Saturday, April 5th, 1930
5:37 p.m.

"Carol? Come down for dinner."

The house had been almost too quiet without her mother. Even more so without Elaine. She didn't want to admit it to anyone, but to Carol, it had been perfect. Just her father and herself. Sometimes, Abby, who came over to play or have lunch with them after school. All of the house staff excused while Elaine and her mother were gone, almost too good to be true. To where, no one really said. Now that they had returned early, Carol's mother was in an uproar about the state of the house and, of course, her youngest daughter.

With her book, pillow, and flashlight in hand, Carol crawled out from underneath the bed in the guest room and brushed off her clothes, going in search of her mother's shouting.

"Good God in Heaven, what are are you wearing?" her mother shrieked as soon as she walked down the staircase.

Carol looked down and shrugged, "It's my riding outfit," scuffing the toe of the dirty black sneakers she wore as she reached the bottom step, "well, most of it."

"You call that dressing for dinner?"

"I wore it out earlier with Daddy and when the census man stopped in."

That did it.

Carol's mother turned to her father and smacked his arm. "Did you let her go out of the house like this? You let others see her looking like this?"

"She looks fine, Gertie. Carol, myself, and the little neighbor girl Abby only went to the automat and the pictures - "

"You probably took them to see some filthy picture at that." Pandora's Box wasn't that filthy, Carol told herself, not offering up to her mother what they had gone to see and how much she enjoyed watching Louise Brooks dance with another woman at a wedding ceremony. "I leave her with you for two weeks, no servants, no help, trusting that you would look after her properly and not have her running around like a hooligan."

"I did 'look after her properly' as you put it."

"Wearing pants!"

"They're jodhpurs, for Christ's sake. She wears they all the time when she goes riding and when she's playing outside. At least they cover her knees unlike those silly dresses she keeps outgrowing. She's about four inches taller than the other girls already… if you even bothered to notice."

"Not when going out. What will… it's bad enough with Elaine… " Shaking her head and reaching to straighten the bow in Carol's bobbed hair, she sighed, "Oh, Carol, you were so pretty when you were little. Why can't you be pretty like you used to be?" then turned back to belittle her father.

Carol stood there, seen and not heard as always instructed, waiting for her parents to stop arguing about her, as though she wasn't even present in the room with them. They weren't going to stop. They were never going to stop arguing like that. And she would never stop making comments about how she dressed when she was home. Undetected, she slinked away, toward the kitchen to fix herself a sandwich. She figured her mother would send her to bed without supper, so she could at least try to avoid being hungry all night by preemptively stockpiling a couple sandwiches and a box of animal crackers in her room.

By the time she finished making the second sandwich and wrapped it in wax paper, Carol could still hear her parents arguing in the hallway. As soon as she was old enough to realize that all they ever seemed to do was argue, Carol simply started walking away whenever it happened. Usually, her father would come up to her afterward and apologize, feeling terribly that his youngest child was always exposed to their bickering. Sadly, Carol was accustomed to hearing the apologies from him by the age of six and merely let all of the explanations and excuses brush by her as they'd become meaningless. She pressed the kitchen light off and walked toward the staircase, hearing her mother still fuss at her father.

"Gertie, you deal with Elaine. I will handle Carol, and my advice is: Just leave her be."

"Easy for you," her mother scoffed. "At this rate, I don't think we'll have the same problem we did with her sister."

Carol walked up the stairs, two at a time, completely ignoring her mother's remark, not understanding what she meant and shrugging it off like she did with most of her mother's comments. Standing outside her bedroom door was Elaine, holding a baby in her arms and softly singing, wondering what the commotion was downstairs that had interrupted her. Looking at her sister and then the baby, Carol held out one of the sandwiches without any expression on her face, figuring she was probably in trouble as well with it being so early in the evening and her already in her pajamas. Elaine shook her head, declining the sandwich which Carol then stacked atop the other wrapped sandwich. "Congratulations," she offered as she walked into her bedroom and shut the door behind her.

Tuesday, April 2nd, 1940
10:15 a.m.

It was moments like this where Harrie was exceedingly grateful she had a column on that old four-poster bed to grip whenever Carol teased with her lips and fingers. Harrie had already spent part of the early morning doing the same for Carol, who at this point was already dressed, had already opened the curtains, was all set to go out; Harrie, though, coaxed her back to bed, pulling away the blankets and spreading her thighs, inviting Carol back to where she knew was her favorite spot to lay her head. Of course, Carol couldn't resist, not when she could see how badly Harrie wanted her back there, and encouraged her to flip around and grasp one of the posts at the foot of the bed.

"Hang onto that." She watched Harrie hold tightly to the bedpost and ready herself. "So don't you dare touch my hair," Carol ordered before she started.

Not ten minutes later, Carol had forgotten all about her earlier request as Harrie started running her fingers through Carol's now mess of blonde curls as she could never keep her hands from having some kind of contact with her when she made her feel that way.

Except when the doorbell started to ring. Repeatedly.

"Ignore it," Carol pleaded as she alternated kissing and nibbling the sides of Harrie's breasts.

"They keep ringing. It could be important."

"The only thing that's important is you naked in this bed getting kissed by me."

Harrie propped herself up as the doorbell rang a third time. "You're mostly dressed, please go check. What if it's something with Sid or my Dad?"

Carol chided herself for being selfish, not thinking it could be something serious with someone in her family. "I'm sorry, darling, I'll go." She jumped off the bed, slipped on the nearest pair of shoes she could find, and bolted down the stairs, fixing her hair and adjusting her skirt she moved.

As she reached the door, it hit her. They were simply pelted with it every time they went to the pictures over the past month, reminding all the cinemagoers that they should expect someone to come knocking on their door starting April 1st.

Before she could open the door, Carol walked back up to the staircase to shout up the two flights of stairs, "Harriet?"

"Everything okay?"

"Get dressed. The fellow from the census is here."

Carol heard a groan and a succession of obscenities, laughing all the way back to the front door.

"Good morning, I am looking for the Head of Household. Is your husband in?"

Carol looked him up and down, tucking a curl behind her ear. "She is in, but, obviously she's not my husband. Miss Lovell will be down in a moment though. Please, come in."

As Harrie bounded down the staircase, Carol was extremely grateful the enumerator was too preoccupied with setting up his papers and uncapping his pen to take down the information. There was no way she could possibly hidden the grin on her face while watching Harrie stroll into the room wearing Carol's crewneck sweater inside-out without a bra and a skirt with no stockings, only socks and Carol's moccasins. She couldn't be sure until they went back upstairs, but Carol was fairly certain Harrie had nothing else on beneath that as well once she watched her enter the room.

