages.”

 “And now?”

 She looked at him.

 “Now I'm on a date.”

 Solomon smiled.

 “Good.”

 After dinner, they did not go home.

 Solomon drove north.

 Nadine noticed within five minutes.

 “Where are we going?”

 “Surprise.”

 “I don't like surprises.”

 “You married six of them.”

 “Those were children.”

 “Exactly.”

 She laughed.

 “Tell me.”

 “No.”

 “Solomon.”

 “Nadine.”

 “You're irritating.”

 “You're still here.”

 “Barely.”

 His hand found hers across the console.

 She held it.

 Twenty minutes later, Nadine recognized the road.

 Her heart changed before her expression did.

 She looked at Solomon.

 He kept driving.

 “No.”

 “Yes.”

 “You didn't.”

 “I did.”

 They turned.

 Homestead High School.

 Nadine stared through the windshield.

 The building had changed.

 Of course it had.

 Additions.

 Renovations.

 New lights.

 Different landscaping.

 But enough remained.

 Enough that fifteen-year-old Nadine Burow stirred somewhere inside the fifty-seven-year-old woman sitting in the passenger seat.

 Solomon parked.

 For a moment neither spoke.

 “Why did you bring me here?”

 He turned off the engine.

 “Come on.”

 “It's cold.”

 “I know.”

 “Your knee.”

 “I know.”

 “Solomon.”

 “I brought your coat.”

 She looked into the back seat.

 He had.

 “Manipulative.”

 “Prepared.”

 They got out.

 Cold Wisconsin air wrapped around them immediately.

 Nadine tucked her arm through Solomon's.

 They walked slowly.

 His knee did not appreciate it.

 She noticed.

 He pretended she didn't.

 They stopped where they could see part of the school.

 Nadine stared.

 “Forty-two years.”

 “Mm-hmm.”

 “We were fifteen.”

 “You were.”

 “So were you.”

 “I was mature.”

 “You were terrified of me.”

 “I was cautious.”

 “You waited two years.”

 “I was extremely cautious.”

 Nadine laughed.

 She leaned against him.

 “Where did you first see me?”

 Solomon pointed.

 “Inside. Hallway was somewhere through there.”

 “You remember?”

 “Yes.”

 “What was I wearing?”

 “I don't remember that.”

 “Ha.”

 “I remember your hair.”

 Nadine touched it instinctively.

 “Brown then.”

 “Dark brown.”

 “No silver.”

 “No.”

 She looked at him.

 “Do you miss it?”

 “What?”

 “My brown hair.”

 Solomon frowned.

 “You still have brown hair.”

 “You know what I mean.”

 He looked at her.

 Really looked.

 The silver was brilliant beneath the parking lot lights.

 “No.”

 The answer came easily.

 Nadine's expression changed.

 “Not even a little?”

 “I remember it. I don't miss it.”

 “Why?”

 Solomon reached for one silver strand.

 “Because this happened while I was here.”

 Nadine swallowed.

 He touched another.

 “And this.”

 Then another.

 “I got to watch all of it.”

 Her eyes filled.

 “Stop making me cry.”

 “You keep asking dangerous questions.”

 Nadine laughed through the emotion.

 Solomon put his arm around her.

 She tucked herself against his side.

 “Do you know,” she said, “I used to wait for you to ask me out?”

 “I know now.”

 “You'd walk past me and say hello.”

 “I was building rapport.”

 “You were ridiculous.”

 “I was fifteen.”

 “You were still ridiculous at seventeen.”

 “You went out with me.”

 “I was also seventeen.”

 He laughed.

 Nadine looked toward the school.

 “I thought you were so handsome.”

 “Thought?”

 She turned.

 Solomon was smiling.

 Nadine shook her head.

 “There he is.”

 “What?”

 “That ego.”

 “You started this conversation.”

 She reached up and touched his beard.

 “I still think you're handsome.”

 His smile faded.

 Nadine's fingers moved through the silver.

 “Different.”

 “Worse?”

 She frowned.

 “Don't do that.”

 “What?”

 “Don't ask me that.”

 Solomon looked away.

 Nadine caught his chin and brought his face back.

 “I don't want the boy who stood in that hallway.”

 He watched her.

 “I loved him.”

 Her hand moved down to his chest.

 “But he didn't know anything yet.”

 Solomon smiled slightly.

 “He thought he did.”

 “He was an idiot.”

 “Careful.”

 “He was.”

 She stepped closer.

 “He hadn't held my hand while my father was sick.”

 Solomon became still.

 “He hadn't sat beside me in hospital rooms.”

 “Nadine.”

 “He hadn't held our babies.”

 Her voice softened.

 “He hadn't built a life with me.”

 Solomon's arms came around her.

 “He hadn't given me Karl, Ingrid, Bjorn, Bella, Sven and Magnus.”

 “I had some assistance.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “Quite a lot.”

 His eyebrows rose.

 She smiled.

 Then she touched his stomach beneath the open coat.

 “He didn't have this.”

 Solomon sighed.

 “Why must we keep discussing my stomach?”

 “Because I like it.”

 He shook his head.

 “He didn't have silver.”

 Her fingers returned to his temple.

 “He didn't have these.”

 She touched the lines beside his eyes.

 “He didn't have a bad knee I have to fuss over.”

 “I could do without that.”

 “He didn't have thirty-five years of being my husband.”

 Solomon stopped joking.

 Nadine looked directly into his eyes.

 “So no. I don't want him.”

 She kissed him.

 “I want you.”

 The cold disappeared.

 At least Solomon stopped noticing it.

 His hand moved behind her neck.

 Their second kiss lasted longer.

 Nadine's arms slipped beneath his coat and around his waist.

 When they finally separated, Solomon rested his forehead against hers.

 “You know something?”

 “What?”

 “I should have asked you out sophomore year.”

 Nadine smiled.

 “Yes.”

 “I wasted two years.”

 “Completely.”

 “I could've had two additional years of this.”

 “Probably not this.”

 Solomon laughed.

 “Fair.”

 Nadine shivered.

 Immediately he opened his coat and pulled her against him.

 “Cold?”

 “A little.”

 “Come on.”

 They started toward the car.

 Halfway there, Solomon slowed.

 Nadine felt it.

 “Your knee.”

 “I'm fine.”

 “Don't lie.”

 “It's stiff.”

 She took more of his arm.

 “Lean on me.”

 “I weigh two hundred and—”

 “I did not ask for the statistics.”

 He smiled.

 They walked together.

 Slowly.

 No embarrassment.

 No pretending.

 When they reached the car, Nadine waited until Solomon was seated before closing his door.

 She climbed into the passenger side.

 “Home.”

 He started the engine.

 “Home.”

 The drive back was quiet.

 Not empty.

 Quiet.

 Nadine rested one hand on Solomon's thigh.

 He covered it with his.

 When they reached the house, she went directly upstairs.

 Solomon followed more slowly.

 He found her sitting on the edge of the bed with the ointment already in her hand.

 He laughed.

 “You are relentless.”

 “Pants leg up.”

 “Yes, ma'am.”

 Solomon sat beside her and exposed his knee.

 Nadine warmed the ointment between her palms.

 Then she began rubbing it into the aching joint.

 His shoulders relaxed.

 “Better?”

 “Much.”

 She worked quietly.

 Solomon watched her.

 Her dress had ridden slightly above her knee as she sat.

 A few pale stretch marks showed along the side of her thigh.

 His fingers touched them.

 Nadine looked up.

 “What?”

 “Nothing.”

 “You keep touching my leg.”

 “I know.”

 His fingertips followed one pale line.

 Nadine watched him.

 “You know, women spend a fortune trying to get rid of those.”

 “Why?”

 “Because we're told we're not supposed to have them.”

 Solomon looked genuinely confused.

 “You had twins twice.”

 Nadine smiled.

 “They're on my thighs too.”

 “I know.”

 “And my backside.”

 “I am extremely familiar with the evidence.”

 Nadine's mouth dropped open.

 “Solomon!”

 He laughed.

 She slapped his good knee.

 “Ow.”

 “You deserved that.”

 “I was complimenting you.”

 “That was not a compliment.”

 “It was from me.”

 Nadine tried not to laugh.

 Failed.

 Solomon touched the mark again.

 “I like them.”

 Her laughter softened.

 “Why?”

 He shrugged.

 “They're you.”

 “That's not an answer.”

 “It is my answer.”

 His hand moved over her thigh.

 “I don't divide you into pieces, Nadine.”

 She became very still.

 Solomon looked at her.

 “I don't look at your hair and decide which color I prefer. Or your stomach and compare it to what it was at twenty-two. Or count lines on your face.”

 His thumb moved slowly against her skin.

 “I see my wife.”

 Nadine's eyes warmed.

 “All of her.”

 He leaned closer.

 “And I like what I see.”

 Her hand stopped moving on his knee.

 “Solomon.”

 “What?”

 “You're doing it again.”

 “Doing what?”

 “Making me emotional when I'm trying to be sexy.”

 He laughed.

 Nadine put the lid on the ointment.

 Solomon's eyebrows rose.

 “Finished?”

 “With your knee.”

 “Oh.”

 Nadine stood.

 She walked toward her vanity.

 Solomon watched as she removed her earrings.

 Then her bracelet.

 She caught his eyes in the mirror.

 “You're staring.”

 “I know.”

 She reached for her night cream.

 Solomon smiled.

 There it was.

 Her ritual.

 Nadine dotted cream along her cheeks, forehead and neck.

 Then worked it upward with practiced fingers.

 Solomon leaned against the bedroom doorway.

 Watching.

 “You have been doing that forever.”

 “Not forever.”

 “Since at least Ingrid was born.”

 “I intend to keep my neck.”

 He laughed.

 She moisturized her hands.

 Solomon remained where he was.

 Nadine looked at him through the mirror.

 “What?”

 “Nothing.”

 “You're staring again.”

 “I like watching you.”

 “Put on your pajamas.”

 “Bossy.”

 “Solomon.”

 He walked toward her instead.

 Nadine turned on the stool.

 He stopped between her knees.

 His hands rested lightly on her hips.

 She looked up.

 “You haven't taken off your jacket.”

 “Distracted.”

 “By?”

 “You.”

 Nadine smiled.

 “Still?”

 Solomon bent.

 His mouth brushed hers.

 “Still.”

 Again.

 “After all these years?”

 Again.

 “Especially after all these years.”

 Nadine's arms went around his neck.

 His fresh aftershave mixed with her sandalwood-and-rose hair.

 Familiar scents.

 Older bodies.

 The same desire.

 No expiration date.

 And downstairs, for once, nobody needed anything.

Chapter Seven — The Second Honeymoon

By Thursday afternoon, Nadine had decided her husband was hiding something.

 Not another woman.

 Never that.

 Solomon was many things, but he had been hers in a way that never required investigation.

 No, this was something else.

 Something organized.

 Which was worse.

 Solomon's organized surprises tended to involve reservations, luggage, expensive food, and instructions Nadine had not approved.

 She stood in the doorway of his home office with one hand on her hip.

 “What are you doing?”

 Solomon looked up from his laptop.

 “Working.”

 “No.”

 His eyebrows rose.

 “No?”

 “You are pretending to work.”

 “I own a company.”

 “I know.”

 “People expect me to occasionally do something.”

 “I know that too.”

 “Then what is the problem?”

 Nadine stepped into the room.

 “The problem is that you have been smiling at your computer for twenty minutes.”

 “I cannot enjoy my work?”

 “Not that much.”

 Solomon leaned back.

 “Suspicious woman.”

 “Married woman.”

 “Same thing?”

 “In this house, yes.”

 He smiled.

 Nadine narrowed her eyes.

 “There.”

 “What?”

 “That.”

 “What?”

 “That smile.”

 “I smile often.”

 “You smirk often. Different.”

 Solomon closed the laptop.

 Nadine folded her arms.

 “Interesting.”

 “What?”

 “You closed it.”

 “I am finished.”

 “You are hiding something.”

 “I am hiding nothing.”

 “Solomon Matthias Dumstrey.”

 His mouth twitched.

 Nadine pointed at him.

 “See?”

 He stood.

 Her eyes immediately dropped to his left knee.

 He noticed.

 “My knee is fine.”

 “I didn't ask.”

 “You looked.”

 “I have eyes.”

 Solomon walked toward her.

 Nadine remained where she was.

 He stopped close enough that she had to tilt her head back slightly.

 “What?”

 “Pack a bag.”

 Nadine blinked.

 “No.”

 Solomon stared.

 “No?”

 “You heard me.”

 “Why?”

 “Because I don't know where I'm going.”

 “That is generally how surprises work.”

 “I don't like surprises.”

 “You liked Homestead.”

 “I knew where I was eventually.”

 “You complained the entire drive.”

 “I was curious.”

 “You threatened me twice.”

 “I did not.”

 “You said if I drove past another exit without telling you where we were going, you would call Ingrid and have her track your location.”

 “That was practical.”

 Solomon laughed.

 Nadine looked around him toward the closed laptop.

 “How long?”

 “Two nights.”

 “Where?”

 “No.”

 “What climate?”

 “Wisconsin.”

 Nadine's face changed.

 “We are staying in Wisconsin?”

 “Yes.”

 “Then why do I need a bag?”

 “Because I do not intend to bring you home until Sunday.”

 She stared at him.

 Solomon waited.

 “Why?”

 “Because I want my wife.”

 “You have your wife.”

 “I want her somewhere nobody knows where we are.”

 Nadine's eyebrows rose.

 “Solomon.”

 “What?”

 “You own a construction company.”

 “Yes.”

 “I own five salons.”

 “Yes.”

 “We are not eighteen.”

 “Thank God.”

 She laughed despite herself.

 “What about work?”

 “I delegated.”

 “What about my salons?”

 “I called Ingrid.”

 Nadine became very still.

 “You called our daughter about my business?”

 Solomon took one step backward.

 “I called our daughter to ask whether she thought you could disappear for forty-eight hours.”

 “And?”

 “She said yes.”

 “That woman does not run my company.”

 “No.”

 “Neither do you.”

 “No.”

 “Good.”

 Solomon waited.

 Nadine continued staring.

 Then:

 “What did Ingrid say exactly?”

 His smile returned.

 “She said, ‘Please take Mom somewhere before she starts reorganizing everyone's life because the boys are gone.’”

 Nadine gasped.

 “She said that?”

 “Almost word for word.”

 “I am calling her.”

 Solomon caught her wrist.

 “Later.”

 “Solomon.”

 “Pack.”

 “Where are we going?”

 “Somewhere warm.”

 “You said Wisconsin.”

 “I did not say outside.”

 Nadine stared.

 Then slowly smiled.

 “Two nights?”

 “Two.”

 “Just us?”

 “Unless you invite one of the children, in which case I will cancel the entire thing.”

 She laughed.

 “You are serious.”

 “Very.”

 Nadine touched the front of his shirt.

 “What should I bring?”

 Solomon looked down at her hand.

 “Very little.”

 Her eyes lifted.

 “Oh.”

 His expression did not change.

 Nadine's smile did.

 “Now I understand.”

 “Do you?”

 “Yes.”

 She stepped closer.

 “You are trying to corrupt a grandmother.”

 Solomon's arm moved around her waist.

 “I knew you before you were a grandmother.”

 “You knew me before I was a mother.”

 “I knew you before I was brave enough to talk to you.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “And apparently you have been making up for lost time ever since.”

 “Forty years late. I have work to do.”

 She kissed him.

 Then pulled away.

 “I'm packing.”

 Solomon smiled.

 “Bring pretty.”

 Nadine pointed at him.

 “You better do the same.”

 By Friday afternoon, they were driving north.

 Nadine had tried three separate times to discover the destination.

 Solomon had refused three separate times.

 She had threatened to check his navigation.

 He had turned off the display.

 She had threatened to call Karl.

 Solomon informed her that Karl had been sworn to secrecy.

 Then she called Bella.

 Bella laughed and hung up.

 Betrayal everywhere.

 Nadine finally folded her arms and looked out the passenger window.

 “I raised ungrateful children.”

 “You raised loyal children.”

 “Loyal to you.”

 “The natural order.”

 She looked at him.

 Solomon smiled.

 “You are enjoying yourself far too much.”

 “Absolutely.”

 The winter landscape rolled past in soft whites and deep evergreens.

 Wisconsin in February could be brutal.

 It could also be beautiful.

 Snow lay thick across fields and rooftops.

 The sky had turned the pale gray-blue of late afternoon.

 Nadine watched the scenery.

 Her hand rested on Solomon's thigh.

 His covered it.

 For nearly an hour, they barely spoke.

 It was not uncomfortable.

 Silence had become one of the languages of their marriage.

 Eventually Nadine asked, “Did we ever take a honeymoon?”

 Solomon looked at her.

 “Yes.”

 “Not really.”

 “We went to Door County.”

 “For four days.”

 “That is a honeymoon.”

 “We were broke.”

 “We were happy.”

 “We stayed in a motel with floral bedspreads.”

 “Luxury.”

 “The ice machine was broken.”

 “You married me anyway.”

 Nadine smiled.

 “I did.”

 Solomon squeezed her hand.

 “We couldn't afford much.”

 “I didn't care.”

 “I did.”

 She looked at him.

 “I wanted to give you more.”

 “You gave me everything I needed.”

 Solomon was quiet.

 Nadine continued, “We had four days, cheap champagne, bad curtains, and you brought one suit because you thought husbands wore suits on honeymoons.”

 “I was raised properly.”

 “You looked ridiculous.”

 “You liked the suit.”

 “I liked you.”

 “Still do.”

 “Unfortunately.”

 He laughed.

 Nadine looked out the window again.

 “Would you do anything differently?”

 “What?”

 “If we were twenty-two again.”

 Solomon considered.

 “Yes.”

 Her head turned.

 “What?”

 “I'd worry less.”

 “About money?”

 “Everything.”

 Nadine waited.

 “I thought every bad month meant I was failing you.”

 Her expression softened.

 “I didn't know that.”

 “I know.”

 “You never told me.”

 “I was twenty-two.”

 “So?”

 “Twenty-two-year-old men are idiots.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “Finally. Growth.”

 Solomon smiled.

