Planning

The soup looked wonderful - picture-perfect vegetables from the summer garden, swimming in a rich, red broth. Robert Thigpen smiled as he inhaled the inviting aroma and brought the spoon to his mouth.

And choked, loudly, on enough salt for a bag of crisps. Extra large.

Thigpen set the spoon down in the bowl, carefully, and regarded his wife - the love of his life, his companion of 15 happy years, his green-eyed goddess - through a blur of tears. He smiled, more weakly, as he reached for the iced tea. Obadiah, the Cairn terrier at his feet, jumped up in alarm, then had to run off his excitement by chasing the two cats around the dinner table.

Dolores frowned as she tried unsuccessfully to fend off the smaller cat, which sought refuge on her lap. 'Don't you like the soup? I followed your mother's recipe, it even has that okra in it.'

Robert nodded, waving one hand vaguely as he gulped down the tea. 'Too much salt this time.' He glanced at Dolores quickly, catching the look he'd expected - disappointment, followed by the desire for explanation, followed equally quickly by indifference. She shrugged. 'I'll make you something else, if you like.'

For a long moment, there was silence in the dining room, except for the loud ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

Robert shook his head as he pushed away the offending dish. 'No, that's okay, honey. If I get hungry later, I'll make something.' He gave a light laugh and patted his flat stomach in mock demonstration. 'I need to lose weight, anyway.' Dolores shrugged again, but favoured her husband with a grateful smile as she stroked the purring cat, and went on with her meal, unfazed by its saline content. Robert grabbed a roll and a leash, and went off to walk Obadiah in the lingering sunlight.

Later, having been given a peck on the cheek before Dolores rolled over in bed and drifted off to sleep, Robert started to lie awake thinking about things. As his first thought was that tomorrow was going to be a big day at work, and that he owed it to his employees to be compos mentis, he put his ruminations off until further notice and, patting the dog at his feet, slipped into a dreamless slumber.

While showering the next morning (his own self-appointed brainstorming time, as he was not much of a singer), Robert went over the situation in his mind, a habit he had developed over the years, being a slow thinker who otherwise felt rushed in the company of others. He looked at his life, what he had to offer: good-natured guy, hard worker but not a workaholic, smart enough to bloom where he was planted, in his own Acme, North Carolina, backyard where the name Thigpen didn't make people laugh, but was a guarantee of honesty. Built his own little printing company, treated his 30+ employees like family, made a place for himself and the beautiful, educated city gal he'd snagged at college, kept the fun in things, remembered everybody's birthdays....

He reviewed the evidence: three spoiled dinners in one week, magazines and newspapers scattered everywhere, shoes in the bedroom for him to trip over...getting from bed to shower in the mornings was becoming like crossing a minefield, the arch of his foot still ached from stepping on a size seven Selby pump...the less-than-companionable silences...she was trying to tell him something...

Without telling him. That much was obvious. Whenever he'd ventured to ask, there was a shrug and that dazzling smile, and, 'No, of course I'm not mad at you. Are you mad at me?' Teasing. He'd quit asking.

Driving to work, Robert kept thinking as he waited for the lights at the intersection. They hadn't planned for children - or against them, either. They'd thought that sort of thing came naturally. When it didn't, well, it didn't. Until one day Robert had asked, and Dolores had shrugged, again, opined that there were advantages to not having to child-proof a house, and quipped, 'I'd be a terrible mother, anyway, probably scare the kids,' and continued petting a smugly purring cat.

Responsible as always, Robert had secretly visited a doctor, gotten the answer he was half expecting - although he cringed at the expression 'shooting blanks', which he privately thought would have upset his Baptist parents - and drawn his own conclusions about the relative merits of cats, babies, and clean houses.

Arriving at work, he set aside these considerations for a look at the morning's email, a round of checking up on the printing equipment (and the workers, without being obvious about it), and a conference with his investment counselor, a good-looking fellow about Robert's age who was kind enough to come by the office, rather than making Robert come to the bank.

Geoff Hayes was an honest broker, and charming (which, Robert thought, probably went with the job), but he was a lonely widower, so Robert concluded by inviting him over to supper on Friday for some company and a home-cooked meal. Robert then made a note to himself to a) warn Dolores about this, and b) get some steaks to grill. He could barbecue a mean steak, if he did say so himself, and put some 'taters and corn-on-the-cob (what his granny used to call 'roastin' ears') on the grill, and all Dolores would be stuck for would be a salad.

This worked pretty well, and soon Geoff was a fixture over at the house, sharing good food and a laugh or two, never talking shop, just mocking the world in general. They even broke out Robert's old croquet set. He'd almost forgotten how to play, but they had a good time checking out the rules inside the box, and avoiding Obadiah's attempts to steal anything as heavy as a croquet ball, barking at it in outrage when it refused to move for a sixteen-pound terrier. Summer was more fun that year, and Dolores' cooking got better.

Come fall, Robert noticed with satisfaction that Dolores a) got a new hairstyle, and b) seemed to spend a lot of time visiting a cousin over in Cary she used not to have much time for. Whenever he, a grass widower for the weekend, called up Geoff to see if he'd take in a round of golf, he was usually disappointed by the message on the answering machine, but he shrugged good-naturedly and took Obadiah to Jordan Lake with him, enjoying long walks and conversations so nonsensical that any human would have balked at them, but which Obadiah seemed to find completely satisfying.

Christmas that year was good. He bought Dolores a string of pearls, and Obadiah a new squeaky toy. He even remembered to get the cats some catnip mice. Geoff he gave the best present: a briar pipe and a seat by his fireplace, while Dolores showed them how to make popcorn over an open fire.

Robert's resolve almost slipped the night of the first spring rain, when the thunder drove Obadiah under the bed in a snit, and Dolores, reminded of an event from their honeymoon, first clung to him, then made love to him with a passion he'd all but forgotten. In the early morning light, he kissed her cheek gently and slipped out before she could waken, remembering a detail about his will he needed to call his financial planner about.

When Geoff finally came to see him, Robert pitied him for the look on his face: embarrassed, half fearful, half hopeful, and guilty, all at the same time. Robert thought that nobody should have to look like that - not for long, anyway - and put him at his ease as best he could.

The wedding took place in June. Robert attended, of course, gladly - he'd secretly wanted to give the bride away, but decided that would have been tacky, so he settled for sitting on the bride's side, behind her parents, and sending the couple a brand-new gas grill for a wedding present. He'd save the other present - the envelope in his safe - for the christening.

Coming home from the reception, Robert smiled as Obadiah came running up to him, tail wagging. 'Come on, buddy, let's go for a walk.'

Headed down the drive with Obadiah on his leash, Robert reflected that if the little dog missed those durn cats, he'd have to get him a kitten.

Robert Thigpen made a mental note to call the shelter.