I don't know if it's me and Angela or Anthony and Ingrid that are holding hands and admiring the reflection of the sunset on the lake, but I don't care. It's the beginning of our last night alone until next year. Oh, yes, we will definitely celebrate the big 2-6.

The sky is clear and we might sleep outside under the stars. I imagine the sun rising again, and so will Anthony. He'll make love to Ingrid in their sleeping bag, maybe slow and savory. Then they'll bathe in the lake and then reluctantly pack up and head home. Well, Anthony will go to his home and Ingrid will go back to her three cats. (Branwell got run over, poor little guy.)

And me and Angela? Well, we'll return to each other, the selves we are without Anthony and Ingrid. I love that life, but I'll still be counting the days till we come back.

I look into Ingrid's dark eyes and see them reflect the colors of the sunset and then, as I move closer, I see my eyes smiling in hers. I take her in my arms and softly kiss her. Sex with her is incredible, in so many ways, but so is kissing her.

"Excuse me, is that your van?"

We spring apart, like two teenagers caught necking.

"Uh, what van?" I say, trying to play it off.

Then I turn and I see, at the edge of the clearing, that nerdy little shrink from Jonathan's camp. Oh, damn.

"The rusty blue van I saw parked on the edge of the forest. But no one was inside. And you're the first people I've found."

"Yes, that is our van," Angela says, to my surprise. Doesn't she realize who this guy is? "We went for a walk through the woods and we were just admiring the lake."

"Well, I'm sorry but this is camp property."

"Oh, is it? Is there a camp around here? We didn't realize."
"Yes, there is—And excuse me, Ma'am, but you look familiar."

"I don't think so. I mean, I don't think we've ever met."

He's reached the shore by now and he holds his hand out to shake, so she shakes it and then I do. "Dr. Bob Wormser."

"Great to meet you, Dr. Bob," I say, "We're Anthony and Ingrid Weinberger."

Poor Angela looks like she's going to burst out laughing.

He gives us a look like he doesn't think either of us looks Jewish, me especially. Well, I can swear in Yiddish if he needs proof.

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Weinberger, I'm afraid you're going to have to—Is that your tent? And firepit!"

"No, no, we saw those when we got here but we haven't run into whoever they belong to."

He goes over to the tent and I worry that he'll find clues to our real identities. Angela and I are luckily dressed (good thing he wasn't here an hour ago!), but we left our jackets inside since it's a mild evening. He winces when he reaches the tent.

"It appears that there have been illicit activities conducted in and, ugh, on this tent!"

"My stars!" Ingrid exclaims, and if she were wearing pearls, she'd clutch them.

"I'm sorry to shock you, Mrs. Weinberger, but this clearing is a notorious trysting spot for the older campers."

"You're kidding!" I try to act outraged, too, but I want to chortle.

"Yes, Mr. Weinberger, it's sadly true. You see that rock?"
"That big one?"
"Yes, for decades it has attracted the wilder element. They call it Spit-Swap Rock!"

"That innocent-looking rock?" Ingrid says.

"Who'da thunk it?" I say, shaking my head.

"Well, there are deep psychological reasons for this of course. Freud believed that rocks, or stones, represent—"

"Uh, shouldn't you try to track down the teens that the tent belongs to?" Ingrid suggests.

"Yeah, before they get away."

"Oh, of course! And please let me know if you spot them."

"You bet we will," I say.

Ingrid and I wait till we're sure he's out of earshot before we collapse on each other in laughter. When we regain control, she says, "I guess we should go."

I sigh. I wish we could stay but it's too much to risk. Like I said, we're just lucky he didn't catch us earlier. "You pack up and I'll, uh, wash off the illicit activities."

When we're ready to go, we take one last look around the clearing.

"Maybe we'll come back for our fiftieth," I say, and she laughs.

Then we lug everything through the woods. Along the way, she says, "I don't think he believed us."

"You kiddin' me? He's probably going to hunt for those illicit campers all night."

"No, I mean about us being the Weinbergers."
"Well, I could've proved to him that I'm Jewish."
"Anthony!"
I shake my head. "Not that, Ingrid. I know a little Yiddish."

"Oh, like what?"

The phrases that come to mind are too filthy to repeat, especially since she'd either know what they were or ask me to translate. Then I blurt out, "Ani meta alecha!"