 “I used to lie awake calculating bills in my head.”

 “I knew that.”

 “You did?”

 “You counted with your thumb.”

 Solomon glanced over.

 “What?”

 “When you were worried, you moved your thumb against your fingers under the blanket.”

 He stared at her.

 “You knew?”

 “Of course I knew.”

 “And you never said anything.”

 “What was I supposed to say? We were broke.”

 Solomon laughed.

 Nadine smiled.

 “I worried too.”

 “About?”

 “Whether my salon dream was ridiculous.”

 “You never told me that.”

 “I was twenty-two.”

 He gave her a look.

 She grinned.

 “Fair.”

 They drove another mile.

 Then Solomon said, “It wasn't ridiculous.”

 “I know now.”

 “I knew then.”

 Nadine turned toward him.

 “You really did.”

 “I had your letters.”

 Her smile deepened.

 “You believed in that salon before I had one chair.”

 “You wrote about it like it already existed.”

 “So did you with your buildings.”

 Solomon looked ahead.

 “Maybe that's why we worked.”

 “What?”

 “We both believed the other one before there was anything to prove.”

 Nadine stared at him for a moment.

 Then she leaned over and kissed his cheek.

 “Careful.”

 “What?”

 “You are becoming very wise at fifty-seven.”

 “Terrifying.”

 The resort appeared nearly twenty minutes later.

 Nadine sat forward.

 “Oh.”

 Solomon watched her face.

 Tucked among snow-covered woods, the property glowed against the early evening.

 Low stone buildings.

 Warm windows.

 Firelight visible through glass.

 A lake beyond them, frozen and silver beneath the winter sky.

 Nadine turned toward him.

 “You did this?”

 “I made a reservation.”

 “No, I mean—”

 She looked again.

 “Solomon.”

 “What?”

 “This is beautiful.”

 He smiled.

 “Good.”

 They checked in.

 Their suite was at the end of a quiet corridor.

 Solomon opened the door.

 Nadine walked in.

 Then stopped.

 A fireplace burned across from a large bed.

 Floor-to-ceiling windows looked over the frozen lake.

 A sitting area held two deep chairs.

 There was a soaking tub near the windows.

 A bottle of wine waited beside two glasses.

 Nadine slowly turned.

 “Solomon Matthias.”

 He closed the door behind them.

 “What?”

 “You booked the honeymoon suite.”

 “No.”

 She looked around.

 “This is absolutely a honeymoon suite.”

 “They call it the lake suite.”

 “They are lying.”

 Solomon laughed.

 Nadine walked farther inside.

 She touched the back of one chair.

 “This is too much.”

 “No.”

 “Solomon.”

 “We can afford it.”

 “That isn't what I mean.”

 He knew.

 Nadine looked toward the lake.

 “We never did things like this.”

 “We couldn't.”

 “I know.”

 Solomon put their bags down.

 Then he walked toward her.

 “Maybe that's why I wanted to.”

 She turned.

 He stopped in front of her.

 “We spent thirty-five years doing everything for everybody.”

 “That sounds dramatic.”

 “We did.”

 “We did things for ourselves.”

 “When?”

 Nadine opened her mouth.

 Closed it.

 Solomon smiled.

 “Exactly.”

 She looked toward the fire.

 “We had vacations.”

 “With children.”

 “Anniversary trips.”

 “Three.”

 “In thirty-five years?”

 “Three.”

 Nadine stared.

 “That can't be right.”

 “Paris. Savannah. Napa.”

 “Oh.”

 “Every other trip involved a child, a wedding, a graduation, a business meeting, or somebody else's schedule.”

 Nadine looked around the suite again.

 “And this?”

 “This is us.”

 She was quiet.

 Then:

 “What do we do?”

 Solomon blinked.

 “What?”

 She laughed suddenly.

 “I am serious.”

 “Nadine.”

 “No children. No grandchildren. No work. No agenda.”

 “You want an agenda?”

 “I don't know what people do when nobody needs anything.”

 Solomon slowly smiled.

 Nadine pointed.

 “Do not say it.”

 “I said nothing.”

 “You were going to.”

 “I was thinking.”

 “I know what you were thinking.”

 “Thirty-five years.”

 She laughed.

 Solomon reached for her coat.

 “First, we take these off.”

 He slipped it from her shoulders.

 Hung it.

 Then removed his own.

 Nadine watched.

 “Then?”

 “Then we sit down.”

 “That is your grand plan?”

 “For now.”

 They sat near the fire.

 Solomon poured wine.

 Nadine took her glass.

 For several minutes, they watched flames move across the logs.

 No phones.

 No television.

 No conversation.

 Nadine exhaled.

 “I could get used to this.”

 “I hope so.”

 Her phone buzzed.

 They both looked.

 Nadine picked it up.

 A family message.

 Of course.

Ingrid: Did you get there?

 Nadine smiled.

Nadine: Yes.

Bella: Is it nice?

 Nadine looked around.

Nadine: Very.

Karl: Dad behaving?

 Nadine laughed.

 Solomon leaned over.

 “What?”

 She showed him.

 He took the phone.

Dad: I can see this conversation.

 Responses came immediately.

Bjorn: That's not an answer.

Bella: 😂

Ingrid: Leave Mom alone.

Dad: All of you leave US alone.

Karl: See everybody Sunday.

Sven: Grandma and Grandpa getaway 😂

 Solomon frowned.

Dad: You are eighteen. Go study.

Magnus: Is this the part where we all stop texting?

Dad: YES.

 Nadine took the phone back.

 She was laughing.

 “You cannot order grown people out of a group chat.”

 “I can try.”

 She sent:

Nadine: We love all of you. We are turning our phones off. Emergencies only. Karl knows where we are.

 Then she switched the phone off.

 Solomon stared.

 “Who are you?”

 She put it on the table.

 “Your wife.”

 “Marry me.”

 “Again?”

 “Yes.”

 “You'd have to ask my father.”

 Solomon's expression softened.

 Nadine realized what she'd said.

 Her father had been gone for years.

 She looked down at her wine.

 Solomon touched her hand.

 “I did.”

 She looked at him.

 “Thirty-five years ago.”

 “You were so nervous.”

 “He terrified me.”

 “He liked you.”

 “He interrogated me for forty-five minutes.”

 “He wanted to know whether you could support me.”

 “I couldn't.”

 Nadine smiled.

 “You thought you could.”

 “I was optimistic.”

 “You told him you would build something.”

 Solomon looked toward the fire.

 “I did.”

 “You told him I would never have to regret choosing you.”

 He looked back.

 “Did you?”

 Nadine did not answer immediately.

 There had been hard years.

 Arguments.

 Times she wanted to throw something.

 Times he had slept on the sofa.

 Times she had wondered whether two stubborn people could possibly survive each other.

 There had been grief.

 Fear.

 Exhaustion.

 There had been nights when they spoke only about children and money.

 Years when romance became something scheduled after homework and before somebody woke up.

 But regret?

 “No.”

 Solomon's face changed.

 “Never?”

 “Never.”

 His hand tightened around hers.

 “I wanted to strangle you occasionally.”

 He laughed.

 “But no.”

 Nadine leaned closer.

 “I never regretted you.”

 Solomon kissed her.

 Not with urgency.

 With gratitude.

 That was somehow more intimate.

 When they separated, Nadine rested her forehead against his.

 “Did you regret me?”

 “No.”

 “Never?”

 “Not once.”

 “Even when I spent twelve thousand dollars opening salon number two without telling you first?”

 Solomon's eyes narrowed.

 “I had forgotten about that.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “You were furious.”

 “I was.”

 “You didn't speak to me for an entire evening.”

 “I was preventing homicide.”

 “You slept in Karl's room.”

 “Karl was at college.”

 “Exactly.”

 Solomon laughed.

 Nadine smiled.

 “And yet?”

 “And yet I knew exactly why you did it.”

 “Because I was right.”

 “No. Because you believed in yourself.”

 Her smile softened.

 “You were still wrong not to tell me.”

 “Fine.”

 “Thank you.”

 “Twenty-three years later.”

 “I accept.”

 They sat together until their wine was gone.

 Later, they ordered dinner to the suite.

 No restaurant.

 No dressing up.

 Nadine changed into soft lounge pants and a cream sweater.

 Solomon wore dark trousers and another thermal shirt.

 They ate at the small table near the window.

 Outside, snow began falling.

 Nadine watched it collect against the glass.

 “Beautiful.”

 Solomon looked at her instead.

 She caught him.

 “Don't.”

 “What?”

 “You know what.”

 “I said nothing.”

 “You were about to say I was beautiful.”

 “You are.”

 Nadine rolled her eyes.

 “Predictable.”

 “Still true.”

 After dinner, Nadine stood at the window.

 The lake disappeared beneath darkness and snow.

 Solomon came behind her.

 His hands settled at her waist.

 She leaned back.

 For several minutes, they simply stood together.

 Then Nadine said, “My body feels strange lately.”

 Solomon did not move.

 “What do you mean?”

 “Menopause.”

 He waited.

 “Some days I feel like myself.”

 “And other days?”

 “Like someone moved all the furniture inside me.”

 Solomon smiled slightly.

 “Is that funny?”

 “No.”

 “It sounded like a laugh.”

 “I liked the description.”

 Nadine watched their reflection in the dark glass.

 “Hot flashes. Sleep. My skin changes. My weight moves around like it has no loyalty.”

 Solomon's hands rested over her stomach.

 She covered them.

 “Sometimes I don't know what my body is doing anymore.”

 He kissed her temple.

 “Does that bother you?”

 “Yes.”

 Her honesty surprised them both.

 Nadine continued, “Not because I want to be younger.”

 “I know.”

 “I don't.”

 “I know.”

 “I like being fifty-seven.”

 Solomon smiled.

 “Most days.”

 “Most.”

 She laughed softly.

 “But sometimes I wake up at three in the morning sweating like somebody put me in an oven and I think, what in the world is happening to me?”

 Solomon chuckled.

 “You've laughed.”

 “I've witnessed the covers being thrown across the room.”

 “You better be careful.”

 “I usually am asleep.”

 “You are usually snoring.”

 “I don't snore.”

 Nadine turned in his arms.

 “That is a lie.”

 “I breathe with authority.”

 She burst out laughing.

 Solomon smiled.

 Then he touched her face.

 “Are you afraid I don't want you?”

 The question settled between them.

 Nadine looked at him.

 “No.”

 A pause.

 “Sometimes.”

 Solomon became very still.

 “Not because of you.”

 “What does that mean?”

 “It means women get told our whole lives that desirability belongs to youth.”

 He frowned.

 “By who?”

 “Everybody.”

 “I missed the meeting.”

 Nadine smiled.

 “Apparently.”

 Solomon's thumb moved over her cheek.

 “I don't know how to answer for everybody.”

 “You don't have to.”

 “I can answer for me.”

 Nadine waited.

 “I wanted you at seventeen.”

 Her smile began.

 “I wanted you at twenty-two.”

 He touched the silver at her temple.

 “I wanted you at thirty, when we had four children and neither of us remembered what sleep was.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “I wanted you at thirty-nine when you told me there were two heartbeats and I considered moving to Canada.”

 “Solomon!”

 “I came back.”

 “You never left.”

 “I thought about it.”

 She hit his chest.

 He caught her hand.

 “I wanted you at forty-five.”

 His fingers moved through her hair.

 “At fifty.”

 He kissed her forehead.

 “And at fifty-seven, I sat in Jerome's chair and let an entire barbershop make fun of me because my wife was coming home.”

 Nadine's eyes filled.

 “So no.”

 His voice softened.

 “I don't think desire belongs to youth.”

 He touched her waist.

 “I think mine belongs to you.”

 Nadine looked at him for a long moment.

 Then she kissed him.

 Slowly.

 Deeply enough that Solomon forgot what he had planned to say next.

 His hands moved around her back.

 Nadine pulled closer.

 There was no rushing.

 No proving.

 No pretending they had younger bodies.

 Her knees occasionally complained.

 His left one definitely did.

 They laughed when Solomon nearly stepped on his own shoe.

 Nadine told him he was hopeless.

 He told her she married him knowing that.

 Then the laughter softened.

 So did everything else.

 Solomon kissed her neck.

 Nadine closed her eyes.

 His hands moved over the body he had known for decades, not searching for what time had taken but recognizing what time had given.

 Softness.

 Warmth.

 History.

 Her hands moved over him with the same familiarity.

 His back.

 His shoulders.

 The curve of his stomach.

 The place at his waist where she always rested her hand.

 Bodies remembered.

 Even when they changed.

 Especially then.

 Later, much later, Nadine lay beneath the blankets with her head on Solomon's chest.

 Firelight flickered across the room.

 Snow covered the windows.

 His breathing had slowed.

 Her fingers moved lazily across his stomach.

 Solomon looked down.

 “You're doing it again.”

 “What?”

 “Petting my belly.”

 Nadine smiled.

 “I like it.”

 “You've mentioned that.”

 “I don't think you believe me.”

 “I believe you now.”

 “Good.”

 He ran his hand through her hair.

 Sandalwood and rose petals.

 Nadine closed her eyes.

 “Solomon?”

 “Mm?”

 “This feels like a second honeymoon.”

 His hand stopped.

 “Better.”

 She lifted her head.

 “Better?”

 He looked at her.

 “The first time, we had no idea what we were doing.”

 Nadine smiled.

 “And now?”

 “Now I know exactly who I married.”

 Her eyes softened.

 “Still happy with your choice?”

 Solomon pulled her closer.

 “Ask me in another thirty-five years.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “You'll be ninety-two.”

 “So?”

 “So you might finally behave your age.”

 Solomon kissed the top of her head.

 “Don't count on it.”

Chapter Eight — Monday Morning

Monday morning arrived without permission.

 Nadine opened her eyes to pale winter light, a warm room, and Solomon sitting at the edge of the bed trying to put on one sock without bending his left knee more than necessary.

 She watched him silently.

 One sock.

 One very expensive man.

 One thoroughly defeated knee.

 “Need help?”

 Solomon looked over his shoulder.

 “No.”

 Nadine waited.

 He tried again.

 His face tightened.

 She lifted one eyebrow.

 “I said no.”

 “I didn't say anything.”

 “You're saying plenty with your face.”

 “My face is resting.”

 “It is judging.”

 He tried once more.

 The sock caught at his heel.

 Solomon muttered something.

 Nadine pushed back the blankets.

 “Give me that.”

 “I am perfectly capable of putting on a sock.”

 “Clearly.”

 “Nadine.”

 “Solomon.”

 He surrendered the sock.

 She slid to the edge of the bed and guided it carefully over his foot.

 Then she pulled it up his calf.

 “There.”

 Solomon looked down at her.

 “Humiliating.”

 “Marriage.”

 He smiled.

 Nadine patted his leg.

 “You'll survive.”

 “I built bridges.”

 “And yet here we are.”

 Solomon laughed.

 She reached for the second sock.

 He took it from her.

 “This one I can manage.”

 “Pride is ugly.”

 “Pride is all I have left.”

 “You have me.”

 He paused.

 Nadine smiled.

 “That was good.”

 “Very.”

 He leaned down and kissed her.

 She kissed him back.

 Then Solomon straightened slowly.

 His knee cracked.

 They both froze.

 Nadine looked up.

 Solomon looked down.

 “Do not.”

 “I didn't.”

 “You were about to.”

 “I was about to ask whether that was your knee or the building settling.”

 He stared at her.

 Nadine burst out laughing.

 Solomon shook his head and reached for his shoe.

 “Cruel woman.”

 “You adore me.”

 “Unfortunately.”

 “Still?”

 “Especially now.”

 She smiled.

 They returned home shortly after noon.

 The house looked exactly as they had left it.

 Quiet.

 Clean.

 Still.

 Nadine stood inside the foyer with her overnight bag in one hand.

 Solomon closed the door behind them.

 She looked toward the staircase.

 Then toward the kitchen.

 Then toward the hallway leading to the twins' rooms.

 The emptiness was still there.

 But it did not feel quite as sharp.

 Solomon noticed.

 “You alright?”

 “Yes.”

 He waited.

 Nadine nodded.

 “I think I am.”

 He took her bag.

 “I told you.”

 “What?”

 “They're gone. We're not.”

 Nadine looked at him.

 The words landed somewhere deep.

 She smiled.

 “No.”

 She touched his arm.

 “We're not.”

 Her phone began ringing before either of them had reached the kitchen.

 Nadine looked at the screen.

Ingrid

 Solomon groaned.

 “Don't answer.”

 “She knows we're back.”

 “How?”

 “Because she is Ingrid.”

 The phone rang again.

 Nadine answered.

 “Hello.”

 “Finally.”

 “Good afternoon to you too.”

 “You turned your phone off.”

 “Yes.”

 “For two days.”

 “Yes.”

 Ingrid was quiet.

 Then:

 “Good.”

 Nadine blinked.

 “What?”

 “Good.”

 Solomon leaned closer to hear.

 Ingrid continued, “You needed it.”

 Nadine smiled.

 “So you called to approve?”

 “No. I called because Bella said Dad booked a honeymoon suite and I wanted details.”

 Nadine's smile disappeared.

 Solomon walked away laughing.

 “Ingrid Liv.”

 “What?”

 “You are thirty-three years old.”

 “I know.”

 “Voyce married a nosy woman.”

 “He knew what he was getting.”

 Voyce's voice came faintly through the speaker.

 “I did not.”

 Nadine laughed.

 Ingrid ignored him.

 “So?”

 “So what?”

 “How was it?”

 “The resort was lovely.”

 “Mom.”

 “The food was excellent.”

 “Mom.”

 “The lake was beautiful.”

 “Nadine,” Solomon called from the kitchen, “hang up.”

 Ingrid laughed.

 “Dad sounds nervous.”

 “Your father is not nervous.”

 “Then put him on.”

 “No.”

 “Why?”

 “Because I love him.”

 Ingrid laughed harder.

 Nadine smiled.

 “We had a wonderful time.”

 Her daughter's voice softened.

 “Good.”

 Nadine looked toward the kitchen.

 Solomon was unpacking groceries they had stopped for on the way home.

