The first date that Jane and I went on didn’t go exactly as I’d planned.
I’d made reservations at Harper’s, which was regarded as the best restaurant in town. Also the most expensive. I had enough money to cover the cost of dinner, but I knew I would have to budget the rest of the month to pay my other bills. I’d also planned something special for afterward.
I picked her up in front of her dormitory at Meredith, and the drive to the restaurant took only a few minutes. Our conversation was typical of first dates and simply skimmed the surface of things. We spoke about school and how chilly it was, and I noted that it was a good thing we both brought jackets. I also remember mentioning that I thought her sweater was lovely, and she mentioned that she’d purchased it the day before. Though I wondered if she had done this in anticipation of our date, I knew enough not to ask her directly.
Owing to holiday shoppers, it was difficult to find a space near the restaurant, so we parked a couple of blocks away. I’d allotted plenty of time, however, and felt sure we would arrive at the restaurant in time to make our reservation. On the way to the restaurant, the tips of our noses turned red and our breath came out in little clouds. A few of the shop windows were ringed with twinkling lights, and as we passed one of the neighborhood pizza parlors, we could hear Christmas music coming from the jukebox inside.
It was as we were approaching the restaurant that we saw the dog. Cowering in an alley, he was medium size but skinny and covered in grime. He was shivering, and his coat made it plain that he had been on the run for quite a while. I moved between Jane and the dog in case he was dangerous, but Jane stepped around me and squatted down, trying to get the dog’s attention.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “We won’t hurt you.”
The dog shrank back farther into the shadows.
“He’s got a collar,” Jane pointed out. “I’ll bet he’s lost.” She didn’t look away from the dog, who seemed to be studying her with wary interest.
Checking my watch, I saw that we had a few minutes to spare until our reservation came up. Though I still wasn’t sure whether or not the dog was dangerous, I squatted beside Jane and began speaking to him in the same soothing tones that she was using. This went on for a short while, but still the dog remained where he was. Jane took a small step toward him, but the dog whined, skittering away.
“He’s scared,” she said, looking worried. “What should we do? I don’t want to leave him out here. It’s supposed to fall below freezing tonight. And if he’s lost, I’m sure all he wants is to get back home.”
I suppose I could have said just about anything. I could have told her that we tried, or that we could call the pound, or even that we could come back after dinner, and if he was still around that we could try again. But Jane’s expression stopped me. Her face was a mixture of worry and defiance—the first inkling I had of Jane’s kindness and concern for those less fortunate. I knew then that I had no choice but to go along with what she wanted.
“Let me try,” I said.
In all honesty, I wasn’t quite sure what to do. Growing up, I’d never owned a dog for the simple reason that my mother had been allergic to them, but I held out my hand and continued to whisper to him, resorting to what I had seen people do in the movies.
I let the dog get used to my voice, and when I slowly inched forward, the dog remained in place. Not wanting to startle the mutt, I stopped, let him get used to me for a moment, and inched forward again. After what seemed forever, I was close enough to the dog that when I held out my hand, he stretched his nose toward it. Then, deciding he had nothing to fear from me, he let his tongue flicker against my fingers. A moment later, I was able to stroke his head, and I glanced over my shoulder at Jane.
“He likes you,” she said, looking amazed.
I shrugged. “I guess he does.”
I was able to read the phone number on the collar, and Jane went into the bookstore next door to call the owner from a pay phone. While she was gone, I waited with the dog, and the more I stroked him, the more he seemed to crave the touch of my hand. When Jane returned, we waited for nearly twenty minutes until the owner arrived to claim him. He was in his mid-thirties, and he practically bounded from the car. Immediately the dog surged to the man’s side, tail wagging. After taking time to acknowledge the sloppy licks, the man turned to us.
“Thank you so much for calling,” he said. “He’s been gone for a week, and my son’s been crying himself to sleep every night. You have no idea how much this will mean to him. Getting his dog back was the only thing he put on his Christmas list.”
Though he offered a reward, neither Jane nor I was willing to take it, and he thanked us both again before getting back into his car. As we watched him go, I believe we both felt we’d done something worthy. After the sounds of the engine faded away, Jane took my arm.
“Can we still make our reservation?” she asked.
I checked my watch. “We’re half an hour late.”
“They should still have our table, right?”
“I don’t know. It was tough to get one in the first place. I had to have one of my professors call for me.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” she said.
We didn’t. By the time we got to the restaurant, our table had been given away, and the next available slot was for nine forty-five. Jane looked up at me.
“At least we made a child happy,” she said.
“I know.” I took a deep breath. “And I’d do it again, too.”
Studying me for a moment, she gave my arm a squeeze. “I’m glad we stopped, too, even if we don’t get to have dinner here.”
Surrounded by a streetlight halo, she looked almost ethereal.
“Is there anyplace else you’d like to go?” I asked.
She tilted her head. “Do you like music?”
Ten minutes later, we were seated at a table in the pizza parlor we’d passed earlier. Though I’d planned on candlelight and wine, we ended up ordering beer with our pizza.
Jane, however, didn’t seem disappointed. She spoke easily, telling me about her classes in Greek mythology and English literature, her years at Meredith, her friends, and anything else that happened to be on her mind. For the most part, I simply nodded and asked enough questions to keep her talking for the next two hours, and I can honestly say that I’d never enjoyed someone’s company more.
In the kitchen, I noticed that Jane was eyeing me curiously. Forcing the memory away, I put the finishing touches on our meal and brought the food to the table. After taking our places, we bowed our heads and I said grace, thanking God for all that we had been given.
