The alarm set itself off at 5:30. Della clicked it off and slid out of bed quietly, following the routine she'd had for decades.
She used the bathroom down the hall in the mornings. There was more counter space, and even though Perry said she was just imagining things, she thought the water came out hotter. It also kept the bedroom quieter so Perry could enjoy his last 45 minutes of sleep.
After a shower and a few minutes with the blow dryer, she went down to the kitchen to start the coffee. Perry had never been a morning person, but now that they were both creeping up on three-quarters of a century, he'd become nothing short of a bear. She could say it-she'd married him.
Black coffee, steaming in a large mug, she carried up the stairs. It was after six now, and on her way over to wake Perry, she pulled the cord that opened the curtains. He groaned as the morning light streamed in through the easterly window.
"Good morning, yourself," she retorted.
"What time is it?" he asked, not rolling over.
"Ten after six," she replied. "Same time I come in every morning."
"Della," he grumbled, shifting under the covers.
"Arguing with me is not going to change the fact that it's getting close to quarter after," she retorted, setting the coffee down on his nightstand and going to her bureau.
"Della," he repeated.
"Perry Mason, I swear, it's a good thing we never had children because you are enough of a handful all on your own." Della came back around to his side of the bed. She leaned over to start pulling at covers.
"Della!" Perry exclaimed, grabbing her wrists before she could start stealing any of his blankets. With a mighty yank, he pulled her onto him and executed what could only be likened to an alligator's death roll as he tried to bury her in the bedcovers. "It's Saturday!"