"Alright, who resides at this address as of today?"

"Ah, well, there's me. Uh, Harriet Jane Lovell." Harrie took a seat by the table and tilted her head as the enumerator readied his pen and watched as he started writing her information. He made a small X on the sheet next to Harrie's name and then circled the X. "Miss, I should add."

"Your middle name's Jane?" Carol asked.

Harrie smiled. "It is."

"Age at last birthday?"

"Twenty-one."

"And you're Head of Household?"

"Yes."

The enumerator gave her an incredulous look, as though a residence like that could possibly belong to someone so young. "This is your home? You own or rent?"

"Own, and it's mine as of my twenty-first."

"Have you attended school at any time since March 1st of this year?"

"Yes."

"Highest grade of school completed?"

"Um, third year of college."

"Where were you born?"

"Harrogate." Harrie paused when she realized the enumerator had no idea where that was. "Er, England," she clarified.

"Are you - "

"Naturalized citizen."

"And her name?" He pointed with the tip of his pen in Carol's direction.

Harrie looked over at Carol, sitting quietly on the opposite couch with her arms and her ankles crossed as she answered all of the questions. "Her name is Carol Alice Ross. Miss. Nineteen. One year of college completed. Born in Washington State. Anything else?"

"Yes, one more question: Does she reside here?"

Carol started to shake her head, but Harrie jumped in, "She lives here."

He gave them a look and continued to fill in the blanks of the schedule. "Are you a lodger then, Miss Ross?"

"Lodger," Harrie interjected. "Rents. Fifteen dollars a month plus meals and utilities."

"Is there anyone else who resides at this address who is not presently here?" Harrie paused, thinking of her brother and James, realizing it would probably be best to leave them off the list, and simply shook her head no in reply. "Are there any babies here?"

Harrie chuckled, crossing her arms and sitting back on the sofa with a smug smile. The enumerator wasn't laughing however. "Definitely no babies here, sir," she finally replied in a more serious tone.

"Well, that will speed things up, won't it?"

Harrie smiled back. "Usually does."

"Now, during the past year, have you or Miss Ross received income of fifty dollars or more from sources other than wages or salary?"

"Yes. Must I specify?"

Before he could continue, Carol asked if anyone would like tea and cake. She didn't want to have to listen to Harrie spout off a bunch of numbers and details about the house in front of her, figuring occupying herself with brewing tea (per Harrie's instructions) would be much more interesting.

Forty minutes later, while they were upstairs getting ready to get back into bed rather than go out for the day, Carol poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher on top of the dresser. "You could have stayed while I was giving him all that housing information, Carol." Harrie shook her hips back and forth to draw her skirt down her legs.

"Yes, but I didn't really need to know that you spent eighty dollars on coal last year."

"But now you do know," she said as she pulled back the covers and jumped back into bed. "Besides, between you and me, we can perhaps reduce that down to fifty dollars with the body heat we generate and then put that thirty dollars into savings towards moving to California. And in California, we'd have very little to spend on heating… "

Harrie could be so charming and silly sometimes, making Carol laugh. Carol finished her glass of water, then strolled over to her side of the bed to turn the radio on low, flipping through until there was a clear station playing music. "I did - like - that you were able to answer all of that about me," Carol said trying to hide the redness of her cheeks. "You know me quite well, it seems."

With a nod of her head, Harrie agreed, then remembering the piece of paper sitting on the bedside table near her. "Say, Sid asked me to ask you if you could please translate something into Italian for him."

"Anything, what does he need?"

Harrie stumbled over the words and looked off to the side to where the list sat folded up by an empty water glass. "Oh, it's a very short list of some do's and don'ts."

"'Do's and don'ts'?" Carol asked, scrunching her brow. "What for?"

"Sometimes when making house calls," Harrie began, "he has the occasional patient over in the North End. It's just helpful to have a list of common medical issues and concerns translated into Italian for relations and friends who don't speak English."

"That's thoughtful of him, certainly," offered Carol, skimming the list noting easy things to translate like "no baths or swimming for one month" or "do not take aspirin" or "no sexual relations or tampon use for three weeks - one month if possible." She nodded her head, remarking, "This will be easy, I'll do it when I wake up."

"You're a peach."

She smiled watching Harrie pull the bedcovers up around her and get comfortable. Carol began to remove her sweater, and before she could lift it over her head asked, "Why on earth did you tell the census fellow I live here? Not that I minded."

"I dunno, it just kinda came out. I suppose I like having that schedule show two women are living here, together, without a man or a husband. Even if you are listed as 'lodger.' I mean," Harrie answered, "not like anyone will even see these sheets until, I dunno, the 2010s or something. It'll make a neighborhood like this look a whole lot more interesting to someone in the future."

"Don't let me forget, if we're still kicking, I'm writing to the Census Bureau for a copy of your shenanigans," Carol ordered.

"I won't."

"You could have said 'companion.'"

"Pffft… we're not in our eighties and living in Portsmouth with our eighteen cats and a budgie with an annual flagpole painting party bursting with prep school and college alumnae."

Harrie patted the space on the bed by the pillow, impatiently waiting for Carol to join her again. "Give me a second, would ya?" she laughed, "you threw on two pieces of clothing while I was fully dressed and ready to go out for the day."

Harrie glanced at the pile of clothing sitting on the chair by the door. "The look on your face… "

"You weren't wearing a brassiere, Harriet, darling. Remembering I just had my mouth there as the doorbell so rudely rang. How could I not?" Carol climbed into bed, finally divested of clothing and propped herself up with her elbow to look down at Harrie, resting flat on her back with her eyes closed and grinning. "You know how much I love your breasts," she muttered before settling in. She leaned forward unable to resist placing a kiss on each breast, curled so close to her like that, and Harrie moved her head so that it was close enough to press her lips to the bend of Carol's arm. "How many girls have you gone steady with?"

"'Gone steady with?' Are you doing a census of a sexual nature now?" she smiled and opened one eye to see Carol's expression, noting that she hadn't been joking, and wasn't trying to pry. There was a general look of curiosity on her face. Before replying, she closed that one eye and continued smiling. "Just one other, my Freshman year."

"Only one? Who?"

"She was from Pittsburgh originally, and… older. Eight years older, actually. And, yes, only one."

"Eight years?" Carol scrunched her brow. "Was she - "

"Yes, she was… " Harrie shifted herself closer to Carol. "Seems like forever ago now I think about it."

"Is she… still teaching at school?"

"No, she left after my Freshman year."

"What department?"

