“You can say that again,” I muttered darkly.
Kay laughed, which wasn’t the reaction I’d expected.
“What?”
“Oh… let’s just say that your answer wasn’t the first time I’ve heard it.”
“Christy said the same thing?”
“I couldn’t say,” Kay said aloud, but her expression was answer enough.
“I like how you do that,” I said.
“Do what?”
“Skirt the line. Ethically. You can’t tell me what Christy said in confidence, but you can tell me that I already know the answer to my question.”
“It’s a trick you learn,” Kay admitted. “And I can tell you things if Christy gives me permission.”
“Like the dancing.”
She nodded.
“Anything else?”
She pursed her lips, and her eyes crinkled with a smile.
“Well, you have my permission to tell her anything I say. I don’t like hiding things from her. I’ve been doing that too much lately.”
Kay nodded and made a note.
“And tell her that I’d love to start dancing again. With her, duh! But you knew that.”
Kay smiled and suggested, “You can tell her yourself.”
“Because that’s what couples do?”
“That’s what couples do,” she agreed.
* * *
We found a ballroom dancing group across the river in Beacon Hill. The people were mostly older couples, although a surprising number were single, widows and widowers looking for love. A couple of the older gents even thought they had a chance to score with the mother-daughter duo who ran the group. They didn’t, but I gave them an A for effort.
Christy and I mostly ignored everyone else. She loved the movement and flow of dancing, and I loved the feeling as she came alive in my arms again. Our relationship didn’t change overnight, but things were definitely headed in the right direction.
Our sex life started to improve as well, especially after her doctor reduced her antidepressant dosage. We didn’t go back to being teenagers again, but we went from sex once a month, maybe, to once a week and then once a night.
Kay also agreed when I suggested a vasectomy, although Christy argued. I was happy with the children we had, while she wanted more children.
“Why don’t you freeze some of your sperm?” Kay suggested. “That might be a good compromise.”
Christy wasn’t convinced. “What good will that do?”
“It’s called ‘in vitro fertilization.’” Kay explained the process. “So you can have more children if you decide to later, but you don’t have to worry about birth control now. Your physician thinks that will help with your hormone balance as well.”
“Besides, we can get back into swinging,” I said, “and I won’t have to worry about getting anyone pregnant.” Kay and I had discussed that part in private, and Christy reacted predictably. She sat forward, her eyes bright.
“We can start swinging again?”
I nodded. “Not just with friends, either. We can meet new people if we want… new women.”
“Like the one who pierced my nipples? Oh my gosh, Paul, you have to meet her. And,” she added coyly, “she has some piercings I want to show you.”
“Hold on…,” I said, “you want another piercing?”
“Or two,” Christy agreed.
I reacted with mild alarm. “Where?”
Christy glanced at Kay but then lowered her eyes. “Um… can we discuss it later?”
“Fair enough,” I agreed. Then I had an idea. “Maybe you can get your piercing while I’m healing after the vasectomy.” I didn’t know what she wanted done, but I was fairly sure it would affect our sex life.
“So we’ll both be out of commission at the same time?” Christy said. “I suppose. Only, I should probably get them done at different times.”
“Them?”
“I told you,” she said, “I want two. For… um… different reasons.”
“Sure,” I agreed vaguely.
“And… you said we can try swinging with other women?” Christy hinted.
“Absolutely.”
“Oh my gosh, you have to meet this one I know from the park. My radar goes off like crazy every time I talk to her. Only, you know how I am. I can’t seduce women like you.”
Poor Kay had to cover her mouth to hide a smile at Christy’s sudden enthusiasm.
“Will you do it?” Christy asked earnestly. “Seduce her for me?”
“Let’s do the other things first,” I chuckled, “but then we’ll see.”
“Oh, oh! And there’s a woman from church. She’s a lot younger—like, nineteen or twenty—but you should see the way she looks at you. I think she might be like me, only she never had anyone like you to corrupt her properly. She’s…”
* * *
The phone rang one day in November 1995, and I answered it.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Paul, it’s Susan.”
“Susan! Hey, great to hear from you.”
She’d come to Boston after Susie had been born, but we hadn’t spoken since. And she usually called my mother, not me, so I knew something was up.
“Is everything okay?”
“No. It’s Granville. He’s sick. He’s been sick for a while—his liver—but the doctors say it’s time.”
That sounded ominous. “Time for what?”
“Time to make him comfortable. For the end.”
I sat down. I hadn’t thought of Granville in years, but the news still managed to affect me.
“He asked me to call you,” Susan added. “He wants to see you.”
“Sure, of course! I’ll fly down. Is tomorrow soon enough? Or should I come tonight?”
“Tomorrow’s fine. But don’t wait any longer. He doesn’t have long.”
We talked a few minutes longer, practical arrangements, and then said goodbye.
Christy stuck her head into the living room. “Who was on the phone?”
“Susan.”
“Is everything all right?”
“What? Oh, yeah, she’s fine. But Granville’s dying.”
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Do we need to visit him?”
“I do,” I said. “I don’t think you and the girls need to come.”
“We can—”
I shook my head. “They’re too young. Besides, they never met him.”
“You’re probably right. But what about Trip? He might want to see him too.”
“I doubt it, but I’ll ask him. And if it’s just me, I’m tempted to fly myself instead of commercial. They have a flying club down in Norwood.”
“Can you still do it? With your license, I mean. It hasn’t expired or anything, has it?”
“No. And my medical’s still current. I’ll have to check out with an instructor, but that’ll only take an hour. Piece of cake.”
She grinned.
“What?”
“Pilots. You sound just like my dad. My brothers too.”
“There’s a reason you married me,” I said.
“You’ll have to remind me. Tonight? After the girls are asleep?”
“It’s a date.”
Her eyes flashed. “Or a not-date.”
* * *
Trip was busy with a project for school, but he’d never been that close to Granville in the first place, so I rented a plane and flew down alone. Susan met me at the airport. She wore jeans and a sweater that showed off her figure, even under a jacket.
“You look great,” I said, “like a brunette Farrah Fawcett.”
“Thank you.” She smiled but then frowned in puzzlement. “What made you think of her?”
“She’s in Playboy this month.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. It just came out. I saw it before I left. And you look better, even in clothes.”
“I don’t know about that,” she demurred with an easy laugh.
“You do. Trust me.”
“Good genes, I guess. My father looked forty until the day he died. I just wish I didn’t feel so old sometimes.”