Dear Emily. Fern Michaels

      Moments later, Ian’s lusty snores permeated the bedroom. Emily waited ten minutes before she crept from the bed and out to the kitchen. She pulled on her down coat, gathered up the laundry basket as well as her soap. She let herself out of the apartment quietly and down the steps to the basement where the washer and dryer were located. While the shirts washed, she set up the ironing board and plugged in the iron. She’d gone without sleep before. She’d iron all night and surprise Ian when he woke to go to the A&P.

      While she waited for the clothes to dry, she ran upstairs to make a pot of coffee, which she carried down to the basement. She switched on the landlord’s portable radio on a shelf above the galvanized sinks. Golden Oldies wafted softly throughout the basement. It was warm, and she was doing something she did well, something Ian appreciated. If she was going to call in sick, she could nap in the afternoon. This was more important than sleep.

      As she finished each shirt, she hung it on the clothesline that ran the length of the basement. The heat from the furnace would dry the dampness around the double thickness of the collar and cuffs.

      At five-ten in the morning, Emily made four trips back and forth to hang the shirts in Ian’s closet. Satisfied with her long night’s work, she made a fresh pot of coffee and was sitting at the table trying to imagine Ian’s reaction when he saw all his shirts hanging in the closet and on the back of every door in the apartment. She was about to take a sip of the freshly brewed coffee when she panicked and ran to the bathroom to check on the shirts, the last ones she’d ironed, the ones she hadn’t hung by the furnace to dry. She was too late.

      “Jesus fucking Christ, Emily, these shirts are still wet. I could get icicles on my neck. It’s nineteen degrees outside.”

      Stunned, Emily backed up a step and sucked in her breath. “I made a mistake, Ian, the ones in the closet are the dry ones. I thought you’d take one from the closet. You steam up the bathroom and it seeps out. I’m sorry. Here, let me get you another one,” she said as Ian ripped off the damp shirt and tossed it in the corner. Emily cringed as though she’d been slapped.

      The phone rang as Ian was tying his tie. Emily picked it up and listened before she handed it to her husband. “I’m on my way,” she heard him say.

      “Emily, I won’t be able to do the A&P bit. Joshua Oliver is having another series of seizures. Damn, I thought we had those under control.”

      “I’ll do it, Ian. Hurry,” she said, holding out his winter jacket for him to slip his arms into.

      “You’re a sweetheart, Emily. I’m sorry about the grocery shopping and I’m sorry for going off on you for the wet shirt. It’s gonna be one of those days. I’ll see you around five, okay?”

      “Sure, Ian,” Emily said, tilting her head for his kiss on the cheek.

      If you were keeping score, which Emily was, it was Ian Thorn 1, Emily Thorn zip.

      Chapter 6

      Emily sat at her desk in the Watchung Clinic—their third—her chin in her hands, her eyes staring straight ahead at the calendar propped up against the outgoing mail basket. There was finally light at the end of the tunnel. She x’d out the date. So many years, she thought wearily.

      For the first time in hours, it was quiet. Somewhere in the background one of the nurses had a radio that was playing Christmas carols. Emily loved the carols and wished she were a youngster again, just getting ready to start her adult life, a life much different from the one she’d opted for.

      Her heart missed a beat when she heard her husband say, “A penny for your thoughts, Mrs. Thorn.”

      “Right now that’s about what they’re worth. I was thinking I finally see light at the end of the tunnel and enjoying the sound of the Christmas carols. It’s such a wonderful time of year, don’t you think?”

      “Get your coat on, Emily, you and I are leaving this place. We’re going to Rickels and get one of those hot dogs from the guy with the umbrella and we’re saying the hell with our cholesterol. Maybe we’ll get two hot dogs with the works. Root beer. God, Emily, when was the last time we did that?”

      “About twelve years ago.”

      “No!”

      “Yes, Ian.”

      “God! In that case let’s see if we can eat three. Are you game?”

      “You bet,” Emily said, slipping into her coat.

      “I have a surprise for you, Emily, and this is my way of leading up to it. We’re gonna sit in the car and eat with the heater running and the windows steaming up, right?”

      They were kids again. After the hot dogs they’d make out in the back seat. She giggled.

      “Right.”

      “But,” he whispered, “we’ll go home and make love in bed. Is that okay with you? I think we’re both too old to scramble around in the back seat.”

      “Give me a clue, Ian. About the surprise.”

      “Nope. It’s something you have to see. No clues, no hints.”

      “Will I like it?”

      “You are going to love it. It’s taken me almost two years to get…that’s all I’m going to say. You’re just going to have to wait and see it.”

      Later, when Ian carried six hot dogs with the works, plus two giant root beers, back to the car he said, “I’m going to be awfully disappointed in us if our eyes and memories are bigger than our stomachs. Five bucks says you burp first.”

      “Ha!” was all Emily said. Oh, God, this was so wonderful, she thought as she chewed her way through her three hot dogs. Ian finished his and gulped down his soda. She deliberately waited, knowing the fizzy soda would indeed make her burp. She cackled with glee when Ian, red-faced, finally couldn’t hold it in a moment longer. She held out her hand for the five dollars. He paid up. Emily leaned across and tapped the horn for the Salvation Army volunteer to come over to the car for the money.

      “That was a damn nice thing you just did, Emily Thorn.”

      “It was damn nice of you to pay up, Dr. Thorn.”

      “That’s because we’re just two damn nice people. Sometimes I lose track of that, Emily.”

      “I know, Ian, I do too.” Either she was dead and in heaven or this was all a dream. Whatever it was, she didn’t want it to end. Days like this, times like this, over the past years were so few and far apart she could count them on both hands. At that moment she knew she’d sell her soul to the devil if she could have wonderful moments like this every day for the rest of her life. Well, it wasn’t going to happen, so she didn’t need to concern herself with it. Instead she would enjoy today and pray that sometime soon another day such as this one would come along. She hoped it would be during the Christmas holidays.

      “Well, if you’re ready, we’re off to my surprise. Actually, Emily, it’s sort of a surprise and a Christmas present all rolled into one. It’s for both of us. I know how women are about such things so I said it was for you, but I meant it was for us to share. I think you’ll understand when we get there.”

      All Emily heard were the words share and together. A unit like cream and sugar, salt and pepper. Ian and Emily. A couple. Don’t let this end, don’t let it come crashing down around me, Emily prayed silently.

      Twenty minutes later, Ian swung the car onto Watchung Avenue. They were driving past the clinic, but Ian didn’t bother to even look out the window. They went through the traffic lights and up the hill. She couldn’t make out the street signs at all.

      “This is Sleepy Hollow Road. It’s nice back in here, isn’t it?”

      “Maybe we should think about looking here for a house when we’re ready to buy. I could see us living here, Ian.”

      “I