“You okay? You seemed preoccupied a couple of minutes ago,” Jane commented as she forked some salad into her bowl.
I poured a glass of wine for each of us. “Actually, I was remembering our first date,” I said.
“You were?” Her fork stopped in midair. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I slid her glass toward her. “Do you even remember it?”
“Of course I remember,” she chided me. “It was right before we went home for Christmas break. We were supposed to go to dinner at Harper’s, but we found a stray, and we missed our reservation. So we had dinner at this little pizza place down the street instead. And after that . . .”
She squinted, trying to recall the exact order of events.
“We got in the car and drove out to see the decorations along Havermill Road, right? You insisted that I get out of the car so we could walk around, even though it was freezing. One of the houses had set up Santa’s village, and when you walked me over, the man dressed as Santa handed me the gift that you’d picked out for me for Christmas. I remember being amazed that you’d gone through all that trouble on a first date.”
“Do you remember what I got you?”
“How could I forget?” She grinned. “An umbrella.”
“If I recall correctly, you didn’t seem too thrilled about it.”
“Well,” she said, throwing up her hands, “how was I supposed to meet any guys after that? Having someone walk me to my car was my modus operandi back then. You have to remember that at Meredith, the only men around were teachers or janitors.”
“That’s why I picked it out,” I said. “I knew exactly how you operated.”
“You didn’t have a clue,” she said with a smirk. “I was the first girl you ever dated.”
“No, you weren’t. I’d dated before.”
Her eyes were playful. “Okay, the first girl you’d ever kissed, then.”
This was true, though I’ve come to regret that I ever told her this, since she’s never forgotten this fact and it tends to come up in moments like this. In my defense, however, I said: “I was too busy preparing for my future. I didn’t have time for such a thing.”
“You were shy.”
“I was studious. There’s a difference.”
“Don’t you remember our dinner? Or the drive over? You barely said anything to me at all, except about your classes.”
“I talked about more than that,” I said. “I told you that I liked your sweater, remember?”
“That doesn’t count.” She winked. “You were just lucky I was so patient with you.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “I was.”
I said it the way I would have wanted to hear it from her, and I think she caught the tone in my voice. She smiled briefly.
“Do you know what I remember most from that night?” I went on.
“My sweater?”
My wife, I should add, has always had a quick wit. I laughed but was clearly in a more reflective mood and went on. “I liked the way you stopped for the dog, and were unwilling to leave until you made sure he was safe. It told me your heart was in the right place.”
I could have sworn she blushed at my comment, but she quickly picked up her wineglass, so I couldn’t be sure. Before she could say anything, I changed the subject.
“So is Anna getting nervous yet?” I asked.
Jane shook her head. “Not at all. She doesn’t seem worried in the slightest. I guess she believes that it’s all going to work out, like it did today with the pictures and the cake. This morning, when I showed her the list of all we had to do, all she said was, ‘I guess we’d better get started, then, huh?’”
I nodded. I could imagine Anna saying those words.
“What about her friend, the pastor?” I asked.
“She said she called him last night, and he said he’d be happy to do it.”
“That’s good. One less thing,” I offered.
“Mmm.” Jane fell silent. I knew her mind was beginning to turn to the activities of the coming week.
“I think I’m going to need your help,” she said at last.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Well, you’ll need a tux for you, Keith, and Joseph, of course. And Daddy, too. . . .”
“No problem.”
She shifted in her seat. “And Anna is supposed to be getting the names of some of the people she’d like to invite. We don’t have time to send any invitations, so someone’s going to have to call. And since I’m out and about with Anna, and you’re on vacation . . .”
I held up my hands. “I’d be glad to take care of it,” I said. “I’ll start tomorrow.”
“Do you know where the address book is?”
This is the type of question with which I’ve become quite familiar over the years. Jane has long believed that I have a natural inability to find certain items within our home. She also believes that while I misplace objects occasionally, I have assigned her the responsibility of knowing exactly where it is I might have misplaced them. Neither of these things, I might add, is completely my fault. While it’s true that I don’t know where every item in the house is located, this has more to do with different filing systems than any ineptitude on my part. My wife, for instance, believes the flashlight logically belongs in one of the kitchen drawers, while my reasoning tells me it should be in the pantry where we keep the washer and dryer. As a result, it shifts from one location to the next, and because I work outside the home, it’s impossible for me to keep up with such things. If I set my car keys on the counter, for instance, my instincts tell me they will still be there when I go to look for them, while Jane automatically believes that I will look for them on the bulletin board near the door. As to the location of the address book, it was plain to me that it was in the drawer by the phone. That’s where I put it the last time I used it, and I was just about to say this when Jane spoke up.
“It’s on the shelf next to the cookbooks.”
I looked at her.
“Of course it is,” I agreed.
The easy mood between us lasted until we finished dinner and began to clear the table.
Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the quick banter between us gave way to more stilted conversation, punctuated by longer pauses. By the time we’d started to clean the kitchen, we had retreated into a familiar dialogue, in which the most animated sound came not from either of us, but from the scraping of plates in the kitchen.
I can’t explain why this happened, other than to say that we’d run out of things to say to each other. She asked about Noah a second time, and I repeated what I’d said previously. A minute later, she started speaking of the photographer again, but halfway through her story, she stopped herself, knowing she’d already recounted that as well. Because neither of us had spoken to Joseph or Leslie, there was no news on those fronts, either. And as for work, because I was out of the office, I had nothing whatsoever to add, even in an offhanded way. I could feel the earlier mood of the evening beginning to slip away and wanted to prevent the inevitable from happening. My mind began to search for something, anything, and I finally cleared my throat.