 He moved more slowly than he had five years ago.

 Not weakly.

 Just differently.

 She watched him bend carefully, one hand braced against the counter.

 Her chest warmed.

 Ingrid said, “Mom?”

 “Yes?”

 “You sound happy.”

 Nadine smiled.

 “I am.”

 “Different happy.”

 That caught her.

 “What does that mean?”

 “I don't know.”

 Ingrid paused.

 “Lighter.”

 Nadine looked down.

 Maybe.

 Maybe that was exactly it.

 “I think your father and I forgot something.”

 “What?”

 “That we are allowed to enjoy each other.”

 Ingrid went quiet.

 Then she said, “That might be the sweetest thing you've ever said.”

 “Do not tell anyone.”

 “Too late.”

 “Ingrid.”

 “I love you.”

 “I love you too.”

 Nadine ended the call.

 Solomon looked over.

 “What did she want?”

 “To interrogate me.”

 “About?”

 “You know.”

 His eyes narrowed.

 “I dislike our children.”

 “No, you don't.”

 “Currently.”

 Nadine laughed.

 Solomon put milk into the refrigerator.

 Then he stopped.

 His hand went to his lower back.

 Nadine noticed.

 “Now what?”

 “Nothing.”

 “Your back?”

 “I drove.”

 “Sit down.”

 “Nadine.”

 “Sit.”

 He looked at her.

 She pointed toward a kitchen chair.

 Solomon sat.

 Nadine took the remaining groceries from him.

 “You realize I am capable of carrying bread.”

 “I realize you're stubborn.”

 “Same thing?”

 “In this house, yes.”

 He smiled.

 She finished unpacking.

 Then she stood in front of him.

 “Turn around.”

 “Why?”

 “Because I said so.”

 Solomon turned the chair.

 Nadine put both hands on his shoulders.

 His muscles were tight.

 She began kneading gently.

 Solomon exhaled.

 “Mm.”

 “There it is.”

 “What?”

 “The sound.”

 “What sound?”

 “The spoiled-man sound.”

 “I am in pain.”

 “You are enjoying this.”

 “Both can be true.”

 Nadine smiled.

 Her hands moved lower.

 She knew where he carried tension.

 She knew which shoulder tightened first.

 She knew how long it took before his breathing changed.

 Thirty-five years.

 There were things no new love could know.

 Not yet.

 That thought surprised her.

 New love had excitement.

 Mystery.

 Discovery.

 But this?

 This was knowledge.

 History.

 A body mapped by time.

 A man whose silences she could interpret.

 A shoulder she could touch and know whether he was worried.

 A face she could read before he said a word.

 Solomon reached back and caught one of her hands.

 “What are you thinking?”

 Nadine leaned over his shoulder.

 “That I know you.”

 He smiled.

 “I hope so.”

 “No.”

 She kissed his temple.

 “I mean I really know you.”

 Solomon turned his head.

 “And?”

 “And I like it.”

 His expression softened.

 He kissed her palm.

 “So do I.”

 The front door opened.

 Neither of them moved at first.

 Then:

 “Mom?”

 Nadine froze.

 Solomon's head turned.

 “Dad?”

 Nadine dropped her hands.

 Sven appeared in the kitchen doorway.

 Backpack.

 Duffel bag.

 Winter coat.

 Eighteen-year-old face looking both sheepish and hungry.

 Nadine stared.

 “Sven?”

 He smiled.

 “Surprise.”

 She crossed the kitchen so fast Solomon nearly laughed.

 Nadine threw her arms around him.

 “My baby!”

 Sven laughed and hugged her tightly.

 “Hi, Mom.”

 “What are you doing here?”

 “I have a long weekend.”

 “Why didn't you tell us?”

 “I wanted to surprise you.”

 “You certainly did.”

 Nadine pulled back and held his face between her hands.

 “You're thin.”

 Sven groaned.

 “Mom.”

 “You are.”

 “I've been gone two months.”

 “Exactly.”

 Solomon walked over.

 “Sven.”

 “Hey, Dad.”

 They hugged.

 Not dramatically.

 Firmly.

 Man to man.

 Solomon held him a second longer than necessary.

 Nadine noticed.

 He missed them too.

 Of course he did.

 Sven looked around.

 “Where's Magnus?”

 “At school.”

 “I know. I was joking.”

 Nadine hit his arm.

 “You're hungry.”

 “Always.”

 She opened the refrigerator.

 Solomon leaned against the counter.

 Sven looked at him.

 Then at Nadine.

 Then back at Solomon.

 His eyes narrowed.

 “What?”

 Solomon frowned.

 “What, what?”

 “You both look...”

 Nadine stopped.

 “Look what?”

 Sven shrugged.

 “Happy.”

 Solomon stared.

 Nadine slowly turned toward her husband.

 He looked at her.

 Then both parents smiled.

 Sven became suspicious.

 “Oh no.”

 “What?” Nadine asked.

 “Nothing.”

 Solomon laughed.

 “Smart boy.”

 Nadine pulled food from the refrigerator.

 Within twenty minutes Sven had eaten half a sandwich, soup, fruit, and enough bread to confirm Nadine's belief that the university was starving him.

 He sat at the kitchen island talking.

 Classes.

 Roommate.

 A professor he liked.

 A professor he didn't.

 Someone on his floor who played music at two in the morning.

 A girl.

 Nadine's spoon stopped.

 Solomon saw it.

 He immediately looked away.

 “A girl?” Nadine repeated.

 Sven froze.

 “I didn't say that.”

 “You did.”

 “I said people.”

 “No, you said ‘she.’”

 “I meant—”

 “What's her name?”

 “Mom.”

 Nadine leaned closer.

 “What is her name?”

 Solomon picked up his coffee.

 This was not his fight.

 Sven looked toward him.

 “Dad?”

 Solomon shook his head.

 “I cannot help you.”

 “Traitor.”

 “Survival.”

 Nadine waited.

 Sven sighed.

 “Celia.”

 Nadine smiled.

 “Celia.”

 “Don't make it weird.”

 “I am not making anything weird.”

 “You repeated her name.”

 “I repeat names.”

 “You did it in the Mom voice.”

 “What Mom voice?”

 Solomon coughed into his fist.

 Nadine glared at him.

 Sven pointed.

 “He knows.”

 Solomon laughed.

 Nadine folded her arms.

 “Fine. I will say nothing.”

 “Thank you.”

 “For now.”

 Sven groaned.

 The family group chat exploded fifteen minutes later.

Sven: I came home and Mom interrogated me within 30 minutes.

Bella: About?

Sven: Nothing.

Ingrid: GIRL.

Karl: Definitely a girl.

Bjorn: Name?

Sven: I hate this family.

Magnus: 😂😂😂

 Nadine read over Sven's shoulder.

 “Celia is pretty.”

 Sven nearly dropped the phone.

 “How did you—”

 “Bella found her.”

 “HOW?”

 Nadine laughed so hard she had to sit down.

 Solomon looked at the screen.

 “This family requires regulation.”

 Sven put his face in his hands.

 “I should have stayed at school.”

 Nadine kissed the top of his head.

 “No, you shouldn't.”

 He looked up.

 She smiled.

 “I am very glad you're home.”

 Sven's expression softened.

 “Me too.”

 That evening, the three of them ate dinner together.

 Nadine cooked too much.

 Naturally.

 Sven ate enough to justify it.

 Solomon listened to his son explain something about campus life.

 Nadine kept looking at both of them.

 The table had once seated eight every night.

 Then seven.

 Six.

 Four.

 Eventually two.

 Tonight it seated three.

 Temporary.

 That was all right.

 After dinner, Sven disappeared upstairs to shower.

 Nadine stood at the sink.

 Solomon came beside her.

 “Happy?”

 She nodded.

 “Very.”

 “He'll leave again Monday.”

 “I know.”

 “You okay with that?”

 Nadine considered.

 Then smiled.

 “Yes.”

 Solomon looked surprised.

 She dried her hands.

 “I understand now.”

 “What?”

 “They come back.”

 “Usually when hungry.”

 She laughed.

 “They come back.”

 Solomon wrapped one arm around her.

 “They always will.”

 Nadine rested against him.

 Upstairs, a door closed.

 Water started running.

 Someone was home.

 But Nadine did not feel the old panic that she would lose this again.

 The house could be full.

 The house could be empty.

 Motherhood did not disappear when the bedrooms did.

 And neither did marriage.

 That night, Sven went to bed shortly after eleven.

 Nadine entered her bedroom and found Solomon already under the covers.

 She looked toward the bathroom.

 One shoe.

 One sock.

 She closed her eyes.

 “Solomon.”

 “What?”

 She pointed.

 He followed her finger.

 “Oh.”

 “Pick them up.”

 “I am in bed.”

 “I can see that.”

 “You want me to get out?”

 “Yes.”

 He sighed dramatically.

 Solomon got up.

 Picked up the shoe.

 Picked up the sock.

 Put them away.

 Then climbed back into bed.

 “Happy?”

 “Very.”

 Nadine sat at her vanity.

 Night cream.

 Upward along her neck.

 Across her face.

 Moisturizer on her hands.

 Solomon watched from bed.

 She caught his eyes in the mirror.

 “You're staring.”

 “I know.”

 “You have been staring at me since I came home from Spain.”

 “Longer.”

 Nadine smiled.

 She turned off the vanity light.

 When she climbed into bed, Solomon immediately moved toward her.

 His nose found her hair.

 He inhaled.

 “Sandalwood.”

 “And?”

 “Rose petals.”

 “Very good.”

 “Twenty-two years.”

 Nadine turned in his arms.

 “You really remember?”

 “I remember when you first bought it.”

 Her eyebrows rose.

 “No, you don't.”

 “Yes, I do.”

 “Where?”

 “Chicago.”

 Nadine stared.

 Solomon smiled.

 “You bought it after that salon convention.”

 She was silent.

 He had.

 Twenty-two years ago.

 She had brought home a bottle from Chicago after a beauty industry conference.

 “Why do you remember that?”

 “Because you came home smelling different.”

 Nadine's face softened.

 “And?”

 “I liked it.”

 “So I kept buying it.”

 “I know.”

 She touched his cheek.

 “Maybe I kept it because you liked it.”

 Solomon looked at her.

 “Really?”

 “Maybe.”

 His smile was slow.

 Nadine laughed.

 “Don't get arrogant.”

 “Too late.”

 He kissed her.

 Softly.

 Then again.

 She settled against him.

 Down the hallway, Sven was home in his old bedroom.

 For a moment Nadine thought about eighteen years of bedtime routines.

 Checking doors.

 Checking lights.

 Calling goodnight.

 Listening for children.

 She smiled.

 Then Solomon pulled her closer.

 Nadine looked at him.

 “What?”

 “Nothing.”

 She touched his stomach.

 He laughed quietly.

 “There it is.”

 “What?”

 “My belly.”

 “Go to sleep.”

 “You love it.”

 “I love you.”

 “Same thing.”

 “Not remotely.”

 Solomon kissed her forehead.

 Nadine closed her eyes.

 The house was not empty tonight.

 Tomorrow it might be.

 Monday certainly would be.

 But she finally understood that home was not measured by how many bedrooms were occupied.

 Home was the people who left and returned.

 The people who called.

 The people who still needed directions for laundry.

 The grandchildren who left socks behind.

 The daughter who asked too many questions.

 The sons who ate everything.

 And the man beside her who had spent forty-two years finding new ways to want the same woman.

 Nadine smiled in the darkness.

 Silver, she thought.

 Still burning.

Chapter Nine — Sunday Goodbyes

Sunday morning found Nadine in the kitchen making too much breakfast.

 Again.

 Sven sat at the island watching her move between the stove and the refrigerator with the resigned expression of a young man who had already accepted that his mother was going to feed him as though he had survived a shipwreck.

 “Mom.”

 “What?”

 “I can't eat all that.”

 “Yes, you can.”

 “I really can't.”

 “You're eighteen.”

 “That does not make my stomach infinite.”

 Nadine turned.

 “You ate four sandwiches yesterday.”

 “I was hungry.”

 “You are still hungry.”

 Sven looked toward Solomon for help.

 Solomon was seated at the table reading something on his phone.

 He did not look up.

 “Don't involve me.”

 “Dad.”

 “I know your mother.”

 Sven sighed.

 “Coward.”

 Solomon nodded.

 “Alive coward.”

 Nadine put another pancake on Sven's plate.

 “Eat.”

 He stared at it.

 “Mom.”

 “Eat.”

 Sven picked up his fork.

 “Thank you.”

 Solomon lowered his phone.

 “See? Effective leadership.”

 Nadine looked at him.

 “Would you like another pancake?”

 “No.”

 She put one on his plate.

 Solomon stared.

 Sven laughed.

 “Effective leadership.”

 Solomon gave him a look.

 The kitchen felt full.

 Not the way it had years ago, when six children could turn breakfast into a logistical event involving cereal boxes, school bags, missing shoes and somebody shouting from upstairs.

 But full enough.

 Sven's duffel bag waited near the back door.

 His backpack sat beside it.

 Nadine had noticed both the moment she came downstairs.

 She had tried not to.

 The sight of packed bags had always done something to her.

 Even when the children were little and simply going to camp.

 Even when Karl first left for college.

 Even when Ingrid moved into her first apartment.

 Packed bags meant leaving.

 Nadine hated them on principle.

 She turned back toward the stove.

 Solomon watched her.

 He knew.

 Of course he knew.

 He had been watching her know how to let go for thirty-four years.

 Never gracefully.

 Always lovingly.

 Those were not the same thing.

 Sven took another bite.

 “Mom?”

 “Yes?”

 “You know I'm coming back.”

 Nadine froze.

 Solomon looked down at his plate.

 Sven continued, “I mean, not today. Obviously.”

 “I know what you mean.”

 “You're doing the thing.”

 “What thing?”

 “The quiet thing.”

 Nadine turned.

 “I am cooking.”

 “You're overcooking.”

 Solomon coughed into his coffee.

 Nadine looked at him.

 “Would you like to contribute?”

 “No.”

 “Smart.”

 Sven smiled.

 “Mom, I'm fine.”

 “I know.”

 “School is good.”

 “I know.”

 “I like my classes.”

 “I know.”

 “My room is ugly, but survivable.”

 “That I also know.”

 “I have friends.”

 Nadine nodded.

 “And Celia,” Solomon said.

 Sven nearly dropped his fork.

 “Dad!”

 Nadine burst out laughing.

 Solomon looked pleased with himself.

 “I had forgotten about Celia.”

 “You absolutely had not.”

 “No,” Nadine admitted. “I had not.”

 Sven put both hands over his face.

 “I regret coming home.”

 “No, you don't,” Nadine said.

 “No, I don't.”

 Her smile softened.

 There it was again.

 Not the old need.

 Not the little boy who once stood beside her bed at three in the morning because he had a nightmare.

 Not the ten-year-old who wanted help with homework.

 Not the thirteen-year-old who needed rides.

 Not the sixteen-year-old who thought every problem was an emergency.

 This was different.

 A grown son coming home because home still mattered.

 Nadine could live with different.

 She was learning.

 After breakfast, Sven carried his plate to the sink.

 Nadine almost told him to leave it.

 Then stopped herself.

 He rinsed it.

 Loaded it into the dishwasher.

 She stared.

 “What?”

 “Nothing.”

 “Mom.”

 “Who taught you to do that?”

 Sven looked offended.

 “You.”

 “I have been telling you for eighteen years.”

 “Apparently it worked.”

 Solomon laughed.

 Nadine shook her head.

 “College is miraculous.”

 Sven went upstairs to finish packing.

 Nadine began wiping a counter that did not need wiping.

 Solomon came behind her.

 His hands settled at her waist.

 “You're doing fine.”

 “I know.”

 “You don't sound convinced.”

 “I am.”

 “Mm-hmm.”

 Nadine put the cloth down.

 “He just got here.”

 “I know.”

 “And now he's leaving.”

 “Yes.”

 She leaned back against him.

 “I hate that part.”

 “So do I.”

 Nadine turned in his arms.

 “You don't act like it.”

 “I act like a man with emotional discipline.”

 She stared.

 Then laughed.

 “Is that what we're calling it?”

 “Yes.”

 “I thought we were calling it stubbornness.”

 “Cruel.”

 Nadine smiled.

 Solomon kissed her forehead.

 “He'll be back.”

 “I know.”

 “And Magnus.”

 “I know.”

 “And all the others.”

 She nodded.

 “And then we'll complain about the noise.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “Yes.”

 “Exactly.”

 They stood together until footsteps came down the stairs.

 Sven appeared with his backpack over one shoulder.

 Duffel bag in hand.

 Nadine's heart immediately betrayed everything she had just told herself.

 She smiled anyway.

 “You have everything?”

 “Yes.”

 “Charger?”

 “Yes.”

 “Laundry bag?”

 “Yes.”

 “Toothpaste?”

 “Yes.”

 “Birth certificate?”

 “Mom.”

 “I'm asking.”

 “Dad has it in the fireproof cabinet.”

 “Good.”

 “Are you going to ask about underwear?”

 Nadine lifted one eyebrow.

 “Do I need to?”

 “No.”

 “Then no.”

 Solomon took the duffel bag.

 “I'll put this in the car.”

 Sven looked at his mother.

 She looked at him.

 Then his face changed.

 Softer.

 Younger.

 “Come here.”

 Nadine opened her arms.

 Sven stepped into them.

 She held him tightly.

 Not for too long.

 She was proud of herself.

 His chin rested briefly on top of her head.

 When had that happened?

 When had her baby become taller than she was?

 “I love you,” she said.

 “Love you too, Mom.”

 “Call.”

 “I will.”

 “Not only when you ruin laundry.”

 Sven laughed against her hair.

 “I won't.”

 “Eat.”

 “I do.”

 “Vegetables.”

 “Green things.”

 She pulled back and gave him a look.

 He smiled.

 “And be careful.”

 “I am.”

 “And Celia—”

 “Mom.”

 Nadine smiled sweetly.

 “I was going to say be respectful.”

 Sven narrowed his eyes.

 “You were not.”

 “I was.”

 Solomon returned.

 “Ready?”

 Sven nodded.