Harrie paused, shutting her eyes as she spoke and sighed, "French." Carol couldn't help but laugh as she placed her head on the pillow beside Harrie and kissed her cheek. "You linguistically gifted ladies… "

"You have a type, Harriet."

"I can't help it! I think all of you gravitate toward languages and the arts."

"Yes, the Western Massachusetts Chapter convenes together each Thursday, and it's so popular we're starting a Main Line Chapter for 1940-1941. Honestly though, it's all just an excuse to look at tasteful female nudes and to practice rolling our r's. You know, the letter r? It's part of the alphabet."

"Don't know it," Harrie teased. "Anyways, it ended badly between us and she… she got married and moved to Ohio."

"I'm sorry."

Harrie shook her head and shut her eyes again. "It's fine. We weren't in the same place. It had run its course, you know?" She opened her eyes to see Carol blankly staring back at her. "Maybe you don't know."

"What was her name?"

"Evelyn. So many questions this morning!" Harrie said, reaching over to tickle her. Carol laughed and brushed her hands away, pushing one of Harrie's hands behind her back and holding it there as she pulled herself closer to Harrie.

"No boys?"

"You have to ask?" Harrie snickered. "No, never. Your turn."

As she straddled Harrie and angled her hips to meet hers a couple times before answering, Carol softly moaned then whispered into her ear, "Only you."

Sunday, April 9th, 1950
7:45 p.m.

"Aunt Carol?" Jack whispered as he tapped Carol's shoulder. Rindy looked up out of her crib at her mother who despite having gotten her changed and ready for bed, had herself fallen asleep instead.

"Jack! Jack! Jack! Jack!" Rindy happily shouted, still not waking Carol. Uncle Harge had already left and no one else was helping her mind Rindy. Except for Jack, it seemed. Rindy should have already been asleep, she was far too awake for that time of evening.

"Shhhhh," said Jack, raising his finger to his lips, causing Rindy to mimic the same gesture. He looked around the room to see if there was anything to read to her, finding a small stack of his own old children's books on the bottom shelf. He knew his aunt always packed some books for her, but he didn't know where she kept them and didn't really want to go rifling through her bags. The first book on the pile was Make Way for Ducklings. He remembered that one: it was one of his favorites when he was little. He always wondered what had happened to that copy he had, realizing he had left it in the guest room for some reason. "I'll be right back, Rindy, wait a sec."

Jack scurried to his bedroom, quickly putting on his pajamas, pulling his sleeping bag usually reserved for Boy Scouts trips from the closet, and gathered his book, flashlight, and pillow together to go back to the guest room at the other end of the house. While rushing back, he passed his parents, bickering with each other about something he didn't understand, completely missing their youngest son walking past them in the hallway with his arms filled and clearly up to something.

Once back in the guest room, Rindy began joyously muttering Jack's name again and although he did his best to keep her quiet, she didn't want to stop. He set up his sleeping bag, turned off the light and quickly lit his flashlight in case Rindy was afraid of the dark. He picked up Rindy and sat her down atop the sleeping bag, then fluffed his pillow to lean against and pulled Rindy onto his lap along with the book.

"This is about a family of ducks looking for a home. Do you know what sound a duck makes?" Jack started to make a quacking sound and she immediately began to imitate him. "That's right, Rindy."

When he opened the book and saw inside, he was surprised to see handwriting on the inner cover, an inscription cascading down the first page of the inside, following the path of many drawings of a baby duck hatching from its egg:

Merry Christmas 1941 to our darling Jack, the sweetest Duckling.
Love, Aunt Harriet & Aunt Carol

The handwriting was familiar, it was crisper than his aunt's and recognized it from the inside of his copy of The Hobbit, a patch of writing that had been pasted over with a bookplate. He did note that his aunt's name was signed in her own hand. Jack then remembered his Aunt Carol telling him about a Harriet a few years earlier, about them at the World's Fair when he was probably around Rindy's age. He hadn't picked up the book in years and now that he saw it, recognizing the name and piecing the few details he had together, smiled.

As Jack began to read, Rindy calmed listening to his voice, still pointing at the pictures of the baby ducks as he turned the pages. "'One day the ducklings hatched out. First came Jack… ' hey, that's me! Quack, quack, quack!" Rindy giggled as he made the quacking sounds. "What's the duckling's name?"

"Jack!"

"Very good!" He resumed reading the names of the other ducklings and tried to get Rindy to pronounce them, but she instead kept saying "Jack" each time. The only other duck name she was able to say was Quack, however Jack couldn't be sure if she was saying it as the duck's name or trying to make the sound. The names did kind of all sound alike, he rationalized. Jack then looked up to see his aunt had flipped around on the bed, resting on her stomach to watch him read aloud. He smiled back at Carol as he continued reading to Rindy.

By the time Jack finished, Rindy was nearly asleep and even Carol was barely hanging on. He placed Rindy in the crib then looked over at the book on the sleeping bag before turning his attention to his aunt. "Tired?" he asked in a low voice.

"Very. She loves it when you read to her. Thank you, Jack."

"You want me to read to you too?"

"Sure, what do you have?"

He held up one book in each hand to show his weary aunt. "Either Make Way for Ducklings again or Cheaper By the Dozen."

"Let's go with Cheaper By the Dozen; I've been wanting to read that before I see the movie." Jack picked up the book and asked his aunt if he could sit up on the bed. "You're almost getting too old for this."

"You're sleepy, Aunt Carol. Never too old to be read to."

Before Jack got up onto the bed, Carol tilted her head, noticing Jack had brought in his sleeping bag and was already in his pajamas. "What are your parents up to?"

Jack was quiet and instead looked over at Rindy in the crib rather than make eye contact with his aunt. "Last I saw, they were at it again in the hallway, and not the 'hide your eyes' at it, but the 'cover your ears' at it." Carol's shoulders slumped as she leaned back against the pillows, putting her arm around Jack's shoulder. "It's been even worse with my brothers gone."

"Relationships don't need to be yelling and shouting at one another. They shouldn't be like that." Carol pointed to the book in Jack's hand. "May I?" Carol flipped over the book to scan the back cover for a description, but didn't find one. Instead, she found an entire back dustjacket devoted to the authors' biographical information. "Huh. We went to the same college."

"Did you know her?"

"No, she graduated several years before me."

"You could write a book."

Carol laughed. "About what?"

"I dunno. I'm sure you got stories. People you've met, places you've been, stuff you've done."

"'Stuff'?" Carol smiled. Jack simply nodded his head and opened the book, starting to read.

Friday, April 14th, 1950
8:15 a.m.

