It was a day like any other. Charlie, still groggy from getting up way too early, stumbled down the stairs, in search of the coffee he could smell. His dad sat at the table, holding a cup of steaming coffee, and staring off into space. "Hi, Dad!" He said, as brightly as he could at such an ungodly hour.
Alan jumped, and looked up, his face reflecting – was it shock? Fear? Guilt? -- Charlie couldn't tell. "Good morning, son. Sorry. I was lost in my own thoughts."
"I didn't mean to startle you. Is anything wrong, Dad?"
"Everything's fine. I was just ... It's nothing. I'm making French toast. Want some?" Alan stood, put his cup down and went to the refrigerator.
Charlie poured himself a cup of coffee. "Sounds great, Dad. Can I help?"
"Nope. Just stay out of the way," Alan said as he patted Charlie on the shoulder. "Why are you up so early?"
"Don's got a new case for me. I can't wait to start on it, but I have to get my real job done first, so I'm heading in to my office early to get some tests and lectures together for the next few days. Once I start working on Don's stuff, I lose track of my own work."
"You enjoy working with Don, don't you?" Alan said as he cracked eggs into a bowl.
"Yeah, I really do," Charlie said, beaming.
"I know I've said it before, but your mother would be so happy to see the way you two work together," Alan's voice cracked and he went to the pantry for bread.
"You don't know how happy I am to hear you say that."
"So," Alan said abruptly, "what kind of case are you working on?"
Charlie launched into an explanation as he and his father enjoyed breakfast together. When the lecture and the breakfast was finished, he stood and cleared the table. "You just sit, Dad. You cooked, I clean."
After the dishwasher was loaded, Charlie dried his hands and grabbed his laptop bag. "Well, I've gotta get going."
As Charlie opened the front door, Alan said, "Oh, I almost forgot. I have a dinner meeting tonight, so you and Donnie are on your own."
"Okay, no problem. I'll cook one of my specialties."
"Which one," Alan said with a grin, "takeout Chinese or pizza?"
"Funny, Dad," Charlie said with a laugh. "See you later!"
Hours later, Charlie was putting the finishing touches on a simple dinner, leftover pot roast, heated in gravy, with a side order of Ore-Ida french fries and some microwaved green beans. As he looked at the results of his labor, he wished his Dad had been there to see this miracle of culinary delight.
At that moment, the front door opened, and Don called, "Hey, Charlie!"
"In the kitchen," Charlie replied.
Don rounded the corner and, with a mock look of horror on his face, said, "Oh, no! YOU'RE cooking?"
"Yep," Charlie said with a laugh. "Come on, and help set the table. It's just the two of us tonight."
"Why? Where's Dad?"
"He said he's got a dinner meeting..."
"But?"
"But what?"
"The way you said it. You don't believe it, do you?"
"Sheesh. I'm gonna have to stop trying to put one over on the feds." Charlie shook his head. "No, I don't believe it. I'm not sure what it was, but something's bothering him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when I came into the kitchen and said hello this morning."
"Had you combed your hair?"
"Ha ha. Very funny. And, yes, I had. But he hadn't even looked at me. He was staring off into space."
"Was he upset about something?" Don asked as he set the plates on the table.
"Not really upset. Distracted. Like he had something on his mind."
"And you didn't bother trying to find out what it was?"
"Of course I tried, Don," Charlie said defensively. "He didn't want to talk about it. Every time I got close to discussing it he changed the subject, so I dropped it."
They sat and started filling their plates. Don chuckled. "I'll get Megan over here. She'll get it out of him."
After they ate, Charlie started clearing the table. He had tried carrying too much at once, and had dropped a fork. It bounced and ended up under the buffet. When he started to straighten up after picking it up, he found himself face to face with his parents' wedding portrait. He hadn't remembered it being there. He touched the glass tenderly, and suddenly noticed something that made his jaw drop. "Don! What's today's date?"
"The nineteenth. Why?"