 Nadine walked them to the door.

 Cold air came in when Solomon opened it.

 Sven hugged her one more time.

 Then he walked toward the car.

 Nadine stood in the doorway.

 Solomon stopped beside her.

 “Come inside.”

 “In a minute.”

 Sven put his bag into the trunk.

 Then he turned and waved.

 Nadine waved back.

 Solomon did too.

 Sven got into the car.

 The engine started.

 Nadine watched until the vehicle disappeared from sight.

 Then she closed the door.

 Silence.

 Again.

 She stood there.

 Solomon waited.

 Finally Nadine said, “I didn't cry.”

 “No.”

 “I did very well.”

 “Extremely.”

 She turned toward him.

 “Do I get a prize?”

 Solomon's eyebrows rose.

 “What kind?”

 Nadine smiled.

 “There it is.”

 “What?”

 “That mind.”

 “You asked.”

 “I was thinking coffee.”

 “Disappointing.”

 She laughed and walked toward the kitchen.

 Solomon followed.

 Nadine poured two mugs.

 She handed him one.

 Then stopped.

 “What?”

 “Nothing.”

 He waited.

 Nadine looked toward the empty island stool Sven had occupied an hour earlier.

 Then toward Solomon.

 “I am going to miss this.”

 “What?”

 “Having them come home.”

 “They will.”

 “I know.”

 She sipped her coffee.

 “And I am going to enjoy when they leave.”

 Solomon nearly choked.

 Nadine laughed.

 “What?”

 He stared at her.

 “Who are you?”

 “Growth.”

 “Terrifying.”

 “I understand now.”

 “What?”

 She leaned against the counter.

 “I thought if I enjoyed the quiet, it meant I wasn't missing them enough.”

 Solomon became still.

 Nadine continued, “Like I had to choose.”

 “Between?”

 “Being their mother and being me.”

 His expression softened.

 “You don't.”

 “I know.”

 She smiled.

 “I finally know.”

 Solomon set down his coffee.

 He walked toward her.

 Nadine put her arms around his waist.

 He held her.

 Her hand found his stomach.

 Solomon laughed quietly.

 “Again?”

 “What?”

 “You.”

 “I like it.”

 “I know.”

 She looked up.

 “And I like this.”

 “What?”

 “Us.”

 Solomon's smile faded into something gentler.

 “Good.”

 “We did a good job.”

 “With the kids?”

 “Yes.”

 “Mostly.”

 “Solomon.”

 “I love them.”

 “I know.”

 “But there were years I questioned our methods.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “So did I.”

 He kissed her forehead.

 “They're good people.”

 “They are.”

 “That's enough.”

 Nadine nodded.

 Then the front door opened.

 Both of them froze.

 “Mom?”

 Nadine stared toward the hallway.

 Sven appeared.

 “Forgot my laptop.”

 Solomon closed his eyes.

 Nadine burst out laughing.

 “I knew it.”

 “I remembered before I got far.”

 “Upstairs.”

 Sven ran toward the stairs.

 Solomon looked at Nadine.

 “You were saying?”

 “They're good people.”

 “Mm-hmm.”

 “Not necessarily organized people.”

 Five minutes later, Sven left again.

 This time Nadine made him open his backpack in the foyer.

 Laptop.

 Charger.

 Wallet.

 Phone.

 Keys.

 Everything.

 “Now go.”

 Sven laughed.

 “I love you.”

 “Love you too.”

 The door closed.

 Nadine looked at Solomon.

 “Now.”

 “What?”

 “Coffee.”

 He nodded.

 They returned to the kitchen.

 The rest of Sunday unfolded quietly.

 Laundry.

 A grocery list.

 Solomon working briefly in his office despite promising he would not.

 Nadine reviewing salon schedules.

 Life.

 Nothing dramatic.

 By evening, snow had begun falling.

 Nadine stood at the bedroom window watching it collect across the yard.

 Solomon came out of the bathroom wearing pajama bottoms and a T-shirt.

 His left knee was stiff again.

 She noticed.

 “Ointment.”

 He sighed.

 “Yes, doctor.”

 “Sit.”

 Solomon sat on the edge of the bed.

 Nadine retrieved the jar.

 She knelt in front of him and began working it gently into his knee.

 He looked down at her silver-and-brunette hair.

 “Nadine.”

 “Mm?”

 “What do you want to do now?”

 She looked up.

 “What do you mean?”

 “With this part.”

 “This part of what?”

 “Life.”

 Her hands slowed.

 Solomon continued, “The boys are away. The others have lives. We built the companies.”

 “They still require work.”

 “I know.”

 “Grandchildren.”

 “I know.”

 “Family.”

 “I know.”

 He smiled.

 “I mean you.”

 Nadine sat back.

 “What does Nadine want?”

 She stared at him.

 The question felt surprisingly large.

 For decades, what she wanted had usually been attached to somebody else.

 A healthy baby.

 A better school.

 A larger house.

 More time.

 A successful salon.

 College tuition paid.

 Children safe.

 Grandchildren healthy.

 Solomon home.

 “What do I want?”

 “Yes.”

 Nadine looked toward the window.

 Snow falling.

 Quiet house.

 Fifty-seven.

 She smiled slowly.

 “I don't know yet.”

 Solomon nodded.

 “That is allowed.”

 She looked back.

 “I think I want to find out.”

 “Good.”

 “What about you?”

 He smiled.

 “I know.”

 “Of course you do.”

 “You.”

 Nadine rolled her eyes.

 “That is not a life plan.”

 “It is an excellent beginning.”

 She laughed.

 Solomon reached down and touched her cheek.

 Nadine leaned into his hand.

 Then she stood.

 “Your knee is done.”

 “Thank you.”

 She put the ointment away.

 At the vanity, she began her nightly ritual.

 Cream upward along her neck.

 Across her face.

 Moisturizer worked carefully into her hands.

 Solomon leaned against the doorway and watched.

 Nadine saw him in the mirror.

 She smiled.

 “You're staring.”

 “I know.”

 “You ever going to stop?”

 “No.”

 Her smile deepened.

 “You said you know what you want.”

 “I do.”

 “And it's me?”

 “Among other things.”

 “Such as?”

 Solomon walked toward her.

 He stopped behind her and rested both hands on her shoulders.

 “More dates.”

 Nadine smiled.

 “Okay.”

 “More weekends away.”

 “Within reason.”

 “Less answering our children's calls during dinner.”

 “That might be difficult.”

 “Try.”

 She laughed.

 “What else?”

 Solomon bent and kissed the top of her head.

 “I want to know who we are when we're not raising anybody.”

 Nadine looked at him in the mirror.

 That one stayed.

 He continued, “I want to know what we like now.”

 “Now?”

 “Yes.”

 “Not what we liked twenty years ago.”

 “No.”

 “Or when the children were little.”

 “No.”

 Nadine turned on the stool.

 Solomon stood between her knees.

 She looked up at him.

 “I think I want that too.”

 He smiled.

 “Good.”

 “And Solomon?”

 “Yes?”

 “I want more than romance.”

 His expression changed.

 “I know.”

 “I still have things I want to build.”

 “Then build them.”

 “I may expand again.”

 “Do it.”

 “I might spend more time in Spain.”

 Solomon paused.

 Nadine noticed.

 “What?”

 “Define more.”

 She laughed.

 “See?”

 “I am supportive within reasonable geographic limits.”

 “Controlling.”

 “Married.”

 “Same thing?”

 “In this house, apparently.”

 Nadine laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck.

 “I don't want smaller because I'm fifty-seven.”

 “Then don't get smaller.”

 “I don't want life to narrow.”

 “Then widen it.”

 She studied him.

 “And you?”

 “I have another structure I want to build.”

 Her eyebrows rose.

 “Where?”

 “New Mexico.”

 “Big?”

 “Very.”

 “Complicated?”

 “Extremely.”

 Nadine smiled.

 “There he is.”

 “Who?”

 “The boy who used to write me from Houston about buildings nobody had hired him to build yet.”

 Solomon's smile softened.

 “You believed me.”

 “I still do.”

 He kissed her forehead.

 Nadine held him closer.

 For the first time, empty nest did not sound like subtraction.

 It sounded like room.

 Room for the children to return.

 Room for grandchildren to scatter toys across the floor.

 Room for Spain.

 Room for New Mexico.

 Room for date nights.

 Room for aching knees and night cream and foolish barbershop haircuts.

 Room for whatever came next.

 Solomon touched one silver strand beside her face.

 “What?”

 “Nothing.”

 “Liar.”

 “I was thinking.”

 “Dangerous.”

 He smiled.

 “That I'm glad you waited for me.”

 Nadine's expression softened.

 “You took long enough.”

 “I know.”

 She kissed him.

 “And I'm glad you finally asked.”

 Solomon pulled her closer.

 Outside, snow continued falling over Mequon.

 Inside, the house was quiet again.

 But neither of them mistook quiet for ending anymore.

 This was not the end of the family they had built.

 It was not the end of motherhood.

 It was not the end of fatherhood.

 It certainly was not the end of desire.

 It was simply another beginning.

 And at fifty-seven, Solomon and Nadine Dumstrey were finally old enough to know what to do with one.

Chapter Ten — What Comes Next

Nadine found the list three days later.

 It was on Solomon's desk beneath a stack of project notes, written in his blocky handwriting on a yellow legal pad.

 She had gone into his office looking for an envelope.

 She found a plan.

 Of course she did.

 Solomon Matthias Dumstrey did not have thoughts.

 He had plans.

 Nadine picked up the pad.

 At the top he had written:

THINGS WE ARE DOING NOW

 She laughed immediately.

 Below it:

1. Date twice a month.

2. One weekend away every three months.

3. Nadine expands if she wants.

4. New Mexico project.

5. Visit each child without waiting for a holiday.

6. Italy if Magnus goes.

7. Stop answering family group chat during dinner.

 Nadine laughed harder.

 Then she saw number eight.

8. Find the rest of the letters.

 Her smile softened.

 Number nine:

9. Do something neither of us has done before.

 And number ten:

10. Keep choosing each other on purpose.

 Nadine stopped.

 She read it again.

 Then once more.

 “Going through my papers?”

 She turned.

 Solomon stood in the doorway.

 She lifted the legal pad.

 “You left this out.”

 “In my office.”

 “In our house.”

 “That is not a defense.”

 “It is in marriage.”

 Solomon smiled.

 Nadine looked back at the list.

 “Twice a month?”

 “Yes.”

 “You scheduled romance.”

 “I scheduled dates.”

 “Very different.”

 “Extremely.”

 She pointed to number seven.

 “This one is never happening.”

 “It absolutely is.”

 “If one of the children needs us—”

 “They know how to call twice.”

 Nadine stared at him.

 “Twice?”

 “Emergency protocol.”

 “You invented an emergency protocol for our children?”

 “They are adults.”

 “Sven and Magnus are eighteen.”

 “Adults.”

 “Barely.”

 “Legally.”

 Nadine shook her head.

 Then her finger moved to number six.

 “Italy.”

 Solomon walked toward her.

 “If he goes.”

 “You want us to visit?”

 “Why not?”

 She looked at him.

 “Because parents do not usually follow their children around Europe.”

 “We won't follow him.”

 “We'll just appear in the same country?”

 “Precisely.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “You're impossible.”

 “You married me.”

 “Apparently in a moment of weakness.”

 “Thirty-five-year weakness.”

 She smiled.

 Then touched number ten.

 Her voice changed.

 “What's this?”

 Solomon looked at the page.

 “You can read.”

 “You know what I mean.”

 He did.

 Nadine waited.

 Solomon leaned against the desk.

 “I don't want us to coast.”

 Her expression softened.

 “We've been married thirty-five years.”

 “I know.”

 “We've already chosen each other.”

 “Once.”

 Nadine looked at him.

 Solomon continued, “I think maybe people assume the wedding choice covers everything afterward.”

 She said nothing.

 “I don't.”

 He looked at her.

 “I think I choose you when I come home.”

 Nadine's eyes warmed.

 “When I listen to you talk about a salon problem I don't understand.”

 “You understand more than you pretend.”

 “I try.”

 “When you rub that ointment into my knee.”

 Nadine smiled.

 “When you tell me to pick up my socks.”

 “You need a lot of choosing.”

 He laughed.

 “When we show up for our children.”

 His voice softened.

 “When we don't let every child, grandchild, business problem, bad day, aging body, or ordinary week turn us into roommates.”

 Nadine became very still.

 There it was.

 The thing she had not known she was afraid of.

 Not divorce.

 Not betrayal.

 Not some dramatic collapse of love.

 Ordinary disappearance.

 Two people living beside each other so efficiently that one day they no longer remembered to look.

 She looked at Solomon.

 He still looked.

 Every night at the vanity.

 Every morning in the kitchen.

 Across restaurants.

 Across airports.

 Across forty-two years.

 Nadine set the pad down.

 “I choose you too.”

 Solomon's expression changed.

 “I know.”

 “You're not supposed to say that.”

 “What should I say?”

 “Something romantic.”

 “I know you're romantic.”

 She laughed.

 He opened his arms.

 Nadine walked into them.

 His chin rested against the top of her head.

 “Number nine,” she said.

 “What about it?”

 “Something neither of us has done before.”

 “Yes.”

 “Like what?”

 “I don't know yet.”

 Nadine pulled back.

 “You made a list without completing the research?”

 “I left room for spontaneity.”

 She stared.

 “Who are you?”

 Solomon laughed.

 Her phone rang.

 They both looked at it.

Bella

 Nadine reached.

 Solomon caught her wrist.

 She looked at him.

 “What?”

 He pointed to the legal pad.

 “Number seven.”

 “This is not dinner.”

 “Practice.”

 Nadine looked at the phone.

 Then at him.

 It stopped ringing.

 They stared.

 Five seconds later, it rang again.

 Nadine's eyes widened.

 Solomon released her wrist immediately.

 “Emergency protocol.”

 Nadine answered.

 “Bella?”

 “Mom, before you panic, nobody is hurt.”

 Nadine closed her eyes.

 “Then you cannot begin a sentence like that.”

 Solomon leaned closer.

 “What happened?”

 Bella heard him.

 “Dad there?”

 “Yes.”

 “Good. Put me on speaker.”

 Nadine did.

 “What's wrong?” Solomon asked.

 “Nothing is wrong.”

 “Then why did you call twice?”

 “Because apparently you two have some weird new rule.”

 Solomon looked at Nadine.

 She pointed at him.

 Bella continued, “Family dinner Saturday.”

 “At whose house?” Nadine asked.

 “Ours.”

 Nadine paused.

 “Ours?”

 “All of us decided.”

 “All of whom?”

 “Karl, Martha, Ingrid, Voyce, Bjorn, Lisa, me. Sven and Magnus will join by video if they can.”

 Nadine smiled.

 “What are we celebrating?”

 “Nothing.”

 “Then why dinner?”

 Bella sighed.

 “Mom, because we like each other.”

 Nadine's throat tightened.

 Solomon saw it.

 He took the phone.

 “Seven o'clock?”

 “Six.”

 “Why so early?”

 “Because Astrid goes feral after eight-thirty.”

 Solomon laughed.

 “Fair.”

 “And Mom?”

 “Yes?”

 “Don't cook.”

 Nadine frowned.

 “What do you mean don't cook?”

 “We're bringing everything.”

 “Everything?”

 “Yes.”

 “No.”

 “Mom.”

 “This is my house.”

 “And you spent thirty-four years feeding all of us.”

 Nadine went quiet.

 Bella continued, softer now.

 “Let us do it.”

 Solomon watched his wife.

 She blinked quickly.

 “All right.”

 Bella became suspicious.

 “That was too easy.”

 “Don't push it.”

 “Love you.”

 “Love you too.”

 “Dad?”

 “What?”

 “Pick up your socks before Saturday.”

 Bella hung up.

 Nadine burst out laughing.

 Solomon stared at the phone.

 “This family has become disrespectful.”

 “You raised them.”

 “So did you.”

 “I raised the polite half.”

 “Impossible.”

 Saturday arrived with snow.

 By five-forty-five, Nadine had broken her promise not to do anything by arranging flowers, polishing glasses, and making one small appetizer she insisted did not count as cooking.

 Solomon had been ordered to stay out of the kitchen.

 He obeyed badly.

 At six-oh-two, Karl and Martha arrived with Liam and Astrid.

 Astrid came through the door carrying a foil-covered dish with both hands and immense concentration.

 “Grandma, I made this.”

 Nadine crouched.

 “You did?”

 “Yes.”

 Martha removed her coat.

 “She stirred.”

 Astrid frowned.

 “I also sprinkled.”

 “Very important,” Nadine said.

 Liam carried bread.

 Karl carried enough food to suggest they expected twenty people.

 Ingrid and Voyce came next.

 Then Bella.

 Then Bjorn, Lisa, and Knoll.

 Within thirty minutes, the house was alive.

 Knoll ran through the family room with a wooden spoon.

 Astrid was explaining the menu.

 Liam and Voyce were arguing over a board game.

 Ingrid opened wine.

 Bella took over music.

 Karl and Solomon stood near the fireplace discussing something neither woman intended to let become a business meeting.

 Nadine looked around.

 Her family.

 Not children anymore.

 A family of adults now.

 Spouses.

 Grandchildren.

 Homes beyond hers.

 Lives beyond hers.

 And still hers.

 Not possession.

 Connection.

 Different.

 Still love.

 Martha touched her arm.

 “You okay?”

 Nadine smiled.

 “Yes.”

 “You looked emotional.”

 “I am.”

 Martha slipped one arm around her.

 Nadine hugged her back.

 “Thank you for loving my boy.”

 Martha smiled.

 “He makes it easy.”

 Nadine looked toward Karl.

 He was laughing at something Solomon said.

 “No, he doesn't.”

 Martha laughed.

 “Fair.”

 Dinner was chaotic.

 Perfectly chaotic.

 Sven appeared on a tablet propped against a bowl.

 Magnus joined ten minutes late and claimed a study group had detained him.

 Bella accused him of lying.

 Magnus denied it.

 Karl asked about Italy.

 Everyone talked at once.

 Finally Solomon lifted one hand.

 “Quiet.”