As Carol opened the curtains, she noticed her husband still in bed, rolled onto his side and facing her to observe every single thing she was looked at or touched. Carol couldn't stand the pair of eyes on her every movement and finally turned around with her hands on her hips. "Harge, don't you have to go to work?"

"Maybe… "

"Harge… "

"Come on. How often is it I'm home on a weekday morning like this?"

"Harge… "

"Come on, Carol… it's been, like, over three weeks."

"Oh," she said, acting as though she hadn't mentally been adding the days to the imaginary It's been XX days without coitus with Harge sign over the bed, "has it really been that long?"

"Uh huh."

Carol groaned. Not that Harge could hear as he was too busy rustling with the sheets so he could pull his pajama top over his head. "I need to go check on Rindy, I'll be - "

"Rindy's out with Florence. I had her take her to the market this morning so we could have some time to ourselves."

"So, you've had this planned?"

"Uh huh."

Carol groaned again, walking over to the nightstand to get a tissue to blot the lipstick she had just applied. This time, Harge couldn't hear her as he was taking off his pajama bottoms in a frenzy. She could easily say no and make some excuses for the next forty-five five minutes, but that wouldn't stop Harge from trying again before lunch and probably after lunch if he intended on staying home all day.

She could say she just put clean sheets on the bed.

But then he'd just have Florence put new ones on later, as if that wouldn't be embarrassing enough when he had already purposely sent her away for the morning.

She could say she had her period, but she used that excuse the week before, and then the week before that.

Not like he actually kept track or anything.

Or, she could take ten minutes to just let him do what he wanted to do, roll off her, fall asleep, and then spend another ten minutes cleaning herself up. Ten minutes of her time that would put him practically into a sleep coma until lunchtime and he wouldn't bother her for the rest of the day, possibly another couple of weeks.

Maybe less than ten minutes if she was lucky.

However, she'd have to reset the imaginary sign above her bed.

And it was getting so close to having double digits beginning with the number three, too, she thought.

But the stubble against her face and neck would grate on her nerves even more.

Not as though it could get any worse...

Not like he knew anyways.

Carol gave in, disapprovingly sighing, again, not audible to Harge's ears, and walked toward the window to draw the curtains. The neighbors never could see in, however the darkened room always helped her get through any brief daylight-hour encounters they had. As she stood at the window, begrudgingly beginning to unbutton her blouse, out of the corner of her eye, she looked at herself in the mirror, noticing how her breasts were just beginning to strain against her shirt and ache, exactly as they had with Rindy.

An unfamiliar car pulled up the driveway and its passenger carrying a large case got out. Carol never thought she would be so overjoyed to see a solicitor come by the house. Although she expected a man to get out of the car, she was pleasantly surprised to see it was a woman carrying oversized books and folders as well as a briefcase. Not an Avon Lady, but a census lady.

"Someone's here, Harge," Carol said as she hurriedly started to rebutton her blouse, faintly smiling. She checked herself in the bathroom mirror, making sure her hair hadn't been too mussed up as she went about tidying the room. Before exiting the bathroom, she pulled a jar from the medicine cabinet which she then placed by the side of the bed where Harge had now turned away from, most likely pouting.

After Carol provided the enumerator with all of their household details and offered tea and cookies, she wandered back upstairs, not having heard a peep from Harge the entire time.

Never before was she so happy to have spotted her husband sound asleep in her bed, snoring loudly, drooling onto a pillow, and his pajamas strewn about the floor beside the bed. Smirking, she walked into the bathroom to pick up the trash can from beneath the sink, and returned to the bedroom to clear the mess of items from the bedside table that hadn't been there before she went downstairs. Holding the bin to the edge of the nightstand, Carol swiped her arm across the top, causing the mostly empty jar of Vaseline and several wadded up tissues to fall into the basket.

Sometimes, it was just one strategically placed, seemingly insignificant item that got Carol the desired outcome.

Sunday, April 16th, 1950
4:26 a.m.

As quietly as possible, Harrie removed her clothing and pulled back the blankets, stopping to look at Carol, taking note that she wore a pair of striped men's pajamas. Harrie instantly recognized them as the ones Carol had given her years earlier for her birthday, ones where she had the initials "HL" monogrammed in a light coral thread onto the pocket. Harrie's heart raced as she crawled into the large four-poster bed, careful not to press herself too closely against her and placed an arm high above her stomach, resting beneath her breasts. She unbuttoned the middle button of the pajama top, creating a space wide enough to slide her hand into to keep warm and make contact with her soft skin.

"Hmmm… you're here."

"I am."

Carol angled her head back and kissed her. "I've missed you. I've missed waking up like this." She cracked open one eye for a second then and raised a hand to rub the one still shut as she yawned. She couldn't stop yawning and moving her hips around, cracking her ankles and stretching her legs which felt far too cramped after sleeping in the same spot for the past sixteen hours.

"Go back to sleep, gorgeous, it's early."

12:26 p.m.

To Carol, the bed felt comfortable and familiar, the way the mattress curled to support her lower back and the pressure from the springs against the tops of her shoulders. It had been at least a decade since Carol had slept in that bed, nonetheless she somehow had found the same spot she had always slept in; whether she realized it or not. The blanket was comfortable, fluffy and soft, maintaining the warmth to keep her lower body particularly toasty since it didn't feel like she had anything on. The smell… Carol knew that smell as she tilted her head against the pillow to breathe in a scent that had always relaxed her instantly, but that scent was heavily masked by what smelled like cooking.

"Sid and Jamie had to leave, so they asked me to come to stay with you." Harrie speaking roused Carol from her sleep. Harrie was now dressed in an oversized pair of pajamas, probably her brother's or James' that had been left the house. Carol looked down noting she had been wearing Harrie's clothes, instantly feeling guilty for having them on, despite not knowing how they got there in the first place. Her arm remained draped over her middle, high enough not to put pressure anywhere too low, hand still tucked inside the shirt.

"But - "

"Some other time," Harrie said as she removed her hand so Carol could turn over to face her. "We're not gonna talk about all that. I'm not gonna ask you anything; I don't wanna know what you've been doing, how you've been, nothing. No thoughts, no feelings, no reminiscing, nothing. If I ask how you feel at any time, know it is only in relation to here and now, nothing else. And you're not to ask me a single thing. We'll save all of that for some other time and place. Not now."

Carol nodded and looked into her eyes, seeing nothing but coldness despite the warm arm across middle. It frightened her, especially since Harrie had always been one of the most cheerful people she had ever met, and not seeing that smile on her face instantly upset her, and made her stomach queasy. "You don't want to be here."

"That's not true."

"Then why are you here?"