"I know what was troubling Dad today. Look." He held the photograph so Don could see it. There was a date embossed in gold lettering at the bottom of the picture, right above the frame. "July 19, 1969. Today's their anniversary. We should do something. We can't just let a day like this go unnoticed."
"But what can we do? It's not exactly a celebration," Don said. "Wait. Remember what Mom used to get Dad for their anniversary every single year?"
A grin slowly spread across Charlie's face. "Let's go. If we hurry we'll be back before he comes home."
Meanwhile, Alan pulled into a familiar parking lot. The sign on the little well-worn building proclaimed, "Luigi's Decent Italian Food." Margaret had insisted on eating there on their first date. She said she liked the owner's honesty. He didn't claim to be the greatest, but he wanted people to know his food was good. It had become a running joke, and then a tradition. Every anniversary, they visited Luigi and enjoyed his food, which was, by the way, much better than decent. The first anniversary after she died, he almost didn't go. But at the last minute, he called and made his reservation. Luigi understood. He had seen Margaret going through the throes of cancer on their last visit together. When Alan arrived that next July 19th, Luigi had set up their table for two in the quiet corner in the back. He had placed two glasses of wine, two place settings on the table, and had put a red rose and a white candle on Margaret's plate.
Alan had returned every July 19th. He never told his boys about it. They were too distracted with their work to remember the significance of this particular day. He didn't blame them. He wasn't even sure if it was proper to continue celebrating their anniversary alone. He didn't have anyone to ask.
When he entered the restaurant, Marilyn, the hostess gave him a hug. "Mr. Eppes! How are you?"
"Great, Marilyn. How are you?"
They chatted as she led him to the table, and handed him a menu. "I know what I want," he said, handing her back the menu. "House salad with Italian dressing. And lasagna. No dessert."
She rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment before she headed to the kitchen. "It's good to see you again, Mr. Eppes. I'll tell Dad you're here."
A moment later, he heard, "Alan! My old friend!" Luigi, the rotund, gray-haired owner of the place approached Alan, grinning. "You're looking good these days."
"You, too, Luigi. It's good to see you again." Alan lifted his glass, clinked it against Margaret's glass, and said, "Happy anniversary, sweetheart." Then he took a sip of wine and handed Margaret's glass to Luigi. "Salut!"
Luigi clinked glasses with him. "Salut, old friend. Enjoy your dinner."
He did enjoy it. He always approached July 19th with a mixture of anticipation and dread. He didn't want to wallow in grief, but he felt he had to recognize this most special day in some way.
After he ate, he picked up a dozen roses, and went to the cemetery. He knelt in front of Margaret's headstone, and spoke with her for a few minutes, telling her about everything that had happened lately, filling her in on her sons' adventures. Finally, he said, "Goodbye sweetheart," touched her headstone, and stood slowly.
He drove home, hoping his sons were still there. He had missed having supper with them. When he pulled into the driveway, he was delighted to see Don's SUV was still there.
When he opened the door, Don and Charlie were at the dining room table, huddled over a disordered mess of papers. They looked up, grinning, and Alan wondered what they had been up to. They both stood, holding their hands behind their backs and walked towards him. "Hi, Dad," they said, still grinning.
"All right. What is wrong with you two? What have you been smoking?"
"Nothing," Charlie said, handing Alan an envelope.
Alan opened the envelope. The card inside said, "For your anniversary." He opened it, and there, on one side in Charlie's writing and on the other side in Don's, it said, "I love you Dad." Tears burned in his eyes, and he looked up at his boys. "Thank you," he whispered.
Don, still grinning, handed him a package. It was wrapped in the Sunday comics. Alan ripped it open. "You remembered! The New York Times Sunday Crossword Puzzles. Volume thirty-one, already. Thank you." A few tears may have escaped as he hugged first Don, then Charlie.
July nineteenth is no longer a day like any other day.
Author's Note: This little bit of self-indulgence is due to the fact that July 19, 1970 I married the most wonderful man in the world. He passed away in 1999, and I haven't celebrated an anniversary since then. I wrote this July 19, 2006 as my celebration. I hope you enjoyed it.