 Nobody became quiet.

 He raised his voice.

 “QUIET.”

 The table settled.

 Nadine smiled.

 Construction site voice.

 Magnus looked through the screen.

 “What?”

 Solomon folded his arms.

 “Are you going?”

 Magnus took a breath.

 “I think so.”

 Nadine's heart tightened.

 She smiled anyway.

 “Good.”

 Magnus looked at her.

 “You sure?”

 “Yes.”

 Solomon covered Nadine's hand beneath the table.

 She looked at him.

 He squeezed once.

 Magnus smiled.

 “I'll know officially next week.”

 Astrid leaned toward the tablet.

 “Can you bring me something from Italy?”

 Everyone laughed.

 Nadine pointed at her.

 “First Spain. Now Italy.”

 Astrid looked confused.

 “What?”

 “You have developed international expectations.”

 Karl groaned.

 “She absolutely has.”

 After dinner, Solomon stood.

 He tapped his glass once.

 Nadine looked at him.

 “What are you doing?”

 “Something.”

 “That concerns me.”

 Everyone quieted.

 Solomon looked around the table.

 Karl.

 Martha.

 Liam.

 Astrid.

 Ingrid.

 Voyce.

 Bjorn.

 Lisa.

 Knoll, currently asleep against his mother's shoulder.

 Bella.

 Sven and Magnus glowing from separate screens.

 Then Nadine.

 His wife.

 “I don't make speeches.”

 Bella whispered, “Thank God.”

 Solomon pointed at her.

 “Quiet.”

 She smiled.

 He continued.

 “Your mother has been struggling with the boys leaving.”

 Nadine's eyes widened.

 “Solomon.”

 “I said struggling. Not collapsing.”

 Ingrid smiled gently.

 Nadine looked around.

 Everyone already knew.

 Of course they did.

 Solomon continued, “And I think maybe I was so busy enjoying the fact that nobody was eating my food anymore that I didn't understand all of it at first.”

 Bjorn laughed.

 “Dad.”

 “It's true.”

 Nadine smiled.

 “But I figured something out.”

 Solomon looked at his children.

 “This house isn't your home because you live here.”

 Silence.

 “It is your home because we do.”

 Nadine's eyes filled.

 Solomon looked at her.

 “And wherever your mother is, you know where home is.”

 Karl lowered his eyes.

 Ingrid wiped beneath one of hers.

 Bella whispered, “Oh, Daddy.”

 Solomon cleared his throat.

 “So. You can all continue leaving.”

 Everyone laughed.

 “But come back.”

 Nadine reached for his hand.

 He took hers.

 Sven smiled from the screen.

 “We will.”

 Magnus nodded.

 “Always.”

 Nadine stood.

 She wrapped her arms around Solomon.

 He whispered against her hair, “Sandalwood.”

 She laughed through her tears.

 “And?”

 “Rose petals.”

 “Twenty-two years.”

 “Never change it.”

 “No promises.”

 His arms tightened.

 Later, after everyone left, Nadine and Solomon stood in the wreckage.

 Plates.

 Glasses.

 A toy beneath the table.

 Astrid's hair ribbon on a chair.

 One small sock.

 Nadine picked it up.

 “Knoll.”

 Solomon looked.

 “A sock.”

 “Yes.”

 “Not mine.”

 “Correct.”

 “Leave it there.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “No.”

 She put it on the console table.

 Then she looked around.

 “You know something?”

 “What?”

 “I like when they come.”

 “So do I.”

 “And when they leave.”

 Solomon smiled.

 “So do I.”

 Nadine took his hand.

 They walked upstairs.

         She took a needed warm shower.

 Then, at the vanity, she started her ritual.

 Night cream.

 Upward along her neck.

 Across her face.

 Moisturizer into her hands.

 Solomon leaned in the doorway.

 Watching.

 Nadine caught him in the mirror.

 “You're staring.”

 “I know.”

 She smiled.

 “You have something on your mind.”

 “Yes.”

 “What?”

 “Number nine.”

 Nadine turned.

 “What about it?”

 “I know what we're doing.”

 Her eyebrows rose.

 “Something neither of us has done before?”

 “Yes.”

 “What?”

 Solomon smiled.

 “I'll tell you tomorrow.”

 “No.”

 “Yes.”

 “Solomon.”

 “Nadine.”

 She stood.

 He backed up.

 “Tell me.”

 “No.”

 “You know I hate surprises.”

 “I know.”

 She walked toward him.

 Solomon laughed.

 Nadine stopped in front of him.

 “Last chance.”

 “No.”

 She smiled slowly.

 His smile changed.

 “Careful.”

 “Why?”

 “You have that look.”

 “What look?”

 “The one that usually costs me something.”

 Nadine reached for the front of his shirt.

 “Maybe it will.”

 Solomon's eyebrows rose.

 She kissed him.

 Then whispered against his mouth, “Tell me.”

 “No.”

 Another kiss.

 “Solomon.”

 “No.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “You are getting stubborn in your old age.”

 “Getting?”

 “Fair.”

 He pulled her closer.

 She rested her hands against his stomach.

 Solomon looked down.

 “There you go again.”

 “I like it.”

 “I know.”

 She looked up at him.

 “What comes next?”

 His expression softened.

 “Whatever we want.”

 Nadine smiled.

 That was new.

 For most of their lives, what came next had been dictated by necessity.

 Pregnancy.

 Children.

 School.

 Work.

 Money.

 Businesses.

 College.

 Family.

 Now there was room for choice.

 Not freedom from responsibility.

 Something better.

 Freedom within a life already full of meaning.

 Nadine touched the silver at Solomon's temple.

 “You know I would still choose you?”

 Solomon smiled.

 “I know.”

 She narrowed her eyes.

 “Wrong answer.”

 He laughed.

 Then kissed her forehead.

 “I would choose you too.”

 “Even now?”

 “Especially now.”

 Nadine rested against him.

 Silver hair against silver.

 A soft stomach beneath her palms.

 Stretch marks beneath her nightclothes.

 A knee that would need ointment before morning.

 Six children, two college campuses.

 Three grandchildren.

 Five salons.

 A construction empire.

 Hundreds of old letters.

 Thirty-five years of marriage.

 And still, somehow, room for more.

 Solomon kissed her hair.

 Nadine closed her eyes.

 “What comes next?” she asked again.

 He smiled against her temple.

 “Us.”

Chapter Eleven — Number Nine

Solomon made Nadine wait until breakfast.

 She hated him for it.

 Not truly.

 But enough to butter her toast with unnecessary force.

 “Tell me.”

 “No.”

 “You said tomorrow.”

 “It is tomorrow.”

 “Exactly.”

 Solomon calmly folded his newspaper.

 “I said I would tell you tomorrow. I did not specify breakfast.”

 Nadine stared at him.

 “You are enjoying this.”

 “Very much.”

 “I could leave.”

 “Where would you go?”

 “My salon.”

 “It is Sunday.”

 “I own it.”

 Solomon smiled.

 She narrowed her eyes.

 “Tell me.”

 He took a sip of coffee.

 “No.”

 Nadine put down the knife.

 Solomon immediately looked at it.

 “What?”

 “Nothing.”

 “You looked at the knife.”

 “I was assessing risk.”

 She laughed.

 “Coward.”

 “Experienced husband.”

 Nadine reached for her coffee.

 A quiet Sunday morning spread around them.

 Snow had stopped during the night, leaving the backyard bright and untouched beneath the winter sun.

 The kitchen smelled of coffee and toast.

 Her phone sat facedown.

 His did too.

 Progress.

 Nadine looked at him again.

 Solomon was reading.

 Or pretending.

 She knew the difference.

 His mouth moved slightly at the corner.

 “Solomon Matthias.”

 He lowered the paper.

 “Nadine Elise.”

 She smiled despite herself.

 “What are we doing?”

 “Something neither of us has done before.”

 “I know what number nine says.”

 “Good.”

 “What is it?”

 Solomon considered her.

 Then folded the paper completely.

 “All right.”

 Nadine sat straighter.

 “We are taking dance lessons.”

 Silence.

 Nadine blinked.

 “Dance lessons.”

 “Yes.”

 “You?”

 Solomon frowned.

 “Why did you say it like that?”

 “Because I have danced with you.”

 “You have.”

 “You move from side to side.”

 “That is dancing.”

 “That is transferring weight.”

 Solomon looked offended.

 Nadine began laughing.

 “You are cruel.”

 “Baby, at Karl's wedding you almost took out a centerpiece.”

 “The table was too close.”

 “The table was six feet away.”

 “I have long reach.”

 Nadine put both hands over her face.

 “Oh, this is wonderful.”

 “I thought you would like it.”

 “I love it.”

 Solomon smiled.

 She lowered her hands.

 “What kind?”

 “Tango.”

 Nadine stopped laughing.

 Solomon's smile broadened.

 “Tango?”

 “Yes.”

 “You booked us tango lessons?”

 “I did.”

 “Why tango?”

 “Because you said something neither of us has done.”

 “There are many things neither of us has done.”

 “Yes.”

 “Pottery.”

 “I don't want pottery.”

 “Glassblowing.”

 “I enjoy my eyebrows.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “Painting.”

 “I build things. I don't paint them.”

 “You employ people to paint them.”

 “Exactly.”

 She shook her head.

 “Tango.”

 “Tango.”

 “When?”

 “This afternoon.”

 Nadine's mouth fell open.

 “Today?”

 “Yes.”

 “You made an appointment without asking me?”

 “Yes.”

 “You are becoming reckless in retirement.”

 “I am not retired.”

 “Emotionally reckless, then.”

 Solomon laughed.

 Nadine leaned back in her chair.

 Then slowly smiled.

 “Tango.”

 “You keep repeating it.”

 “I am imagining your knee.”

 His smile disappeared.

 “Don't.”

 “It hurts when you put on socks.”

 “It does not.”

 “It cracked yesterday like lumber.”

 “That was one incident.”

 “You expect to tango?”

 “I expect to learn.”

 Nadine watched him.

 He meant it.

 Something warmed inside her.

 Not because of dancing.

 Because this was Solomon.

 The man who liked plans.

 The man who knew what came next.

 The man who had spent decades carrying responsibility as though uncertainty were something he could outwork.

 And here he was, at fifty-seven, volunteering to be bad at something.

 For fun.

 With her.

 “I love you.”

 Solomon blinked.

 “What did I do?”

 “Nothing.”

 “That sounded suspicious.”

 Nadine smiled.

 “Finish your coffee.”

 “You're going?”

 “Yes.”

 His face brightened.

 She pointed at him.

 “But if your knee starts bothering you, we stop.”

 “Yes, ma'am.”

 “And wear shoes you can actually move in.”

 “I own shoes.”

 “You own expensive shoes.”

 “They move.”

 “Mostly from the closet to the car.”

 Solomon laughed.

 At one-thirty, Nadine stood in front of her closet considering clothing.

 She had not expected to care.

 Then she remembered that Solomon was taking her dancing.

 Suddenly she cared.

 Not because she needed to look younger.

 That thought never entered her mind.

 She wanted to feel good.

 There was a difference.

 She selected fitted black trousers with enough stretch to move comfortably, a deep red wrap top, and low black shoes with a stable heel.

 Her hair stayed loose.

 Silver and brunette.

 She considered makeup, then kept it simple.

 A little color at her mouth.

 Earrings.

 Perfume.

 Done.

 When she entered the bedroom, Solomon was sitting on the edge of the bed tying his shoes.

 He looked up.

 And stopped.

 Nadine smiled.

 “Still?”

 His eyes moved over her.

 “Yes.”

 “Good answer.”

 Solomon stood.

 Carefully.

 She noticed.

 “Knee?”

 “Fine.”

 “Truth.”

 He sighed.

 “Stiff.”

 “Ointment before we leave.”

 “Nadine.”

 “Sit.”

 “I just stood.”

 “Sit.”

 He sat.

 She went to the drawer.

 Solomon shook his head.

 “You are going to take all the masculinity out of tango before we even arrive.”

 Nadine opened the jar.

 “Masculinity has nothing to do with pretending your joints don't hurt.”

 “I know.”

 “Good.”

 She knelt.

 Solomon watched her work the ointment around his knee.

 Her fingers were practiced now.

 She knew where the tenderness sat.

 “You know,” he said, “I could do that.”

 “I know.”

 “Then why do you always do it?”

 She looked up.

 “Because I like taking care of you.”

 Solomon became quiet.

 Nadine smiled.

 “You like taking care of me.”

 “Yes.”

 “Then hush.”

 “Yes, ma'am.”

 She finished.

 Solomon stood.

 Then offered his hand.

 Nadine took it.

 “Ready?”

 “No.”

 “Good.”

 They went.

 The dance studio occupied the second floor of a renovated brick building in Milwaukee.

 Tall windows.

 Polished wooden floors.

 Mirrors along one wall.

 Music drifting softly from overhead speakers.

 Nadine stopped just inside.

 Solomon nearly walked into her.

 “What?”

 “There are mirrors everywhere.”

 “So?”

 “So I am going to have to watch you dance.”

 He stared.

 Nadine laughed.

 A woman approached them.

 She looked to be somewhere near their age, perhaps a little older, with silver hair cut sharply at the jaw and the carriage of someone who had been dancing most of her life.

 “Solomon and Nadine?”

 “Yes,” Solomon said.

 She smiled.

 “I am Elena.”

 Nadine's eyes lit.

 “Elena?”

 “Yes.”

 Nadine answered her in Spanish.

 Elena's smile widened.

 They exchanged several sentences too quickly for Solomon to follow.

 He looked from one woman to the other.

 “English.”

 Nadine turned.

 “You spent four years in Texas and never learned Spanish?”

 “I learned construction Spanish.”

 Elena laughed.

 “That could be interesting.”

 “It is mostly not suitable for dance studios.”

 Nadine laughed.

 Elena gestured toward the floor.

 “Come.”

 For the first ten minutes, Solomon hated tango.

 There were instructions.

 Posture.

 Frame.

 Weight distribution.

 Foot placement.

 Direction.

 Timing.

 He understood all those words individually.

 Together, they seemed designed to humiliate him.

 “Relax your shoulders,” Elena said.

 “They are relaxed.”

 “They are near your ears.”

 Nadine made a sound.

 Solomon looked at her.

 “Don't.”

 “I said nothing.”

 “You're laughing.”

 “I am breathing.”

 “With disrespect.”

 Elena smiled.

 “Solomon, place your right hand here.”

 She guided his hand to Nadine's back.

 His expression immediately improved.

 Elena noticed.

 “That part you understand.”

 Nadine burst out laughing.

 Solomon smiled.

 “Thirty-five years of practice.”

 “Good. Then use it.”

 Elena showed Nadine where to place her hand.

 Then stepped back.

 “Now look at each other.”

 They did.

 The laughter disappeared.

 Nadine's hand rested near Solomon's shoulder.

 His palm was warm against her back.

 Their bodies were close without touching fully.

 Close enough.

 Elena said, “Tango begins before the first step.”

 Solomon's eyes remained on Nadine.

 “How?”

 “Intention.”

 Nadine's mouth curved.

 “That sounds dangerous.”

 Elena smiled.

 “Good tango should.”

 Solomon's hand shifted slightly at Nadine's back.

 She felt it.

 Elena continued, “The leader does not drag. The follower does not disappear. One proposes movement. The other answers.”

 Nadine looked at Solomon.

 “Did you hear that?”

 “What?”

 “Do not drag.”

 “I have never dragged you.”

 “You've tried.”

 “Marriage is complicated.”

 Elena clapped once.

 “Less marriage counseling. More walking.”

 They began.

 Badly.

 Solomon stepped left.

 Nadine went right.

 Their shoes met.

 “Sorry.”

 “You stepped on me.”

 “I said sorry.”

 “You lead.”

 “I am trying.”

 “Try somewhere other than my foot.”

 Elena laughed.

 “Again.”

 Again.

 This time they managed three steps.

 Then Solomon looked down.

 “Do not look at your feet,” Elena said.

 “I need to know where they are.”

 “They are attached to you.”

 Nadine nearly folded over.

 Solomon glared at both women.

 “This is hostile.”

 “Again,” Elena said.

 They tried.

 Again.

 Again.

 Again.

 Then something happened.

 Not skill.

 Certainly not yet.

 Trust.

 Nadine stopped anticipating him.

 Solomon stopped trying to control every step.

 His hand communicated before his foot moved.

 She answered.

 One step.

 Another.

 Turn.

 Pause.

 Close.

 Elena said nothing.

 Nadine's eyes stayed on Solomon's.

 He smiled.

 She smiled back.

 Then he led her through a turn.

 Not elegantly.

 But successfully.

 Nadine's face lit.

 “Oh!”

 Solomon laughed.

 “See?”

 “Don't get arrogant.”

 “I am dancing.”

 “You completed one turn.”

 “Professionally.”

 Elena shook her head.

 “Again.”

 By the end of the lesson, Nadine's cheeks hurt from laughing.

 Solomon's knee was tired but manageable.

 They were not good.

 Not remotely.

 They were, however, better than when they entered.

 Elena turned down the music.

 “How does the knee feel?”

 Solomon looked surprised.

 “You noticed?”

 “I teach bodies, Mr. Dumstrey. All kinds of bodies.”

 Nadine immediately liked her even more.

 “It's all right.”

 “Do not make pain a competition.”

 Nadine pointed at Solomon.

 “Thank you.”

 He sighed.

 Elena continued, “You adjust. You do not quit because your body is fifty-seven.”

 Solomon looked at Nadine.

 She smiled.

 Elena added, “And you do not dance as though you are twenty-seven. There is no prize for pretending.”

 Something about that settled deeply into Nadine.

 No prize for pretending.

 She looked at the mirrors.

 At herself.

 Silver hair.

 Full hips.

 A softer middle beneath the wrap top.

 The body in the mirror was not the girl who had gone to Homestead.

 Good.

 She liked this woman better.

 Beside her stood Solomon.

 A little flushed.

 Silver at his temples.

 Shirt slightly untucked.

 Belly present.

 Bad knee.

 Looking ridiculously proud of himself.

 She liked him better too.

 Elena handed them a card.

