The Homecoming Hero Returns. Joan Elliott Pickart
David shrugged. “I don’t know. There was a…oh, a strange tone to the letter from Professor Harrison. I should have brought the letter along so you could see what I mean. I’m afraid I’ll have to side with the ladies on this one. It is a tad mysterious.”
“Score one for us, darling,” Sandra’s mother said, patting her daughter’s hand.
“Professor Harrison brainwashed you when you were going there,” Michael said, in a deep voice. “You are under his control, Dad, and when he says a certain word you will be powerless. The time has come for you to carry out a secret assignment, which will result in pizza being delivered to our house three times a week free of charge for the next one hundred and fifty years. That is the mystery surrounding his demand to see you.”
Molly giggled.
“I understand,” David said, matching Michael’s deep tone. “I have only one question, Mighty Michael.”
“Speak.”
“What toppings are on the pizzas?”
“May I come live with you, Mother?” Sandra said.
“No, dear. I’m afraid whatever it is those two have might be catching. You may already be affected. Have you made out your will? I’d like to have the cute little garden gnome you have on the fire escape.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Sandra said, laughing. “This entire family is cuckoo.”
When Sandra and David drove out of the parking lot to the restaurant, Sandra sniffled.
“The kids looked so little all of a sudden, David. They’re awfully young to be away a whole week.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I almost canceled the deal at the last minute and told them to get into this vehicle because we were going home.” David chuckled. “Do note that you and I are the only ones who are struggling with this. The kids were all smiles.”
“I realize that.” Sandra sighed. “Well, at least they’ll be sleeping under my parents’ roof every night during the week. That makes me feel a bit better.”
“And it’s not as though we’re just going to be hanging around a suddenly very quiet house,” David said, glancing over at her. “We’re off on our own adventure.”
“Yes. Staying in a fancy hotel, dining instead of just eating dinner, able to concentrate on each other with no interruptions.” Sandra sighed wistfully. “It will, indeed, be an adventure. A very romantic one, don’t you think?”
“Oh. Oh, sure thing. You bet.”
Sandra frowned. “But you were referring to the adventure of meeting with Professor Harrison. Right?”
“Well…”
“David?”
“Guilty as charged,” he said, grinning at her. “But only because the subject practically consumed the conversation at lunch.”
“Mmm,” Sandra said, rolling her eyes heavenward. She looked over at David again. “Did you call Professor Harrison and tell him we were coming?”
“No, I thought about doing that,” David said, his attention riveted on the heavy traffic, “but when I stopped and remembered all the times we had to cancel plans because of sick kids or an emergency at the store or car trouble, and on and on, I decided to not jinx this trip. We’ll just show up and surprise him.”
“In our Lexus,” Sandra said, poking her nose in the air. “Oh, la-di-da.”
“I’m going to make a sign to put in the back window of the Lexus,” David said, smiling, “that says, ‘This car is borrowed so don’t hit it.’” He glanced quickly at his watch. “You know, if we make decent time getting home it won’t be too late for a very enjoyable activity.”
Sandra’s heart did a little two-step.
Like making love? she thought. In the living room. The kitchen. Anywhere they wanted to because the house was all theirs. Or maybe in the shower. Oh, heavens, how many years had it been since they’d done that?
“Oh?” she said, attempting to produce a seductive little purr in her voice that actually sounded like she needed to clear her throat.
“Yeah. I might be able to catch the last of the baseball game on the tube. A bottle of beer, a hot batch of popcorn, put my feet up and enjoy.”
Sandra’s shoulders slumped. “Well, fine, David, but I want you to know that if you ever give me a Crock-Pot for Christmas I won’t forgive you like Cindy would.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” she said, looking out the side window. “Just drive the car and get us home. I’m going to take a long, leisurely bubble bath when we get there.”
“Good for you,” he said, pressing a little harder on the gas pedal. “We both have something to look forward to this evening.”
Separate somethings, Sandra thought miserably. Didn’t David realize that were growing further and further apart, traveling in the same direction but not intertwined? Maybe he did, but didn’t care. Why would it upset him if he didn’t love her anymore?
Oh, they got along fine, didn’t argue, laughed, talked, made love when they weren’t exhausted, moved from one day to the next with the major focus of their existence being on their children.
Sandra sighed.
But David no longer said that he loved her.
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