"I said no questions." Pouting, Carol inched away and began to turn her back to Harrie; however, as she pulled away from her and angled her hips, there was a twinge of pain and she reached down to massage below her waist to subdue the cramping. Harrie felt badly for snapping at her and fussing straight off the bat, softening when she saw Carol cringe, but didn't try to apologize.

"Is there any aspirin?"

Harrie shook her head. "You can't have that: It's a blood thinner. I can make a pot of ginger tea or have a toasty hot water bottle ready."

"I can get that myself."

"No, you're not to move," she ordered as she got up. "Bed rest for at least another eight hours. Maybe tonight we can get you in the shower for a bit." As she passed by the dresser, Harrie motioned her head toward the tray, a plate of something covered with a shiny silver lid. "There's some steak and kidney pie for you."

"I won't have you waiting on me."

Harrie was getting perturbed at how noble Carol was trying to be and she tried hard not to let it show. "Eat. Protein, iron, all that good stuff. You've had nothing since Saturday morning as I understand." She stood and walked to the bathroom across the hall to let the tap warm, letting the running water get as hot as possible. When filled, Harrie returned and lifted the blanket to apply it to Carol's lower abdomen. Carol hurriedly untied the pajama bottoms and removed them, then let Harrie pass her the water bottle. After fifteen seconds and a pleasant moan from Carol, she commented, "That should be better."

"Thanks." Carol looked back up toward the tray and again to the bed, saying nothing. With her stomach now less irritated and less upset by Harrie's demeanor, it grumbled just thinking about the food, remembering how Harrie always made the most delicious savory pies, something she could never manage to replicate in her own kitchen. "When did you find time… Sorry, that was a question."

Harrie sat down on the bed and placed the tray beside Carol, moving the glass of water to the more stable nightstand. It was then Carol noticed how much space she had been taking up and shifted over a few inches more. "I just realized I'm probably keeping you from your own bed."

"Sid thought - I thought - you'd be most comfortable in this bed. I told him to have James carry you in here."

"I can move."

"No," Harrie firmly said and finally broke a smile, "but you will need to make some more room for me there later because I'm not supposed to leave your side. Plus I have to go over do's and dont's with you before I pass out here again." Harrie picked up a piece of paper on the nightstand, and passed it to Carol to read. "I take it this is how you knew." It was a familiar list, now fully understanding the significance of what it was Sid had wanted translated all those years before.

"I realized that's what it was about four years ago. If I didn't know someone I trusted like Sid and Jamie, I don't know if… "

"You're extremely lucky Sid was here when you telephoned," Harrie mumbled as she quickly unbuttoned her pajama top and then started untying the drawstring of the bottoms. "Now, I've been on a plane for too many hours and even though through a measly three time zones, I'm still knackered." Carol swiftly averted her eyes, trying hard not to look at Harrie undressing. "I'm gonna shut that bathroom door for less than a minute, then I will open it again before I get into the bath, so if you need something, holler."

"I'll… eat my lunch then."

"I'm sorry if it'll seem as though I am flaunting my ability to relax in the tub. I'll make that ginger tea before bedtime tonight, alright?"

By the time Harrie returned from the bath, Carol was asleep again. They didn't speak while Harrie was in the bathroom; all Carol could manage was to compliment Harrie on the pie, eat most of what she had put out for her and then collapse into a deep sleep. She removed the tray from the bed, noting that Carol had eaten all but a couple bites of pie which she immediately gobbled down before it sat around any longer. The tray went back onto the dresser along with the empty glass of water, which reminded her of the hot water bottle Carol had been using earlier. Harrie raised the blanket and pulled out the now cool water bottle and left it by the lunch tray.

Before she got back into bed, she raised her left arm to smell the shoulder of the pajamas she was wearing, noting that they smelled too much like the pie she had baked earlier. She knew Carol could be sensitive to odors, and didn't want to risk waking up to her requests to take it off. She removed the pajamas again and crawled into bed beside Carol who immediately snuggled up to her with an arm around Harrie's waist. Stringing her fingers across her unclothed stomach, she mumbled, "Thank you for looking after me," before snoring directly into Harrie's ear for a good four hours.

4:58 p.m.

When Carol woke again, it was due to the swirl of brown curls pressed to her lips and how they made her skin tickle. She peered beneath the blanket, looking down at their bare legs pressed against one another, noticing how Harrie wore nothing, and that the entirety of the middle of the bed was padded with a towel for her to sleep on.

She stood to walk to the bathroom, feeling alright after not having been on her feet for over a day. As she caught her balance, Carol steadied herself against the bedpost, gripping it as she took a couple deep breaths. Unfortunately, the couple of breaths must have tickled something within her nose and throat because the moment Carol sneezed, was when it all started.

"Oh, fuck," she muttered and darted across the hallway to the bathroom.

Once she heard Carol rushing across the hall, Harrie dazily woke and noticed her bed partner was missing. She quickly rose from the bed, hastily looking for the pajama top she had discarded earlier. Standing at the bathroom door that Carol had left slightly ajar, she pushed it open to make sure she was alright.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Carol exasperatedly spoke, "I stood up and sneezed and… "

Harrie laughed and nodded. "Yeah, I hate when that happens. Let me know if it's anything other than small clots. You - we - need to remember to massage the area every few hours. I'll be back in bed."

Back in the bedroom and without Carol there, Harrie flopped down and enjoyed the sensation of being in her old bed, messing up the towel draped across the middle. It was comfortable and familiar, possibly still with the indentations of where she used to sleep still sunk into the feather top. She never slept in the room anymore, not since college. Rather, not since Carol; instead always opting for the master bedroom on the second floor that used to be her parents'. Most of her books and trinkets had been moved downstairs to that room as well, making it her own with its bright windows and lightly papered walls with a subtle floral print. This had been their space together during all those vacations, and she knew Carol had come by the house for weekends during her Junior and Senior years when she wanted to get away from school, but didn't want to go down to Greenwich.

She adjusted the towel so it was neat for when Carol returned, checking it to ensure there weren't any spots on the fabric. She pulled off the pajama top one more time and flung it across the room, at this point also not wanting to smell it anywhere near her. Harrie shut her eyes and lay flat on her back, extending her right leg straight out, her left folded in a v with the heel of her foot pressed against the side of her knee. Despite hearing the toilet flush and the water from the sink run, she made no effort to move or adjust her position on the bed because Carol found her just like that upon returning to the room.