 “Next Sunday?”

 Solomon looked at Nadine.

 She raised her eyebrows.

 “You want to?”

 He nodded.

 “Yes.”

 Nadine smiled.

 “Then yes.”

 Solomon looked triumphant.

 “Don't.”

 “What?”

 “You have completed one lesson.”

 “I have potential.”

 “You have enthusiasm.”

 “Same family.”

 Elena laughed.

 Outside, cold air hit them immediately.

 Solomon pulled on his gloves.

 Nadine tucked her arm through his.

 They walked slowly toward the car.

 Her hip bumped his.

 He looked down.

 “What?”

 “Tango.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “Not on ice.”

 “I have excellent balance.”

 “You stepped on me six times.”

 “Three.”

 “Six.”

 “Alleged.”

 She shook her head.

 When they reached the car, Solomon opened her door.

 Nadine stopped before getting in.

 “Thank you.”

 “For?”

 “Number nine.”

 He smiled.

 “You liked it.”

 “I loved it.”

 “Good.”

 Nadine put both hands on the front of his coat.

 “What made you choose tango?”

 Solomon looked at her.

 Then toward the building.

 “I wanted something where I had to pay attention to you.”

 Her smile slowly disappeared.

 “You already do.”

 “I know.”

 “But?”

 He shrugged.

 “I liked the idea of having to learn you again.”

 Nadine's throat tightened.

 “Solomon.”

 “What?”

 “You cannot say things like that in parking lots.”

 “Why?”

 “Because now I have to kiss you.”

 “That was not accidental.”

 She laughed.

 Then kissed him.

 Cold air.

 Warm mouth.

 His hands around her waist.

 Nadine smiled against his lips.

 When they separated, Solomon rested his forehead against hers.

 “We're going next week.”

 “You really liked it.”

 “Yes.”

 “You spent half the lesson complaining.”

 “I can enjoy and complain simultaneously.”

 “Apparently.”

 He opened the car door again.

 Nadine sat.

 On the way home, they stopped for dinner.

 Nothing fancy.

 A warm neighborhood restaurant with good soup, fresh bread, and a table near the window.

 Solomon's knee stiffened beneath the table.

 Nadine noticed when he shifted.

 “Hurting?”

 “A little.”

 “We overdid it.”

 “No.”

 “Solomon.”

 “I'd do it again.”

 She smiled.

 “You will. Next Sunday.”

 “Good.”

 Nadine reached under the table and squeezed his knee gently above the tender area.

 Solomon covered her hand.

 “Do you realize we have become the people who discuss joints at dinner?”

 “Yes.”

 “Sexy.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “I think you are.”

 His expression changed.

 “What?”

 “You heard me.”

 “You think my arthritic knee is sexy?”

 “I think you are sexy.”

 “At fifty-seven?”

 She stared.

 “Have you learned nothing?”

 He smiled.

 “I wanted to hear you say it.”

 “Needy.”

 “Married.”

 Nadine shook her head.

 Then her phone buzzed.

 She looked.

 A photograph from Magnus.

 A packet.

 An acceptance letter.

 Her heart stopped.

 She opened the message.

Magnus: Official. Italy accepted me for spring semester.

 Nadine stared.

 Solomon saw her face.

 “What?”

 She turned the phone.

 He read it.

 For a moment neither spoke.

 Then Solomon smiled.

 “Our boy.”

 Nadine's eyes filled.

 “Don't.”

 “What?”

 “If you say anything sentimental, I'm going to cry in this restaurant.”

 Solomon reached across the table.

 Nadine gave him her hand.

 “He should go.”

 “Yes.”

 “I want him to go.”

 “I know.”

 “I hate it.”

 “I know.”

 She laughed through the tears that came anyway.

 Solomon lifted her hand and kissed it.

 Nadine wiped beneath her eyes with the other.

 “You know what?”

 “What?”

 “We are going to Italy.”

 Solomon smiled.

 “I already put it on the list.”

 “You are not embarrassing him.”

 “No promises.”

 “Solomon.”

 “I'll behave.”

 “That means nothing coming from you.”

 He laughed.

 Nadine looked again at Magnus's message.

 Her baby was going to Italy.

 And she was proud.

 And sad.

 And excited.

 And worried.

 All at once.

 Maybe that was motherhood now.

 Not letting go.

 Expanding enough to hold distance.

 Later that evening, Nadine sat on the edge of their bed massaging ointment into Solomon's knee.

 He leaned back on his hands.

 “You're quiet.”

 “Thinking.”

 “About Magnus?”

 “Yes.”

 “He'll be fine.”

 “I know.”

 “You said that like you don't.”

 “I know he'll be fine.”

 She looked up.

 “I am the problem.”

 “You are not a problem.”

 “You know what I mean.”

 Solomon nodded.

 Nadine continued working gently around his knee.

 “I spent so many years teaching them to be brave.”

 “Yes.”

 “And then they become brave.”

 “Inconvenient.”

 She laughed.

 “Very.”

 Solomon reached down and touched her cheek.

 “You were brave too.”

 “When?”

 “When I left for Houston.”

 Nadine stopped.

 “I didn't feel brave.”

 “You let me go.”

 “I cried for a week.”

 “I know.”

 “How?”

 “Your letters.”

 She smiled.

 “You knew everything.”

 “Almost.”

 “I hated Houston.”

 “You'd never been.”

 “I hated it because it had you.”

 Solomon laughed softly.

 Nadine looked down at his knee.

 “My parents let me stay here. Beauty school. Apprenticeship. My life.”

 “Yes.”

 “And nobody told me loving somebody meant keeping them close.”

 Solomon watched her.

 Nadine smiled slowly.

 “Maybe I already knew how to do this.”

 “What?”

 “Love somebody far away.”

 His expression softened.

 “You did it for four years.”

 “Letters.”

 “Lots of them.”

 “Telephone calls.”

 “Expensive.”

 “Terrible connections.”

 “Your father answering.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “And now Magnus can video-call me from Italy.”

 “Progress.”

 She nodded.

 “Maybe I can do this.”

 Solomon's hand covered hers.

 “You can.”

 Nadine looked at him.

 “You know what we should do?”

 “What?”

 “Write him a letter.”

 Solomon smiled.

 “On paper?”

 “Yes.”

 “With a stamp?”

 “Do you remember those?”

 “Barely.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “When he gets to Italy, we each write him one.”

 “Why?”

 “Because he has grown up with messages that arrive immediately.”

 Solomon's smile deepened.

 “And?”

 “I want him to know what it feels like to open something somebody sat down and wrote only for him.”

 Solomon nodded.

 “I like that.”

 “So do I.”

 She finished with his knee.

 Then stood.

 At her vanity, she began applying night cream.

 Upward.

 Always upward.

 Solomon watched.

 Nadine caught him in the mirror.

 “You're staring.”

 “I know.”

 She smiled.

 “Did you enjoy your tango?”

 “Our tango.”

 “You nearly injured me.”

 “You survived.”

 “Barely.”

 “You liked being close to me.”

 Nadine looked at him through the mirror.

 “Yes.”

 Solomon's smile changed.

 She moisturized her hands.

 Then stood.

 He reached for her.

 Nadine moved into his arms.

 “Next Sunday?”

 “Yes.”

 “And Italy?”

 “Yes.”

 “And more dates?”

 “Yes.”

 “And number ten?”

 She smiled.

 “Every day.”

 Solomon kissed her.

 Slowly.

 Nadine's arms went around his neck.

 And somewhere between laughter, silver hair, a sore knee, a son leaving for Italy, and learning how not to step on each other's feet, Solomon and Nadine discovered that beginning again did not require forgetting anything that came before.

 It required carrying all of it forward.

 Together.SILVER & STILL BURNING

Because Desire Doesn't Have an Expiration Date.

Book One

Chapter One — Nadine Comes Home

“Take a little more off the sides.”

 The barber stopped clipping.

 Three men waiting along the wall stopped talking.

 Somewhere behind Solomon Matthias Dumstrey, a newspaper lowered.

 His barber, Jerome, stared at Solomon's reflection in the mirror. “A little more?”

 “Yes.”

 “You've been coming to me for eleven years.”

 “I know how long I've been coming here.”

 “And for eleven years, every time I ask whether you want me to take a little more off the sides, you tell me—and I quote—‘Don't get creative with my head.’”

 Laughter broke out around the barbershop.

 Solomon frowned at all of them through the mirror. “A man can't change his mind?”

 “Not about his hair at fifty-seven.”

 “I'm fifty-seven, Jerome. I'm not dead.”

 That earned a louder round.

 Solomon shook his head, but there was a smile beneath it.

 “Just clean it up,” he said. “And blend the gray.”

 Jerome's hands stopped again.

 Solomon closed his eyes.

 He had said too much.

 “Blend the gray?”

 “Don't start.”

 “Oh, I'm not starting anything.” Jerome turned toward the room. “Gentlemen, Mr. Solomon Dumstrey has just asked me to blend his gray.”

 “I said don't start.”

 A man near the coat rack called out, “Who's she?”

 “My wife.”

 The room went momentarily quiet.

 Then somebody said, “Oh.”

 Solomon turned his head.

 Jerome pushed it straight again.

 “Hold still.”

 “What does ‘oh’ mean?”

 The man shrugged. “Nothing. I thought maybe you were getting divorced.”

 “Divorced?”

 “Or had a girlfriend.”

 Solomon's expression changed.

 Jerome saw it in the mirror and pointed the clippers at him. “Don't get yourself thrown out of my shop. Williams is joking.”

 “I don't have a girlfriend.”

 “That's what you just said.”

 “I have Nadine.”

 There was something in the way he said her name that quieted the joke before it could become another one.

 Solomon settled back into the chair.

 “Nadine comes home tonight.”

 Jerome's eyebrows rose. “Spain?”

 “Two weeks.”

 “That's why you're in here acting seventeen?”

 “Fifteen.”

 “What?”

 “I was fifteen when I first saw her.”

 Solomon's mouth curved.

 He could still see her.

 Homestead High School. Sophomore year. Nadine Elise Burow walking through a hallway with books hugged against her chest and brunette hair falling around her shoulders.

 He had stared.

 Then spent almost two years doing absolutely nothing useful about it.

 Jerome laughed. “How long did it take you to ask her out?”

 “None of your business.”

 “Long time, then.”

 “Senior year.”

 The barbershop erupted.

 “Two years?”

 “Man!”

 “Construction tycoon scared of a teenage girl!”

 “I wasn't a construction tycoon at fifteen.”

 “What were you?”

 “Scared of a teenage girl.”

 Solomon laughed with them.

 He didn't mind telling it anymore.

 At fifty-seven, there was something rather wonderful about admitting that the woman who had shared his bed for thirty-five years had once made him afraid to say hello.

 What Solomon hadn't known then was that Nadine had been waiting.

 She told him that after they were married.

 He had nearly fallen out of bed.

 Two years.

 Two entire years wasted because Solomon thought Nadine Burow couldn't possibly be interested in him while Nadine Burow apparently went home wondering whether Solomon Dumstrey would ever get enough sense to ask her out.

 They had been making each other crazy for more than forty years.

 Some things endured.

 “Don't cover the gray,” Solomon said suddenly.

 Jerome looked at him.

 “I thought you said blend it.”

 “I changed my mind. Clean it up. Leave the silver.”

 “There you go.”

 “She likes it.”

 Jerome smiled. “That's all that matters.”

 “It is tonight.”

 There were noises behind him.

 Solomon looked into the mirror. “All of you need hobbies.”

 “We have hobbies,” Williams said. “Right now, it's you.”

 Solomon ignored him.

 He studied his reflection instead.

 His hair was certainly thinner than it had been when Nadine married him. There was no point pretending otherwise. Silver had moved decisively into the dark strands at his temples, and his beard had surrendered even more territory.

 His face was older.

 So was hers.

 Thank God.

 He had no desire to be twenty-two again.

 Twenty-two-year-old Solomon had come home from Houston with more ambition than money, a trade beneath his hands, a head full of impossible plans, and one certainty.

 He was going to marry Nadine Burow.

 Four years of letters had settled that.

 Letters.

 His sons couldn't understand it.

 Sven had once asked why Solomon hadn't simply texted their mother.

 Solomon had stared at him until Nadine laughed herself breathless.

 There had been no texting.

 No FaceTime.

 No social media.

 No little device in his pocket allowing him to see Nadine whenever he wanted.

 There had been a telephone attached to a wall by a cord, long-distance charges, Nadine's father occasionally answering before she did, and envelopes.

 Hundreds of envelopes.

 Mequon to Houston.

 Houston to Mequon.

 By the second year, postal workers knew their names.

 By the fourth, Solomon knew Nadine's handwriting from across a room.

 He still did.

 “Why two weeks?” Jerome asked.

 Solomon returned to the present. “Business. Her salon in Spain. Staffing, some expansion planning, meetings. Nadine doesn't know how to go anywhere and just have one meeting.”

 “Neither do you.”

 “That's different.”

 “How?”

 “I'm me.”

 Jerome snorted.

 Solomon's phone vibrated beneath the barber cape.

 He ignored it.

 It vibrated again.

 Then again.

 He sighed. “Get that for me.”

 “I'm your barber, not your secretary.”

 “My hands are trapped.”

 “You own a construction company. Escape.”

 Solomon managed to get one hand beneath the cape and pulled out his phone.

 The family group chat.

 Of course.

Bella: Has Mom landed yet?

Karl: Dad said tonight.

Ingrid: That wasn't the question.

Bjorn: Why are we tracking Mom's flight like she's twelve?

Bella: Because Dad has probably checked it 46 times.

 Solomon frowned.

 He had checked it six.

 Possibly seven.

 A new message appeared.

Sven: Dad, did you put gas in Mom's car?

 Solomon stared at the screen.

 He typed.

Dad: Why would I need to put gas in your mother's car?

 Three dots appeared immediately.

Sven: Because she asked you before she left.

 Solomon stopped breathing.

 Another message.

Magnus: 😂😂😂

 Then Bella.

Bella: HE FORGOT.

 Then Ingrid.

Ingrid: Daddy.

 Then Karl.

Karl: Amateur move.

 Solomon typed with one finger.

Dad: I have been married longer than any of you have been alive. Mind your business.

Karl: You have been married longer than I've been alive by eleven months.

 Solomon stared.

 Jerome was watching him in the mirror.

 “Children?”

 “Unfortunately.”

 “Thought they all moved out.”

 “They moved out of my house. Apparently they remain in my telephone.”

 That got another laugh.

 But Solomon smiled as he put the phone away.

 All six.

 Karl. Ingrid. Bjorn. Bella. Sven. Magnus.

 His and Nadine's noisy, expensive, beautiful life's work.

 The youngest two had been gone for two months.

 Two months.

 Solomon was still learning the silence.

 Nadine was having a harder time.

 He had found her standing in Sven's room three nights before her business trip, holding a sweatshirt that boy had left behind.

 She hadn't been crying.

 That somehow made it worse.

 “Do you think they'll ever need me again?” she'd asked.

 Solomon had walked across the room and pulled his wife against his chest.

 He hadn't told her not to be silly.

 He hadn't reminded her that Karl called three times a week, Ingrid still wanted her mother's opinion before making major decisions, Bjorn routinely appeared on video calls holding two-year-old Knoll like an offering, Bella telephoned whenever life annoyed her, and Sven and Magnus seemed physically incapable of locating important documents without maternal intervention.

 Need changed.

 That was the trouble.

 For thirty-four years, somebody had been shouting “Mom” from somewhere inside their house.

 Now nobody did.

 Solomon missed it too.

 But beneath the missing was something he had almost felt guilty admitting.

 He liked being alone with his wife.

 There.

 He said it.

 At least inside his own head.

 He liked walking downstairs Saturday morning and finding nobody sprawled across the kitchen.

 He liked coming home and discovering the food he had put in the refrigerator was still there.

 He liked that nobody needed a vehicle.

 Nobody had practice.

 Nobody had friends over.

 Nobody appeared at their bedroom door at eleven-thirty at night asking a question that absolutely could have waited until morning.

 And when Nadine walked from their bathroom wearing one of her soft nightgowns, Solomon no longer had to wonder whether a child was about to materialize in the hallway.

 He was enjoying the empty nest.

 He simply needed Nadine to come home so he could enjoy it properly.

 “You smiling again,” Jerome said.

 “Cut my hair.”

 “I am cutting your hair.”

 “Then concentrate.”

 Jerome laughed.

 Forty minutes later, Solomon stood outside the barbershop in the sharp Wisconsin afternoon and rubbed one hand over his freshly trimmed beard.

 Good.

 He looked good.

 Not young.

 Good.

 There was a difference, and at fifty-seven Solomon had finally learned to appreciate it.

 His body had changed too.

 The shoulders remained broad. His arms still carried some of the strength earned during the years when he worked beside men he now employed. But his waist had thickened, and there was a comfortable belly above his belt that had resisted every January promise he'd made about getting rid of it.

 Nadine liked it.

 That woman would put her hand on his stomach when they were lying in bed as though it had been placed there specifically for her convenience.

 His knees were another matter.

 The left one was already complaining about the cold.

 Tonight Nadine would notice.

 She always noticed.

 She'd get that ointment from her bedside drawer, sit beside him and rub it into his knee while fussing that he needed to stop walking construction sites in Wisconsin weather as though he were still twenty-five.

 And Solomon would let her fuss.

 He had missed being fussed at.

 He had even missed hearing her complain about his socks.

 Not enough to start picking them up, apparently.

 But he had missed it.

 His phone rang.

 This time it was not one of the children.

 He looked at the screen.

Nadine.

 His entire face changed.

 “Hello, beautiful.”

 Her laugh crossed thousands of miles and landed directly in his chest.

 “Hello yourself.”

 “Where are you?”

 “Chicago.”

 Solomon straightened. “Chicago?”

 “My connection came in early.”

 “How early?”

 “Early enough that you might want to stop pretending you haven't been tracking my flight.”

 He looked around as though someone might have reported him.

 “I haven't been tracking your flight.”

 “Solomon Matthias Dumstrey.”

 Lord, he loved when she said his entire name.

 “What?”

 “I know you.”

