Just Once

-Anne Sexton

Just once I knew what life was for.

In Boston, quite suddenly, I understood;

walked there along the Charles River,

watched the lights copying themselves,

all neoned and strobe-hearted, opening

their mouths as wide as opera singers;

counted the stars, my little campaigners,

my scar daisies, and knew that I walked my love

on the night green side of it and cried

my heart to the eastbound cars and cried

my heart to the westbound cars and took

my truth across a small humped bridge

and hurried my truth, the charm of it, home

and hoarded these constants into morning

only to find them gone.

xXx

"Boston has changed considerably," Crane comments as he and Abbie stroll down the street, following the Freedom Trail as it winds its way through town, passing Historical Sites Not To Be Missed.

"Of course, it has," Abbie chuckles. "It's been a long time, Crane."

"Here and there I see familiar things. Buildings, mainly. I am quite pleased the North Church is still a church and not a…" he shudders slightly, "Starbucks."

Abbie laughs louder now. "We do preserve important historical landmarks. The Old North Church is one of them."

"'Old' North Church," he mutters.

"Well…"

"Yes, yes, I know," he says scowling. They'd seen several places he recalled from his previous life. The State House. Faneuil Hall (still a marketplace, but the wares for sale are quite different now). Paul Revere's house. Several cemeteries. They'd stopped going into the cemeteries because Crane saw too many familiar names. So, as they pass one, Abbie pretends she doesn't notice it and keeps walking..

They stop on the Charlestown Bridge, leaning their elbows on the rails, watching the reflections of the lights on the water.

"Thank you for bringing me here, Miss Mills," Crane says after a moment.

"This isn't exactly a vacation, Crane. We're working," she answers. They came to Boston to meet with a man at the Paul Revere House museum. All went well (the man was very accommodating), and they will be returning to Sleepy Hollow in the morning..

"True, but you did not need to take me 'sight-seeing,' as you call it," he says, smiling down at her.

"You're welcome," she answers, patting his hand. To her surprise, he turns his hand and threads their fingers together. His hand is twice the size of hers, almost completely engulfing it. "I'm glad you're enjoying it. I only hope it hasn't brought up too many painful memories."

He sighs. "Katrina and I had always planned to come back here once the war was over. Spend the weekend at an inn, pampering ourselves… and other… things…" he trails off, face flushing with embarrassment as he looks away from Abbie and stares out over the river. He attempts to withdraw his hand from Abbie's, but she squeezes it reassuringly.

"Don't be embarrassed," she says. "You were in love. You were married. It's perfectly normal." She pauses a moment. "I'm sorry you never got the chance to take your little getaway."

"And now, we never shall," he says quietly. "Forgive me," he apologizes after a moment. "I thought I had finished lamenting."

Abbie smiles understandingly. "It's only been six months, Crane. You're allowed to mourn as long as you need. The process is different for everyone."

His eyes return to hers. "Most of the time I am at peace. But, there are moments when I feel the pain of her loss sharply once again. Usually, something triggers it. The sun shining on auburn tresses belonging to a woman I do not know. The smell of roses. The cornbread you bought from the market last month."

"Oh," Abbie says. She remembers puzzling over how he was enjoying the cornbread, yet seemed sad as well.

Crane smiles and nods slightly, knowing what she recalls. "Apple pie. She made wonderful apple pie."

Abbie looks up at him, shocked. "That was Corbin's favorite. The man was positively obsessed."

"Truly?" he asks, intrigued.

"Yeah. I… I haven't been able to eat it since he died," she admits. "And it's been over a year since he was killed." They lapse into silence for a moment, lost in their individual memories.

She nudges him with her shoulder.

"Fate has a dark sense of humor, I believe," he says.

Abbie chuckles once. "Apple pie, of all the damn things…"

"There are no coincidences when it comes to you and me, Miss Mills," he sighs. Then, he surprises her again and casually lifts their joined hands to his lips, softly kissing the back of her hand.

It feels natural, as if it is something he does every day. He did it without thinking and now quickly looks away as if something else has caught his attention.

Abbie says nothing, pondering the easy companionship they have.

She breaks the silence after a few minutes. "Come on. I want some ice cream."

"Indeed," he agrees, and they step away from the railing. He keeps her hand in his, but she untwines their fingers and holds his hand instead.

"My fingers were too spread," she mumbles. Then, she looks up at him. "Your hands are, like, twice as big as mine, you know."

He chuckles and nods, gently squeezing her hand once.

As they walk, he occasionally strokes the back of her hand with his thumb. She realizes she is walking closer to him than usual.

They share a turtle sundae, dripping with hot fudge and caramel and pecans. She wipes caramel from his beard. He lets her eat the maraschino cherry, since there is only one.

That night, they sleep with the doors between their adjoining hotel rooms open. Just in case the memories become too much to bear alone.