It felt good to stand up for a little bit and at least the view from where Carol stood provided an ample vantage point. She wished she could paint or draw, or even take a photograph the beautiful sight before her. Standing in the doorway, she watched as Harrie rustled her head against the pillow and scratched the top of her shoulder where her curls of her hair tickled against the bare skin. Her body still looked the same, same curve of her hip, same slight fleshy bulge of her stomach, same way her breasts fell when she slept on her back, same neatly trimmed patch of dark coarse hair between her legs. Carol looked away when she realized she was staring, but Harrie didn't know. As the sun began to set and the room got darker, making out all the features that she had so often foolishly taken advantage of unabashedly looking at years earlier got increasingly difficult. Carol could stare all she wanted to without her knowing until it was too dark to see anything.

"You're so beautiful, Harriet," she whispered, climbing back into bed once the room was dark enough.

Monday, April 17th, 1950
8:38 a.m.

Harrie put down her book, a tattered copy of The Enchanted April that had belonged to her mother with sentences underlined and words circled throughout the text. All of her mother's books looked like that with her favorite passages marked up in a variety of colored pencil. Straining her neck to look out the bedroom window, over the curve of Carol's hip which she traced with tip of her finger, Harrie watched how Carol wriggled to the sensation of her movements. The tickle of her fingertip caused her to open her eyes and smile. "Good morning," Carol said.

"I know I made the rules, but I'd like to ask you something."

"Anything."

"Are you happy?"

Carol looked away, down at her hip where Harrie rested her hand, shaking her head no in reply. There was no need to think for a long time about the response, Carol already knew. She tucked her hands beneath the pillow to keep warm. Harrie moved closer, slouching down under the covers and tucking her own hands under the same pillow as Carol's so she could caress her fingers. She wedged her feet between Carol's, letting their toes playfully mingle. When their fingers met and their toes touched, all intertwined, Carol began to cry. Harrie took a deep breath before steadying herself to shift forward and press her lips to Carol's.

"'You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how.'"

Wiping a tear from her eye, Carol began to laugh, adding, "'And I suppose you think you are the proper person,'" before eagerly kissing her back.

Wednesday, April 19th, 1950
1:59 a.m.

"I have one question for you then."

"Go on."

"Do you have someone… someone like me?"

Harrie brushed the hair from her eyes and moved to face Carol in the darkness. "I do - " Immediately, Carol pulled away from her, pressing her hands underneath the pillow so they couldn't touch. "It's fine, I promise you."

"How come?"

"Question. Trust me, not every relationship is so… rigidly conventional," Harrie muttered as she kissed the corner of Carol's bare shoulder. The skin was slightly damp from the late-night shower, smelling of clean soap and powder. "You can come back with me, if you'd like. I already asked - "

"I can't do that, Harriet. There's… even if I could."

Harrie lifted Carol's arm to pull herself against the same spot she had just kissed then gently wrapped her own arm around Carol's stomach, tenderly tracing the puckered lines she could feel with her fingertips, little pink marks she had seen in the daylight when doing the abdomen massages. "You could and even bring - "

"No, we're the past, Harriet. We have right now and tomorrow and the day after and whatever, but that's all. I know that." Carol lifted Harrie's hand away from her abdomen, instead placing it between her breasts. "I wouldn't belong."

"Maybe you need to find out where you do belong and how you fit into the scheme of things. Otherwise, you're gonna wake up one day and realize it's too late to do anything about it."

9:15 a.m.

After a few hours more sleep and well before lunchtime, Harrie woke and shook Carol awake the moment she peered out the bedroom window, "Wake up, get dressed. We're going out."

"Is this a date?"

"We're going to Fenway," she answered, purposely neglecting a proper reply. "Then I'm loading you up on protein and vitamins."

"Ah, so... it is a date: one high in protein and vitamins from food and sunshine," Carol teased. "We're going to the ballpark, then having late luncheon. In the city. On a Wednesday. In springtime. With all the tulips and hyacinth in bloom." Harrie smirked and turned her eyes away from Carol's equally suggestive gaze.

"It is a date: Patriots' Day, Boston Marathon, Red Sox home game double-header. Double-header against the Yankees. I've been - " Harrie stopped herself from speaking any further and kissed Carol on the cheek before getting up from the bed to to open the armoire to find something to wear.

Carol quietly finished the statement for her. "You've been waiting for this all year." Now, she could easily understand Harrie's excitement.

"I meant to say, I've been coming back East every year for opening day and the Marathon, my plans just got… moved up this year," Harrie admitted. "Sorry, I shouldn't have offered that. Are you up to it?"

"Yes, it's alright, and yes, I am certainly up to it. It looks like a lovely day outside," Carol said as she sat up, resting against the headboard. "I didn't pack anything for going out, Harriet."

"I already thought of that!" she said, darting off down the hall and running down one flight of stairs. Moments later, she returned with her arms full of clothing that she flung onto the bed. "Well?"

"These are men's pants." Carol picked up a pair of worn brown corduroy trousers, holding them up for Harrie to see, thinking that perhaps she had gotten them confused with something else.

"Well, I don't have any ladies' slacks for you and absolutely no wearing a skirt or dress with garters... so take 'em or leave 'em. You got that nice blue sweater and my long coat to cover most of you anyways. I assure you, you'll look very pretty and very smart." Harrie turned back to the armoire and pulled out a pair of shorts and socks then knelt down to get something from the bottom, coming up with a worn pair of solid black hi-top sneakers. Harrie sat down at the edge of the bed and smoothed out the blankets that had bunched up at Carol's feet.

"'Smaht,'" Carol mimicked. "No fur then."

"It's a baseball game, not gala night."

Carol smiled and reached for the other items Harrie had next to her, curious about the pair of shorts. "And these are for… "

"Trust me, wear them too. That way, you won't need a belt or suspenders. The trousers will be low, but not fall off your hips."

"My ass will look huge." Smirking and trying very hard not to say anything, Harrie couldn't resist, waiting a couple beats before opening her mouth to speak, only to have Carol lean toward her and press her lips to hers. "I know exactly what you were going to say."

4:45 p.m.

In a dark restaurant together, seated across from one another, Harrie took the menu from Carol's hands and grinned. They sat by the window, open wide enough so Carol could breathe in as much fresh air as possible and not be smothered by the cigarette and pipe smoke that heavily hung throughout the tavern, and also bright enough to allow them to actually see one another.

"I can't believe I never took you to Fenway," Harrie cried. "I'm the worst Bostonian."

"No, you're not," Carol retorted. After days spent cooped up in the house on Chestnut Street, it was nice to have spent the afternoon outdoors at the ballpark, even if they didn't make it all the way through the second game. Harrie spent the afternoon drinking Narragansett beers, letting Carol have a couple sips here and there, and sharing paper packets of roasted peanuts. Leaning across the table to Harrie, Carol whispered, "You are the prettiest Bostonian though."