 “You've been away too long. Your memory is unreliable.”

 “Mm-hmm.”

 He heard airport noise behind her.

 Then she said, softer, “I missed you.”

 The teasing left him.

 “I missed you too, baby.”

 There was a small silence.

 Thirty-five years married, and there were still silences between them that didn't need filling.

 “I'll be home tonight,” she said.

 “I know.”

 “Did you remember to put gas in my car?”

 Solomon closed his eyes.

 From somewhere inside the barbershop, Jerome saw him through the window and started laughing.

 “I am handling it.”

 “You forgot.”

 “I said I'm handling it.”

 Nadine laughed.

 God, he had missed that sound.

 “Go put gas in my car, Solomon.”

 “Yes, ma'am.”

 “And don't cook.”

 His eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

 “Last time you cooked while I was away, you sent Bella a picture and she called me in Spain to ask whether you were safe.”

 “That was one incident.”

 “You burned water.”

 “You cannot burn water.”

 “Apparently you can.”

 “Nadine.”

 “Solomon.”

 He smiled into the cold.

 “I love you.”

 Her voice changed.

 “I love you too.”

 Then, because she had known him since he was fifteen:

 “And what are you up to?”

 His smile widened.

 “Nothing.”

 “That sounded like something.”

 “Come home and find out.”

 Silence.

 Different silence.

 Solomon waited.

 When Nadine spoke again, her voice had dropped just enough to send a slow warmth through the center of him.

 “Solomon.”

 “What?”

 “Go put gas in my car.”

 She hung up.

 Solomon stood on the sidewalk staring at his telephone.

 Then he laughed.

 Fifteen years old all over again.

 No.

 Better.

 Fifty-seven.

 Thirty-five years of marriage.

 Six children.

 Three grandchildren.

 A bad left knee.

 A little too much stomach.

 Silver at his temples.

 And Nadine Elise Burow Dumstrey was coming home tonight.

 Solomon headed for his car.

 He had gas to buy.

 Flowers to pick up.

 Shoes and socks to get off a bathroom floor.

 And absolutely no intention of behaving his age.

Chapter Two — Home

Nadine Elise Dumstrey knew her husband was up to something before she reached baggage claim.

 Thirty-five years of marriage had taught her the different versions of Solomon Matthias Dumstrey’s voice, and the one she'd heard on the telephone from Chicago belonged to a man with plans.

 Not construction plans.

 She smiled to herself.

 Those she understood.

 Solomon could stand in front of drawings for a forty-story structure and discuss foundations, steel loads, budgets, permits, subcontractors, schedules, safety requirements, and things Nadine had stopped pretending to understand sometime around 1996.

 But when that man said, Come home and find out, in that particular voice?

 Nadine understood perfectly.

 She pulled her carry-on behind her through Milwaukee Mitchell International Airport and adjusted the camel-colored wool coat over her arm.

 She was tired.

 Not delicately tired.

 Not the sort of tired cured by a cup of tea and ten minutes with her feet elevated.

 She was fifty-seven-year-old, transatlantic-flight, airport-food, somebody's-child-kicked-the-back-of-her-seat, menopause-decided-sleep-was-optional tired.

 And she wanted her own bed.

 Her own shower.

 Her own pillow.

 Her own bathroom.

 Her own night cream.

 And Solomon.

 Especially Solomon.

 Her phone buzzed.

 She looked.

Family Circus

 Nadine stopped walking.

 She had changed the name of their family group chat three years ago after forty-seven messages arrived while she was attempting to conduct a meeting.

 She opened it.

Bella: MOM LANDED.

 Nadine frowned.

Nadine: How do you know?

Bella: I have sources.

Ingrid: She means Dad.

Karl: Welcome home, Mom.

Bjorn: Welcome home!

 A photograph appeared.

 Knoll.

 Her two-year-old grandson was sitting at a kitchen table with something orange covering most of his face.

 Nadine enlarged the picture.

Nadine: What is on my grandbaby?

Bjorn: Spaghetti.

Nadine: Why is spaghetti in his eyebrows?

Lisa: Your son was supervising dinner.

 Nadine laughed aloud.

Bjorn: Betrayal in my own home.

 Another message arrived.

Karl: Liam says hi. Astrid wants to know what you brought her.

Nadine: Tell my beautiful babies Grandma brought hugs.

 Three dots.

Karl: Astrid says hugs are not from Spain.

 Nadine laughed harder.

 That child.

Nadine: Tell Astrid Grandma has something in her suitcase.

Karl: Suddenly you are her favorite person again.

 Then came Sven.

Sven: MOM

 Nadine stopped.

 There it was.

 One word.

 Four capital letters.

 Her heart reacted before her mind could tell it not to.

Nadine: Yes, baby?

Sven: Where is my birth certificate?

 Nadine closed her eyes.

 Of course.

 She had been home in Wisconsin approximately nine minutes.

Nadine: Fireproof cabinet in Dad's office. Second drawer. Blue folder marked SVEN.

Sven: You're the best.

 Then:

Sven: Love you Mom.

 Her throat tightened.

 Ridiculous.

 Absolutely ridiculous.

 She was standing in an airport getting emotional because an eighteen-year-old boy couldn't locate his birth certificate.

 Nadine blinked quickly.

Nadine: Love you too.

 Magnus appeared next.

Magnus: Since everybody's here...

Bella: Oh no.

Magnus: I got the preliminary information about Italy.

 Nadine stopped walking completely.

 People moved around her.

 Suitcases rolled past.

 Announcements echoed overhead.

 Italy.

 She had known it was coming.

 Magnus had talked about the exchange program for months. It fit his major. It was an extraordinary opportunity. Nadine had encouraged him to apply.

 She had meant every word.

 Apparently she had not considered the possibility that the university might have the audacity to accept him.

Nadine: That's wonderful, sweetheart.

 She stared at the message before sending it.

 Then she added:

Nadine: I am so proud of you.

 She sent that too.

 Because she was.

 Both things could be true.

 She could be proud of the wings and hate the distance they created.

 Nadine tucked her phone into her handbag and resumed walking.

 For eighteen years, Sven and Magnus had occupied enormous amounts of physical space.

 Shoes.

 Backpacks.

 Sports equipment.

 Friends.

 Food.

 Noise.

 Arguments.

 Music.

 Laundry.

 Requests for money.

 Requests for rides.

 Requests for food while standing directly in front of a refrigerator containing food.

 Mom.

 Mom?

 Mom!

 MOM!

 Then August came.

 Two dormitories.

 Two campuses.

 Two goodbyes.

 Two empty bedrooms.

 And silence.

 She had raised four children into adulthood before Sven and Magnus left. She should have been an expert.

 She wasn't.

 Karl had left first, but Ingrid was still home.

 Then Ingrid left, but Bjorn and Bella were there.

 Then the first twins left, and the younger twins were still boys.

 There had always been another child at the breakfast table.

 This time there wasn't.

 “You raised them to leave.”

 Nadine murmured the reminder beneath her breath.

 It didn't help.

 Her phone buzzed again.

 She expected another child.

 It was her husband.

Solomon: Where are you?

 Nadine looked around.

Nadine: Walking to baggage claim.

 His response came immediately.

Solomon: Stop walking.

 She frowned.

Nadine: Why?

Solomon: Because I said so.

 Nadine's eyebrows went up.

 Oh.

 Really?

Nadine: You have been away from me too long if you have forgotten who you married.

 Nothing.

 Nadine smiled.

 She resumed walking deliberately.

 Thirty seconds later:

Solomon: Nadine.

 She ignored him.

Solomon: Woman.

 She laughed.

 Then she heard him.

 “Nadine.”

 She stopped.

 There were hundreds of people in the airport.

 She knew his voice anyway.

 Nadine turned.

 And there he was.

 Solomon stood perhaps twenty feet away in a dark wool overcoat, one hand tucked into the pocket and the other holding flowers.

 Not roses.

 Thank goodness.

 Solomon knew better.

 Deep burgundy dahlias, cream ranunculus, eucalyptus and something soft and green she couldn't identify.

 But Nadine barely looked at the flowers.

 She looked at him.

 Fresh haircut.

 Beard trimmed.

 Silver untouched.

 Her eyes narrowed.

 Solomon's mouth moved.

 Just slightly.

 That arrogant little almost-smile.

 Nadine slowly looked him over.

 He had dressed.

 Not merely put on clothes.

 Dressed.

 Dark trousers. Beautiful shoes. A soft sweater beneath his overcoat. The watch she'd given him for their thirtieth anniversary.

 And that haircut.

 Nadine began walking toward him.

 Solomon stayed exactly where he was.

 His eyes moved over her with an intimacy that had nothing to do with exposed skin.

 Nadine had traveled comfortably. Black trousers. Low boots. A cream knit top beneath a long cardigan. Her silver-and-brunette hair was twisted loosely at the nape of her neck, and after hours of travel she suspected half of it had escaped.

 Her face was bare except for moisturizer, lip balm and whatever mascara had survived the Atlantic Ocean.

 She had never felt more observed.

 When she reached him, she stopped.

 “Hello.”

 “Hello.”

 Her eyes went to his hair.

 Then his beard.

 Then back to his eyes.

 “You got a haircut.”

 “Needed one.”

 Nadine stared.

 Solomon tried to hold the expression.

 He failed first.

 She smiled.

 “You went to Jerome.”

 “I always go to Jerome.”

 “Mm-hmm.”

 “What?”

 “Nothing.”

 “That's my line.”

 “I know.”

 He handed her the flowers.

 Nadine took them, but before she could smell them, Solomon reached for her.

 There was nothing dramatic about the embrace.

 That was what nearly undid her.

 His arms simply came around her, familiar and solid, and Nadine went into them as though her body had been waiting two weeks to finish an interrupted movement.

 She pressed her face against his chest.

 His coat was cold.

 He was warm beneath it.

 And there it was.

 His aftershave.

 She closed her eyes.

 Home.

 Solomon's hand moved slowly over her back.

 “You alright?”

 Nadine nodded against him.

 “I'm tired.”

 “I know.”

 “I smell like an airplane.”

 “You smell like Nadine.”

 “I absolutely do not.”

 “You do to me.”

 She pulled back enough to look at him.

 There were more lines beside his eyes than when they were young.

 She loved those too.

 Her fingers moved to his temple.

 “You left the silver.”

 “You like it.”

 “I do.”

 “I know.”

 “There he is.”

 “Who?”

 “The man I married. I was wondering when the modesty would disappear.”

 “I've never misrepresented myself.”

 Nadine laughed.

 Solomon looked at her mouth.

 She saw it happen.

 After thirty-five years, she knew that look too.

 His hand moved to the back of her neck.

 “Solomon.”

 “What?”

 “We are in an airport.”

 “I know where we are.”

 “People are looking.”

 “I don't know those people.”

 Then he kissed her.

 Not indecently.

 Not yet.

 But not like a man greeting someone he'd merely missed either.

 His mouth settled over hers with slow, warm certainty, and Nadine's fingers tightened around the front of his coat.

 Goodness.

 Two weeks.

 It had only been two weeks.

 Apparently two weeks was plenty.

 When Solomon lifted his head, Nadine looked at him.

 “Fresh haircut.”

 He said nothing.

 “Beard.”

 Silence.

 “Anniversary watch.”

 “Nadine.”

 “You dressed up.”

 “I put on clothes.”

 “You coordinated.”

 “I always coordinate.”

 “You wore two different black socks to Karl's birthday dinner.”

 “They were both black.”

 “One was navy.”

 “That remains unproven.”

 She laughed.

 Then she leaned closer.

 “You got handsome for me.”

 Solomon looked down at his wife.

 Something changed in his face.

 “Yes.”

 The answer was so simple that Nadine's teasing disappeared.

 “Yes,” he repeated. “I did.”

 Her heart gave a ridiculous little thump.

 “You've been my husband for thirty-five years.”

 “I know.”

 “You don't have to impress me.”

 “I know.”

 “Then why?”

 His thumb brushed the side of her neck.

 “Because my girl was coming home.”

 Nadine looked away.

 “Don't.”

 “Don't what?”

 “Make me cry in baggage claim.”

 “I didn't say anything.”

 “You know what you said.”

 “I said my girl was coming home.”

 “Exactly.”

 Solomon kissed her forehead.

 “Come on. Let's get your luggage.”

 He took her carry-on.

 Nadine followed him.

 Then she noticed.

 “Solomon.”

 “What?”

 “You're limping.”

 “I am not.”

 “Your left knee?”

 “My knee is fine.”

 “It's cold.”

 “I live in Wisconsin. I'm aware.”

 “You were outside at a site this week, weren't you?”

 He kept walking.

 “Solomon.”

 “I have employees.”

 “That was not my question.”

 “I supervise those employees.”

 “From inside.”

 “Buildings are generally constructed outside, Nadine.”

 She stopped.

 Solomon took three more steps before realizing she wasn't beside him.

 He turned.

 Nadine pointed at him.

 “Tonight. Ointment.”

 His expression became suspiciously agreeable.

 “All right.”

 She narrowed her eyes.

 “You agreed too quickly.”

 “My knee hurts.”

 “You just said it was fine.”

 “A man can reassess his medical condition.”

 Nadine stared at him.

 Solomon smiled.

 She started walking again.

 “Fresh haircut has made you foolish.”

 He caught up.

 “You like the haircut.”

 “I do.”

 “You like the beard.”

 “I do.”

 “You like the coat.”

 “It's a nice coat.”

 “You like me.”

 Nadine looked sideways at him.

 “Occasionally.”

 He put his hand at the small of her back.

 She smiled.

 By the time they reached Mequon, night had settled over Wisconsin.

 Nadine watched familiar streets pass outside the passenger window.

 She had talked almost the entire drive.

 Spain.

 The salon.

 A manager who was brilliant with people and terrible with inventory.

 A stylist Nadine wanted to promote.

 A lease issue.

 A new service she was considering.

 Solomon listened.

 He always listened when she talked business.

 Not indulgently.

 Seriously.

 He asked questions.

 Sometimes annoying ones.

 Good ones.

 They had built their businesses side by side, neither one treating the other's work like a hobby.

 When Nadine had been an apprentice washing hair and sweeping floors, Solomon had listened to her describe the salon she would own one day.

 When Solomon was working for his uncle in Houston and writing home about structures he wanted to build, Nadine had believed him before there was evidence anyone else should.

 They had been ambitious together before ambition produced anything impressive.

 Nadine turned toward him.

 “What?”

 Solomon glanced at her. “What, what?”

 “You're quiet.”

 “I'm driving.”

 “You've driven and talked before.”

 “I like listening to you.”

 She rested her head against the seat.

 “Did you miss me?”

 He looked over.

 “Don't ask stupid questions.”

 She smiled.

 “Did you?”

 “Nadine.”

 “I want to hear it.”

 Solomon reached across the console and took her hand.

 “I missed you.”

 She threaded her fingers through his.

 “I missed you too.”

 They drove that way for several minutes.

 Then Nadine sighed.

 “Magnus might go to Italy.”

 “I saw.”

 “He'll be so far away.”

 “He's already far away.”

 “That's not helpful.”

 “Sorry.”

 She looked out the window.

 “I told him I was proud.”

 “You are.”

 “I am.”

 “You can be proud and hate it.”

 Nadine turned back.

 Solomon squeezed her hand.

 “I hate it too.”

 “You do?”

 “Of course I do. That's my boy.”

 She studied him.

 “You seem so happy they're gone.”

 Solomon's eyebrows rose.

 “I am happy they're gone.”

 Nadine smacked his arm.

 He laughed.

 “You know what I mean.”

 “No, I don't.”

 “Yes, you do. I miss them. I don't want them back.”

 That surprised a laugh out of her.

 “I love all six of our children,” Solomon continued. “I would walk through fire for every one of them. I will also personally drive any one of them back to his or her own residence if they attempt to permanently move into our home.”

 “Solomon!”

 “We did our job.”

 “They're our children.”

 “They are grown people.”

 “The twins are eighteen.”

 “They can vote.”

 “They still need us.”

 “They're supposed to need us differently.”

 That quieted her.

 Solomon brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

 “And now,” he said, “I get you back.”

 Nadine's eyes moved toward him.

 “You never lost me.”

 “No. But I shared you.”

 Her chest tightened.

 “With Karl first. Then Ingrid. Then Bjorn and Bella. Then God apparently decided we were too rested and sent Sven and Magnus.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “For thirty-four years,” Solomon continued, “somebody needed something from you before I could finish asking what you wanted.”

 She looked at him.

 “I liked being needed.”

 “I know.”

 “I still do.”

 “I know that too.”

 His thumb moved over her hand.

 “But maybe now you get to want something before somebody needs something.”

 Nadine didn't answer.

 She wasn't sure she knew how.

 They turned onto their street.

 Their house appeared ahead, warmly lit against the cold Wisconsin night.

 Nadine felt the familiar ache of seeing it without cars crowding the driveway.

 Then Solomon pulled into the garage.

 He turned off the engine.

 Neither moved.

 Nadine looked toward the door leading into the house.

 “It's going to be quiet.”

 “Yes.”

 “I don't know if I like quiet.”

 Solomon unfastened his seat belt.

 “I have plans for that.”

 Nadine slowly turned her head.

 There it was again.

 That voice.

 “Solomon.”

 He got out of the car.

 Nadine laughed beneath her breath.

 “Lord, help me.”

 He opened her door.

 She took his hand.

 Inside, the house smelled faintly of cedar, clean linen and—

 Nadine stopped.

 She looked toward the kitchen.

 “You didn't cook?”

 “No.”

 “Good.”

 “I ordered dinner.”

 “From where?”

 “Your favorite.”

 She turned.

 Solomon was removing her coat.

 His hands lingered at her shoulders.

 Nadine noticed.

 She also noticed the flowers already arranged on the dining table.

 Candles.

 Not lit yet.

 Wine chilling.

 Two place settings.

 No television.

 No laptop.

 No construction drawings.

 No children.

 Her eyes went back to him.

 “You planned dinner.”

 “Yes.”

 “You cleaned.”

 “I employ people.”

 “You cheated.”

 “I delegated.”

 Nadine laughed.