"What does that mean?"

"Uh, you have nice shoes."

"Really? That could come in handy."

I debate whether to tell her it's actually Hebrew for "I'm crazy about you." But I decide not to.

We make it back to the van and not until I start the engine does she ask, "What now?"

I'm not sure if she means that it's going to be harder than ever to go home and pretend there is no Anthony & Ingrid, or if she means we've got a whole night ahead of us.

"I don't know."

"Well, I can't come back from my conference so early. And you won't be able to easily explain why your camping trip ended abruptly."

"Ah. Right."

"Maybe we shouldn't go home just yet."

"Where can we go?" I wonder if she'll suggest our cabin, though they may be booked.

"How do you feel about Boston?"

"Boston?"

"Yes, it's just a couple hours away. And we're unlikely to run into anyone we know."

So that's where we go. We won't get a whole night together, but it's better than just going home and having to sleep apart. We'll have enough nights of that.

We end up in a youth hostel. No, really. It's the only place with a vacancy. Well, maybe not in the entire city, but we get tired of driving around. At least we're able to get a private room. Well, a room without a bunch of backpackers. But it's a tiny room with a tiny bed and the walls are right up against the bed.

"Uh, you wanna go out?" I suggest after half an hour of self-conscious necking.

"Out?"

"Like dancin' or somethin'?"

"Oh, well, we didn't really pack any dance outfits."

"We'll ask one of the backpackers."

So we go to this casual club and we're the oldest ones there. And the only ones touching each other on the dancefloor. But we don't care. We'll never see these people again.

Then we go back to our little room and snuggle and kiss. We sleep like spoons but we don't fool around in the morning. Instead we shower and get dressed, separately, her in the women's room, me in the men's. Then we go sight-seeing for a few hours.

When it's late enough we go home. We'll pretend I picked her up at the airport after I left my camping trip. We're getting pretty good at this. She even changes into a business-travel outfit for authenticity. I try not to notice that she's showing more leg than she did a year or two ago. Tony is supposed to be oblivious to that.

Sam is home when we get there, watching a movie with Jesse. Another romance, but at least this time it's The Princess Bride.

"Hey, Dad, hey, Angela."

"Hi, Sam, hi, Jesse," we say almost in sync, and then hope they don't notice.

"Hey, Mr. Micelli, Ms. Bower."

"Oh, Dad, the Fall catalog came yesterday."

"For what, sweaters and stuff?"

She rolls her eyes. "For Ridgemont? Don't you have to register for classes soon?"

Oh, yeah. I've been so distracted about this anniversary, I haven't given much thought to the fact that I'm starting college soon. And that's saying something, because I really am excited about this opportunity to improve myself. Being President of the PTA has really shown me how important education is. And I want to be a good role model for Sam.

And, OK, maybe I want to understand some of what Angela understands. We'll probably always be very different, but we could be a little less different. I'd love to discuss literature and philosophy and economics and all that with her. Who knows? Maybe I'll even read Wuthering Heights.

"Uh, yeah, I need to start picking out classes."

"So how was camping, Mr. Micelli?"

"Yeah, Dad, who did you go with?"

"Oh, uh, nobody. Everyone was busy this weekend. But, you know, it was nice to get out in the fresh air, have some alone time, to think and everything."

"Sounds nice. And how was your conference, Angela?"

"Crowded. No time to think. But I met a lot of interesting people. Good business contacts."

"So it sounds like you both got a lot out of this weekend."

"Definitely," Angela and I say in sync.

"So, uh, what about you? What have you been up to?"

"Jesse and I are having a movie marathon."

"Yeah?" I'm not sure if that's good or bad. On the one hand, it means they probably haven't been fooling around, unless they weren't paying attention to the movies. And on the other hand, it means Jesse is spending too much time over here.

"Well, us and Mona."

Mona comes in with a bowl of popcorn. "All right, who wants more? Oh, hi, you two. Back already?"

"Yes, Mother. We're back around the time we planned."
"Oh? I guess the weekend just flew by."

"Yeah, it did," I say softly and try not to meet Angela's eyes.

Angela points at Mona's feet and says, "Oh, Mother, ani meta alecha."

Mona gives her a funny look and says, "I'm crazy about you, too, Dear."

"Excuse me, I'm going to take the tent and everything out to the garage," I say and make my escape out the front door.