Harrie looked down into her purse for a vial of pills, hiding the blush on her cheeks. "Not to be some controlling bastard, but I am ordering for you because you're still on your diet regime. Don't forget to take these, too." She slid the pill bottle across the table and Carol took it, placing the vial at the opposite end of the table by the salt and pepper shakers.

"I'm pretty sure you don't meet the criteria for high in protein," Carol joked. "In fact, you have fairly poor nutritional value. Highly flavorful, but of no merit."

"Look who's cheeky now," mused Harrie, thinking back to the previous night and how they had fallen asleep.

"You're very high in thoughtfulness," she proposed.

"Awww," Harrie cooed. "All that flattery aside, I can't trust you to not slather lobster in butter or eat a mound of fried scrod or clams. I've seen you do it."

"You're probably going to eat that in front of me while I watch."

"I'm not cruel, you know, Carol," she insisted. "You can eat oysters - "

"You're trying to torture me with aphrodisiacs when you know damn well you can't go... aren't you?"

Harrie held up the pint of Guinness in her hand and glared at Carol over the frothy top of her glass. "Question… "

"That was barely a question. It was… interjective." Harrie tilted her head to the side, disapprovingly looking back at her. Regardless it was impossible to keep a smile off her face as she sat across from Carol. Harrie picked up the menu, looking for all the non-fried selections which were scattered throughout, choosing things they would both like and could easily share. A moment later, she felt the flat of the smooth rubber toe on Carol's sneaker brush its way up and down her nylon-covered calf, never going above the knee. "Maybe you are the worst Bostonian ever. You've never even taken me on a swan boat."

"After dinner then," Harrie winked.

Thursday, April 20th, 1950
9:45 p.m.

"Did I tell you how cute you look tonight?"

"No, and that was a question."

"Dammit!" Harrie exclaimed. "I'm not very good at minding my own rules."

"You can tell me though."

Harrie looked around as they passed through the Commons, getting far enough away between the lamplights for it to be dark, and took Carol's hand. She raised it to her lips, kissing the back of her hand, then flipping it over to kiss the palm. "You're cute."

"But not gorgeous."

"Well, of course you're gorgeous," Harrie smiled, "gorgeous." She lowered their hands and kept them entwined as they walked along the path together. "I only emphasize the cute because you've got on those old corduroys, a tight as hell cashmere sweater beneath that duffle coat there, an old beret on your head, and then those wicked ratty PF Flyers of mine on your feet. You're killin' me, gorgeous."

"You did say no heels."

"I say a lotta things," Harrie teased. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, less drained," Carol started, "and… happy. I'm happy. I feel happy being here with you."

"The offer still stands."

"I know, Harrie." Carol swung their hands. "You know I can't."

"Did you like the movie?"

There were footsteps off in the distance, breaking the amicability of their walk home when they each took a step away from one another, letting go of their joined hands which instantly retreated deep into their respective coat pockets.

"Loved it, although the cat stole the whole damn picture," answered Harrie, acting as though their conversation was continued with one another as it had before their hands became unclasped. "I gotta say though, this print is missing about ten minutes of film."

"Ah… you've already seen it. Over there."

"December."

Harrie looked over her shoulder, trying to see where the footsteps had come from but there was no one in sight. Facing forward again, and seeing no one, she fished Carol's hand from her pocket and held onto it as they continued through the Commons together, only letting go as they reached the lights of Beacon Street.

Friday, April 21st, 1950
11:30 a.m.

"All the benefits of being in a garden with the sound of rainfall hitting that glass roof instead of us."

"It's relaxing. Thank you," Carol smiled.

"You endured almost two back-to-back Red Sox games on Wednesday, without the aid of beer, mind you. I owed you something that is all Carol."

When was the last time Harge had done something so unselfishly like that? Before the war? Wait, there was that one time he dressed, fed, and minded Rindy on a Saturday in November so she could have approximately two extra hours in bed? When was the last time she had been to a museum like that and wandered around, having fun and looking at artworks she adored, not feeling out of place among Harge's friends and colleagues who talked real estate, or their wives who obsessed about their children and recipes that wanted, but only to pass on to their own cook.

She and Harrie never had Vienna, or Paris, or Florence for that matter. They had New York and Boston, and the quiet of Greenwich.

There were never afternoons on the beaches the Biarritz, Ostend, Sanremo, or Newquay. They always had the dunes of Cape Cod, that quiet stretch of Ocean Beach, or the private beach by her grandparents' house.

They never ate fries from a cone or warm stroopwafels or even crêpes filled with melted chocolate and strawberry jam on-the-go. Instead, fried seafood, coffee and doughnuts, and any number of Harrie's homemade savory English pies.

There were never any week-long voyages by steamer across the Atlantic or cross-country train rides in a sleeper car where they'd spend at least one day stowed away together and requesting all meals be directly delivered to them; they had the streetcar and trains criss-crossing between Boston, Springfield, Hartford, New York, and Riverside stations.

They never got lost in the Rijksmuseum, the Louvre, the Prado, or the Uffizi. But there was always the Met and the Gardner, and, of course, the Cloisters.

"This is… this reminds me of… " Harrie brushed her hand against Carol's, distracting her train of thought, even though she knew she probably shouldn't tell Carol what she was thinking about. She already knew.

Carol grabbed Harrie's hand and pulled her away from the center of the enclosed courtyard where they walked. She led her toward the darkness underneath the portico of Romanesque arches, away from the bright natural lighting of the center courtyard. "Maybe it's just being here with you… and it's spring and you're so beautiful and… maybe I'm out of my mind… " Looking around her, searching for prying eyes and finding no one, she kissed along the side of Harrie's neck and beneath her ear, "Sometimes, I wish I had opened your Christmas present early."

"Sometimes, I wish you did too. It could have been like this."

"I know."

It was Harrie who took her to the museum, even though she was still clueless about art, because she knew how much she liked it. Harrie who looked after her, didn't judge her, made sure she had a shoulder to cry on, told her how much she was loved, cuddled up with her every night, and assured her that things would be better. Perhaps not immediately, but they would improve, no matter if that meant a life without Harge or on her own. And it was Harrie who always knew before something went too far.

Carol stilled, listening for the sound of rain on the rooftop, hearing nothing. "I think the rain stopped."

"Let's go back to the house," Harrie stammered as Carol's hands snuck inside her jacket and around her waist. "I'd like to be snuggled up in bed with you when it starts up again."

Saturday, April 22nd, 1950
10:26 a.m.

The click from the bathroom door woke Carol as she watched Harrie emerge, dressed in the one blouse and skirt she had brought with her. "No," Carol sniffled as she watched Harrie put a few garments into the small bag propped open at the foot of the bed.