 Then she looked down the hallway.

 Her eyes narrowed.

 “Did you pick up your shoes?”

 Solomon became very still.

 “Solomon.”

 “I believe so.”

 “You believe so?”

 “I was under considerable time pressure.”

 Nadine handed him the flowers.

 She walked toward their bedroom.

 “Nadine.”

 She kept going.

 “Nadine, you've been traveling all day.”

 She reached the bathroom.

 Stopped.

 Looked down.

 One shoe.

 One sock.

 Right in the middle of the floor.

 Nadine closed her eyes.

 Thirty-five years.

 Behind her, Solomon said carefully, “I can explain.”

 She turned.

 This man built hospitals.

 Towers.

 Commercial complexes.

 Structures requiring hundreds of workers and millions upon millions of dollars.

 He could coordinate engineers, architects, contractors, inspectors and government agencies across ten states.

 A sock had defeated him.

 Nadine pointed.

 “Pick it up.”

 Solomon picked it up.

 “The shoe too.”

 He picked up the shoe.

 She folded her arms.

 He put both away.

 “Anything else?”

 “Yes.”

 “What?”

 “Come here.”

 He did.

 Nadine reached up and ran both hands over the sides of his freshly cut hair.

 Solomon's expression changed.

 “Very nice.”

 “You've mentioned that.”

 “I hadn't inspected it properly.”

 Her fingers moved into the silver at his temples.

 His hands settled around her waist.

 Nadine felt his thumbs against the softness at her sides.

 Her body had not returned to what it had been before six children.

 It had never been required to.

 There were pale stretch marks low across her abdomen, more along her hips and thighs, others curving onto her buttocks—maps left behind by pregnancies, weight, years and living.

 Solomon knew each one.

 Some he remembered appearing.

 Some he had kissed for decades.

 Nadine had stopped thinking of them as flaws so long ago she couldn't remember when.

 Solomon certainly didn't treat them as such.

 His hands tightened slightly.

 She looked into his eyes.

 “You really did all this because I was coming home?”

 “Yes.”

 “After thirty-five years?”

 “Especially after thirty-five years.”

 Her smile softened.

 “You're sweet.”

 “Don't tell anybody.”

 “I'll put it in the family chat.”

 “I'll divorce you.”

 “No, you won't.”

 “No,” he admitted. “I won't.”

 Nadine kissed him.

 This time she started it.

 She had intended something soft.

 A thank-you.

 A welcome home.

 Instead, Solomon made a low sound against her mouth and pulled her closer.

 Nadine felt his belly against hers.

 Warm.

 Solid.

 Familiar.

 She slid one hand down his chest and rested it there.

 Solomon broke the kiss just enough to breathe.

 “Dinner.”

 “Later.”

 His eyebrows rose.

 Nadine smiled.

 “I've been on airplanes all day. I need a shower.”

 “Oh.”

 The disappointment was immediate.

 She laughed.

 “Don't pout.”

 “I'm not pouting.”

 “You're fifty-seven years old.”

 “And?”

 “And you are standing in our bathroom pouting because your wife wants to bathe.”

 “I support hygiene.”

 “How generous.”

 Nadine stepped away.

 She reached for the zipper of her suitcase.

 Then paused.

 She looked over her shoulder.

 Solomon was still standing there.

 Watching.

 “Do you need something?”

 “No.”

 “Then why are you still here?”

 “I live here.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “Go light your candles, Romeo.”

 His eyes narrowed pleasantly.

 “You called me Romeo.”

 “Go.”

 He went.

 Eventually.

 Nadine closed the bathroom door and leaned against it.

 She smiled.

 Then she looked at herself in the mirror.

 Silver and brunette hair escaping everywhere.

 Tired eyes.

 Dry airplane skin.

 A hot flash threatening at the base of her neck.

 She began laughing.

 So much for the glamorous international businesswoman returning from Europe.

 Nadine pulled the pins from her hair.

 Silver-streaked waves fell around her shoulders.

 She looked at herself again.

 Fifty-seven.

 She liked the woman looking back.

 Not every day.

 But most days.

 She liked what the face knew.

 She liked the silver.

 She liked that her hands had built something.

 She even liked the body beneath her clothes—the softer waist, full thighs, stretch marks and all.

 It had carried four pregnancies.

 Six children.

 It had been held by the same man for thirty-five years.

 It was hers.

 And apparently, judging by the way Solomon had been looking at her, it was still causing trouble.

 Nadine turned on the shower.

 Twenty minutes later, Solomon was lighting the dining room candles when he smelled it.

 Sandalwood.

 Rose petals.

 He stopped.

 Twenty-two years.

 Nadine had used the same shampoo for twenty-two years.

 He knew that scent better than some people's faces.

 He turned.

 His wife stood at the end of the hallway.

 She had changed into soft trousers and a loose, plum-colored sweater. Her damp hair fell around her shoulders, silver running beautifully through brunette.

 No makeup.

 No heels.

 No performance.

 Just Nadine.

 Solomon forgot about the candle in his hand.

 She noticed.

 “Are you going to set the house on fire?”

 He looked at the flame.

 “Oh.”

 Nadine laughed.

 Solomon blew it out.

 Then looked at her again.

 “What?”

 He shook his head.

 “Nothing.”

 “You've been saying ‘nothing’ since I landed.”

 “I like looking at you.”

 Her expression softened.

 “Even like this?”

 Solomon frowned.

 “Like what?”

 She gestured toward herself.

 “Travel-worn. No makeup. Hair doing whatever it wants.”

 He stared at her.

 “Nadine.”

 “What?”

 “Come here.”

 She did.

 Solomon put both hands around her waist.

 “I spent two years at Homestead trying to get enough courage to ask you out.”

 “I know.”

 “I spent four years in Houston waiting to come home and marry you.”

 “I know that too.”

 “I've watched you give me six children.”

 Her eyes warmed.

 “I've watched you build five salons from a dream you used to write me about on notebook paper.”

 Nadine swallowed.

 “I watched brunette turn silver.”

 His fingers touched one gleaming strand beside her face.

 “And I am telling you, Nadine Burow, after all these years, you are still one hell of a woman.”

 Her eyes filled.

 “Solomon.”

 “No crying.”

 “You started it.”

 “I was complimenting you.”

 “You should know better.”

 He kissed the corner of her eye.

 Nadine wrapped her arms around his middle and laid her head against him.

 For a moment they simply stood there.

 Then Solomon's stomach growled.

 Nadine lifted her head.

 They stared at each other.

 She burst out laughing.

 Solomon sighed.

 “Dinner.”

 “Yes, baby. Dinner.”

 He took her hand.

 They walked toward the table.

 The house was quiet.

 But for the first time since the twins had left, Nadine didn't hear the emptiness.

 She heard Solomon pulling out her chair.

 She heard glasses touching.

 She heard her husband's laugh.

 And somewhere between the first bite of dinner and Solomon reaching beneath the table to put his hand on her knee, Nadine began to understand something.

 Maybe the children leaving had not closed the door on the most important part of her life.

 Maybe it had opened one.

 And judging from the look Solomon was giving her across that candlelit table, her husband fully intended to walk through it.

Chapter Three — The Letters

The first thing Nadine did the next morning was reach for Solomon.

 The second thing she did was realize he was not there.

 Her hand moved across warm sheets, found only the faint impression his body had left behind, and stopped.

 She opened one eye.

 “Solomon?”

 Nothing.

 The bedroom was quiet except for the low hum of the furnace.

 Morning light pressed softly through the curtains, pale and cold, and for several seconds Nadine remained exactly where she was, cocooned beneath the blankets.

 Her body felt pleasantly heavy.

 Her hair was somewhere between elegant silver-brunette waves and a complete collapse of professional standards.

 She did not care.

 She smiled into the pillow.

 Dinner had gone cold.

 That was all she was prepared to say about that.

 Nadine stretched one leg beneath the sheets and felt an answering ache in muscles she had not consulted before making certain decisions the night before.

 At fifty-seven, there were consequences.

 Apparently she was willing to live with them.

 She laughed quietly.

 Then she heard something downstairs.

 A cabinet door.

 Another one.

 A muffled curse.

 Nadine's smile disappeared.

 Oh no.

 She sat up.

 “Solomon!”

 Silence.

 Then:

 “I have it under control.”

 Nadine threw back the covers.

 That sentence had never once preceded anything she wanted to see.

 She reached for her robe.

 By the time she entered the kitchen, Solomon stood in front of the stove wearing gray sweatpants, a long-sleeved thermal shirt and an expression of deep concentration.

 There was flour on the counter.

 Eggshell in the sink.

 Something suspicious was happening in a skillet.

 Nadine stopped in the doorway.

 “No.”

 Solomon looked over his shoulder.

 “Good morning.”

 “No.”

 “Coffee's ready.”

 “Solomon.”

 “I am making breakfast.”

 “I can see that.”

 He turned back toward the stove.

 Nadine stared at him.

 His hair was still slightly mussed from sleep despite yesterday's fresh cut, and there was a softness to him in the morning that she rarely saw outside weekends and vacations.

 The thermal shirt stretched across his shoulders and rested comfortably over his stomach.

 His feet were bare.

 One sock lay beneath the kitchen table.

 Of course it did.

 Nadine walked over, picked it up and tossed it at him.

 The sock hit him between the shoulder blades.

 Solomon turned.

 “What was that for?”

 “You know.”

 He looked down at the sock.

 “Oh.”

 “Exactly.”

 He bent, picked it up, and put it on the counter.

 Nadine stared.

 “Why is it on the counter?”

 “Temporary holding area.”

 “It is a kitchen.”

 “Also a horizontal surface.”

 “Take it upstairs.”

 “I am cooking.”

 “You are committing something near food.”

 Solomon looked offended.

 “You loved dinner.”

 “You ordered dinner.”

 “Still my decision.”

 Nadine poured herself coffee.

 She watched him over the rim of the mug.

 He was humming.

 That concerned her almost as much as the skillet.

 “What are you making?”

 “French toast.”

 Nadine slowly lowered her cup.

 “With what?”

 “Bread.”

 “I understand the general concept.”

 “Then why are you interrogating me?”

 “Because the last time you made French toast, Karl was eleven and the smoke detector filed for divorce.”

 “That was an equipment failure.”

 “That was cinnamon on fire.”

 Solomon pointed the spatula at her.

 “You are being negative.”

 “I am being alive.”

 He turned back to the skillet.

 Nadine laughed and walked behind him.

 She put her arms around his waist.

 Solomon stilled.

 Her cheek rested between his shoulder blades.

 “Good morning,” she said.

 His free hand covered hers.

 “Good morning.”

 They remained like that.

 Warm kitchen.

 Coffee.

 Winter light.

 A skillet possibly in danger.

 Nadine pressed a kiss between his shoulders.

 Solomon turned his head slightly.

 “You keep doing that and breakfast is going to burn.”

 “That would imply it hasn't already.”

 He laughed.

 She held him a moment longer.

 Then she felt it.

 His left knee shifted.

 A small stiffness.

 Nadine stepped back.

 “It hurts.”

 “No.”

 “Solomon.”

 “Not much.”

 “You were limping yesterday.”

 “I was walking.”

 “You were limping while walking.”

 He sighed.

 “Cold bothers it.”

 “I know.”

 She looked toward the clock.

 “You have anywhere to be this morning?”

 “No.”

 “Good.”

 “Why?”

 “Because after breakfast, you're sitting down and I'm putting ointment on it.”

 Solomon looked pleased.

 Nadine narrowed her eyes.

 “Don't look like that.”

 “Like what?”

 “Like you've just won something.”

 “I enjoy being cared for.”

 “You enjoy being spoiled.”

 “Same family.”

 Nadine shook her head.

 The front door opened.

 Both of them froze.

 Footsteps.

 Then a child's voice.

 “Grandma!”

 Nadine's entire face transformed.

 “Liam?”

 She was halfway across the kitchen before Karl appeared in the doorway carrying a bakery box, with ten-year-old Liam behind him and Astrid bouncing at his side.

 “Surprise.”

 “Grandma!”

 Astrid launched herself forward.

 Nadine dropped into a crouch and caught her.

 “Oh, my baby!”

 Astrid wrapped both arms around her neck.

 “You're back!”

 “I am.”

 “Did you bring my thing?”

 Karl closed his eyes.

 “Astrid.”

 “What? She said there was something in her suitcase.”

 Nadine laughed.

 “Good morning to you too.”

 Astrid kissed her cheek.

 “Good morning. Did you?”

 “Yes.”

 Astrid cheered.

 Liam approached with considerably more dignity.

 Nadine opened one arm.

 He walked into it immediately.

 “My handsome boy.”

 “Hi, Grandma.”

 She kissed the top of his head.

 “You got taller.”

 “I did not.”

 “You did.”

 “Mom measured me last week.”

 “Grandmothers have better measuring systems.”

 Liam smiled.

 Solomon stood by the stove watching his wife.

 There it was.

 The thing he had been thinking about since the boys left.

 Nadine did not become less of a mother because the house was empty.

 She did not become less needed.

 The shape of it was simply changing.

 Karl handed Solomon the bakery box.

 “I brought backup.”

 Solomon looked inside.

 Pastries.

 “Traitor.”

 “I smelled something from the driveway.”

 Nadine laughed.

 Karl hugged her.

 “Welcome home, Mom.”

 She held him tightly.

 Her oldest.

 Thirty-four years old, married, a father himself, and still somehow the baby who had taught her how terrifying motherhood could be.

 “You look tired,” Karl said.

 Nadine pulled back.

 “Thank you very much.”

 “I meant from traveling.”

 “Better.”

 Karl glanced at his father.

 Then at his mother.

 Then back at his father.

 His eyes narrowed slightly.

 Solomon raised one eyebrow.

 Karl's mouth twitched.

 Nadine saw the exchange.

 “What?”

 “Nothing.”

 “Why are all the men in this family suddenly saying nothing?”

 “Genetics,” Karl said.

 Nadine looked at him.

 Karl reached into the bakery box.

 “Croissant?”

 Within ten minutes the kitchen was full.

 Astrid was telling Nadine an extremely complicated story involving school, a missing purple marker and a girl named Elise who apparently had committed an unforgivable social crime.

 Liam was showing Solomon something on a tablet.

 Karl was standing at the counter drinking coffee.

 Solomon's French toast had been quietly abandoned.

 Nadine sat with Astrid tucked against her side.

 And the house did not feel empty.

 Not even a little.

 Her phone buzzed.

Ingrid Calling

 Nadine answered.

 “Good morning.”

 “Put me on video.”

 “Why?”

 “Because Karl said he was at your house and I want to see you.”

 Nadine switched to video.

 Ingrid's face appeared.

 “Mom!”

 Nadine smiled.

 “Hi, baby.”

 “You look good.”

 Karl leaned into view.

 “She just got out of bed.”

 Nadine slapped his arm.

 Ingrid's eyes widened.

 Then slowly narrowed.

 “Oh.”

 Nadine stared at her.

 “What does ‘oh’ mean?”

 Karl started laughing.

 Solomon turned away from the stove.

 “Ingrid Liv.”

 “What? I didn't say anything.”

 “You were about to.”

 “No, I wasn't.”

 Voyce's voice came from somewhere off-screen.

 “Yes, you were.”

 Ingrid turned.

 “Stay out of this.”

 Voyce appeared briefly behind her, lifted one hand in greeting and said, “Morning, Mr. and Mrs. Dumstrey.”

 “Morning, Voyce,” Nadine said.

 Solomon nodded.

 Ingrid looked back at her mother.

 “I called to say welcome home.”

 “That is very sweet.”

 “And to tell you Dad texted all of us yesterday telling us not to come over last night.”

 Nadine's head turned slowly.

 Solomon became fascinated by the coffee machine.

 “He did what?”

 Karl covered his mouth.

 Ingrid was delighted.

 “He said, and I quote, ‘Your mother is coming home. Give us one evening.’”

 Nadine looked at Solomon.

 He kept his back turned.

 “Solomon Matthias Dumstrey.”

 Karl coughed into his fist.

 Liam looked up.

 “Why did Grandpa need one evening?”

 Silence.

 Absolute silence.

 Karl nearly choked.

 Ingrid disappeared from the video screen, laughing.

 Astrid looked between the adults.

 “Was Grandma tired?”

 “Yes,” Solomon said immediately.

 “Your grandmother was very tired.”

 Nadine pressed her lips together.

 Karl grabbed the bakery box.

 “Children, who wants pastries in the dining room?”

 “I do!”

 “Me too.”

 He ushered them out with the speed of a man preserving civilization.

 Ingrid returned to the screen wiping her eyes.

 “You are terrible,” Nadine said.

 “I love you.”

 “Goodbye, Ingrid.”

 “Mom—”

 Nadine hung up.

 She turned toward Solomon.

 He was smiling.

 “You sent that message?”

 “Yes.”

 “To all six?”

 “Yes.”

 “Why?”

 “I wanted my wife.”

 Nadine folded her arms.

 He walked toward her.

 “You embarrassed me.”

 “They are grown.”

 “They are still our children.”

 “They know we're married.”

 “That is not the same thing.”

 Solomon's hands came to her waist.

 Nadine tried not to smile.

 Failed.

 “You are impossible.”

 “You married me.”

 “I was twenty-two.”

 “You had four years to reconsider.”

 She laughed.

 Karl returned to the kitchen.

 “I am deeply regretting coming back in here.”

 Nadine pushed Solomon away.

 “Your father has no shame.”

 Karl poured more coffee.

 “I've known that since middle school.”

 Solomon stared at his son.

 “Be careful.”

 Karl smiled.

 “No disrespect, Dad.”

 “Plenty detected.”

 The kitchen filled with laughter again.

 Later, after Karl took Liam and Astrid home, after Nadine distributed the gifts from Spain and promised Astrid another visit soon, after Ingrid called back because apparently being hung up on had not discouraged her, and after Bjorn video-called with Lisa and Knoll, the house finally quieted.

 Nadine stood in the foyer looking at the closed front door.

 Solomon came behind her.

 “You alright?”

 She nodded.

 “Better.”

 He understood.

 Of course he did.

 Nadine turned.

 “Come sit down.”