7.
 "Don't you wish that?" Bernie said teasingly. "You could be a blonde again instead of wearing that blue wig."
She touched her wig with both hands and teased him back. "What's wrong with my hair, Bernie Snodgrass?"
He laughed. "I wish you'd have those blonde curls again like you had when I was chasing you around with flowers and chocolates. You had a pair of green tartan bowties in your hair that I liked, one on each side."
"I wish you'd grow back a full head of black hair, you bald-headed old fart."
"I wish you would bite your tongue," Bernie said.
"Better yet I should make us some tea." She pushed herself erect, steadied herself for a moment (for they were both frail and stooped, with blue and red veins finer than thread showing throw snowy wrinkles). "Would you like some tea, Bernie?"
"That would be splendid," said he. "I'll throw a log in the fireplace meanwhile."
"Good idea," she said as she started for the kitchen.
At that moment, the doorbell rang.
Bernie and Marie looked at each other in puzzlement. The wall clock chimed. Bernie shouted "No more candy to be had! All done!"
A man's voice outside said something indistinct, and with another exchange of puzzled looks, Bernie and Marie headed for the door. Opening it, they found a pleasant young man of about 30 standing outside. His clothing seemed a bit dated, including the floppy-brimmed hat right out of Eisenhower's time, but his face was fresh as the morning dew, his smile full of glistening white teeth, and his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Snodgrass. Remember me?"
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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