Ann Marie is driving along, with her sunglasses on top of her still black hair, when the song on the radio makes her pull over to the side of the road.
"...You can say anything but don't say goodnight tonight."
Suddenly she's thrown back a decade to the night Donald forgot to say goodnight.
There were lots of unwritten, mostly unspoken rules they followed in their long courtship. They were modern young people but they were also heavily influenced by their traditional parents. She was in her mid 20s then, he in his late 20s, very late in the 1960s, and she sometimes felt like they didn't really fit in with any generation, although they fit very well together. Mentally and emotionally. Physically? Well, they did a lot of cuddling and kissing.
They fell in love soon after they met and everyone wondered why they didn't get married. But she felt like she wanted to find success in her career as an actress first, before she became a wife and maybe mother. Donald understood and believed in her. He was the most warm and patient man she'd ever met.
They both believed that sex should wait for marriage. They didn't judge people who didn't wait, but this was what felt right for them. Oh, there were times when she wondered what it would be like, but she could be patient, too.
Don wasn't a virgin but he was a gentleman. And he told her, one of the few times they discussed it, that he didn't want to do anything that would make her unhappy.
"It would make me very unhappy if Daddy killed you," she joked.
"It would make me pretty unhappy, too."
She wondered sometimes how Donald kept from getting frustrated. She did notice that he would make sure to say goodnight before it got too late, or it got too intense. Except that one night.
They weren't on one of their trips out of state, the ones that her father always assumed would lead to hanky-panky. And they weren't at her apartment, where Daddy thought "Hollinger" spent far too much time. They weren't even at Don's apartment, where Daddy thought she never should be.
They were at Ruth and Jerry's apartment, next door to Ann's. Ann was keeping an eye on the place while their best friends were on a second honeymoon. She certainly wasn't planning to spend the night there herself.
"Let me just drop off their mail and then we can go to dinner," she told Don when he came by her apartment.
"I'll go with you. Jerry told me he was leaving a rough draft of a Newsview article he wanted me to take a look at."
So they went over, but when Donald saw the article, he couldn't help himself, he started editing it. He said it would just take a minute, but he got so absorbed in it that several minutes passed.
"Donald," she pleaded.
"Just a minute, Honey."
She became very annoyed. She had on a terrific new outfit and he hadn't even noticed yet. As an actress, she hated being ignored, and she particularly didn't like it on the rare occasions her devoted boyfriend did it.
I could be standing here in my underwear for all he cares, she thought. And then a mischievous expression crossed her face. She quickly but quietly unzipped her dress. She set it on the Baumans' couch and waited.
"Donald," she said, in a huskier voice than usual.
"I'm almost done, Hon—" He looked up and then he stared. "Ann, what are you doing?"
"Trying to get your attention."
"Well, it's working."
"Can we go to dinner now?"
"You're not exactly dressed for dinner. And I'm not exactly thinking about food."
"Oh? What are you thinking about?"
"You come over here and I'll show you."
She accepted his dare. And the rest of the night he showed her just how warm he could be, although his patience was less evident than usual. But then so was her patience.
They never did make it to dinner that night. And he didn't say goodnight, not even when they curled up, exhausted and naked, in their best friends' bed. A few hours later, he did say good morning and then, "We should probably change the sheets."
That was the only night anything like that happened, even after they got engaged. They had an unspoken agreement that something this intense would be too much of a distraction as a regular pastime. It did make her more willing to get engaged. Sex within marriage seemed like it would be as much fun but more controllable.
She never found out, not with Don. There have been other men in the years since, but no one like him. She lowers her sunglasses to hide the tears that fall as she remembers the night she found out about "friendly fire" on his overseas assignment.
"Goodnight, Donald," she whispers. Then the McCartney song ends and she gets back on the road.