"I know." Harrie did a final scan around the bedroom to make sure she had everything, then fastened the straps of her bag. She sat down beside Carol, reaching up to flatten her blonde curls that were out of place from her tugging on them earlier that morning. "I was hoping to not wake you. You looked so comfortable there, so… familiar. Maybe too familiar."

Carol sat up, holding the sheets against her to stay warm. "It's been nice. Being here, in this really, really… really fucked up kind of way," she smiled.

"FUBAR."

"Definitely."

"Sorry it was one-sided, but I have this list… " she smiled.

With a laugh and a shrug, Harrie replied, "That couldn't be helped. I liked holding you. I've always loved that. And… you really needed that." Harrie then pinched the bridge of her nose and avoided looking her. "'You know, you ought to get yourself a girl.'"

Carol swallowed, waiting to speak for a long while, debating if she even wanted to bring it up to Harrie; regardless, she should know if she didn't already note it herself. "You did say her name once when… "

Harrie sniffled and stopped breathing for a moment, then wiped her eyes, "Use your key to lock up when you head out, alright?"

Carol shook her head. "I don't have one, Harriet. I've never had a key."

"Yeah, you do, it was in - " Harrie smiled and raised her hand to Carol's chin, tilting it up so she could kiss her one more time. "Always gonna love you, Carol."

"I know. Love you too."

Friday, April 1st, 1960
7:26 p.m.

NAMES OF THE PERSONS LIVING HERE ON APRIL 1, 1960 AND THOSE STAYING HERE WHO HAVE NO OTHER HOME. Write names in this order: Head of household on first line, Wife of head, Unmarried children, Married children and their families, Other relatives, Others not related to head of household.

Person 3
Last name: Belivet
First name: Therese
Middle initial: E
What is the relationship of each person to the head of this household?

"Therese?"

"Hmmm?"

"I'm filling out the census. What… what on earth do I put for you in regards to your relationship to head of household?"

"Aside from 'adorable'?"

Carol laughed and turned back to the form on her desk. "No, seriously, sweetness, what do I put for you?"

"Lodger?"

"No, no. I don't want you reduced to 'lodger,'" she lifted Therese's hand to her lips, then rested her cheek against it. "You're my Therese, you deserve more than that." She took a deep breath and scratched her forehead.

Therese shrugged. "I dunno then. What about companion?"

"I won't put that on there, Therese! What will - "

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, Carol. Bored government bureaucrats are going to read millions of these forms over the next couple years. We're not putting it on the front page of the Times or anything like that."

"I suppose you're right. It's not like it used to be where you had someone showing up at your doorstep to take down your information and you had to look them straight in the eye to tell them who you were exactly." Carol picked up her black pen and carefully wrote COMPANION in large block letters, right below DAUGHTER that she had written for Rindy on the line above.

"What did Harrie write for Jo?"

"I asked: She said she put 'Cunning Linguist.' I mean, it's not entirely a lie." Therese slowly turned her head, displaying the most wide-eyed expression Carol had ever seen.

What is the relationship of each person to the head of this household? COMPANION.

April 1970

Last name: Belivet
First name: Therese
Middle initial: E

HOW IS EACH PERSON RELATED TO THE HEAD OF HOUSEHOLD? If "Other not related to head," also give exact relationship, for example, partner, maid, etc.
Other not related to head - Print exact relationship: Partner

April 1980

PERSON in column 2
Last Name: Belivet
First Name: Therese
Middle Initial: E

If not related to person in column 1: Partner, roommate

April 1990

Person 2
Last Name: Belivet
First Name: Therese
Middle Initial: E

IF NOT RELATED to Person 1: Unmarried Partner

Saturday, March 18, 2000
10:29 a.m.

Person 2
What is Person 2's name? Print name below
Last Name: Belivet
First Name: Therese
MI: E

How is this person related to Person 1? Mark ONE box.

"Therese?"

"Hmmm?"

"Could you come here and look at this?"

Therese placed her book on the table and walked over to the desk where Carol sat, wrapping her arms around her shoulders as she peered at the paper in her hands. "What is it?"

"I don't know what to put for you, dearest. 'How is this person related to Person 1? Mark ONE box.' Are you 'Husband/wife' or 'Other relative - Print exact relationship'? Or… are you 'IF NOT RELATED to Person 1… Unmarried partner'?"

Reading the question over Carol's shoulder, Therese skimmed the words again, trying to make sense of the phrasing. "What did we do last time?"

"Last time we weren't registered as domestic partners, but it's not as though that is federally recognized… or the state for that matter. What about 'Unmarried partner'?"

"Carol, I love you, but this makes my head hurt. Why don't we ask Harrie and Jo what they wrote when they come over later."

Carol nodded her head. "Good idea."

"Probably put 'Unmarried partner' otherwise the computer will probably reject it or explode based upon what you put for my sex." Therese tightened her arms and leaned in to kiss her temple.

"Computers… " Carol scoffed, screwing the cap back onto her pen so she could wait to fill in the rest of the form later. "Come cuddle: they won't be here for another four hours at least. Did you read about Vermont the other day?"

Therese grinned. "Should I start making the bookings now?"

How is this person related to Person 1? Mark ONE box. IF NOT RELATED to Person 1: Unmarried partner

Tuesday, March 16, 2010
4:10 p.m.

"Not sure if you heard the phone ring - "

"I heard it just fine."

"Jack called. He said Ted is coming home from Haiti on Friday, so we're going to surprise him up at Logan. Harrie's invited us to stay over, okay?"

Carol looked up from her papers and shook her head, "My grandfather passed away years ago, Therese, before I even met you."

"No, not your grandfather… Harrie. Our friend, Harriet."

Still shaking her head and smiling, Carol looked back at the paper attached to the clipboard. "I still don't know to whom you're referring, Therese."

Therese took off her glasses and sat down on the couch next to Carol, taking her left hand in hers and sighing. Enjoying the blissful quietness, Carol took the opportunity to softly sing; Therese recognized the tune, a slower version of "Garden in the Rain" than she remembered from when they met, and smiled, not having heard it in years, and rested her head against her shoulder.

Carol unfolded the piece of paper and began to fill in the information. Unfurling the paper, she looked at the section where the information for Person 2 needed to be entered, and exclaimed, "Finally!" as she checked the box with a flick of her black fountain pen, holding it up for Therese to read. "Took long enough."

Person 2
Last Name: Belivet
First Name: Therese
MI: E

How is this person related to Person 1? Mark ONE box. Husband or wife.

There would be good days, there would be bad days. Today, though, was still a very good day.