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  ‘Hold on,’ he said into the receiver, then set his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘They want me to go to Montenegro. Yugoslavia. I think. There’s been a war there for so long, I’m not certain what, exactly, the area’s called any more.’

  ‘There’s a lot of that going around.’ Frankie’s brow furrowed. ‘I know photojournalists photograph the news and the news isn’t often happy. You gotta do what you gotta do. Vegas will still be there when you get back. I’ll be there.’

  He kissed her long and well while his boss called, ‘Charley? Come on, Charley!’ on the other end of the phone.

  Then he packed his bag and flew away.

  And nearly died in a flooded field, in a place he wasn’t sure he knew the name of beyond Yugoslavia.

  He arrived late at McCarran Airport. Flights out of Yugoslavia were rarely on time. Sometimes flights didn’t leave at all, so he counted himself lucky.

  Though the assignment had been to shoot a story about peace after centuries of war, in a lot of areas there had still been war.

  In the terminal he paused, uncertain. The plan had been for him to meet her plane, as his would arrive several hours earlier. Instead it was hours and hours later. She was probably at the hotel. Which one had it been?

  He rubbed his head. Couldn’t remember. He needed to find a phone and call …

  ‘Crap.’

  The only people who knew the hotel were Frankie and himself, and he couldn’t call the hotel to see if she was there since he didn’t know where to call. Why didn’t he write things down? Maybe she’d told her mother.

  ‘Charley!’

  He turned and Frankie launched herself into his arms. He buried his face in hair that smelled of lemons, and the world came into focus.

  He twirled her in a circle. People around them smiled and laughed. Frankie was laughing too, her face lit up like the Strip itself.

  When he set her down, he saw she was garbed for a wedding in a dress of antique lace, her shoulders bare, flowers in her hair. He lifted the long skirt to see if she was barefoot. She wasn’t.

  ‘Do you plan on wearing combat boots to the chapel?’

  ‘Gotta wear shoes in the airport. Fascists.’ She kissed his nose. ‘I asked about your plane and they said it was in the air, just late. I went into the restroom and got ready.’ She did a voilà gesture.

  ‘You’ve been sitting here in your wedding dress ever since? Why?’

  ‘Because we’re getting married.’

  ‘You could have gone to the hotel. Rested. Gambled. Had a drink.’

  ‘When I enter Caesars Palace, I plan to be Mrs Charles Blackwell.’

  Caesars! How could he have forgotten that?

  ‘I thought you weren’t changing your name.’

  Now that Frankie was making her own reputation in news photography, she didn’t want to change her name and start all over again to gain recognition. She also didn’t want to ride on the fame of Charley Blackwell. She didn’t need to.

  ‘I’m still not changing it legally. But I’ll be Mrs Charles Blackwell.’ She looped her arm through his. ‘As soon as I get you to the chapel.’

  ‘The license?’ he asked.

  ‘We can stop at the courthouse on the way.’

  ‘Now?’ It was dark outside.

  ‘In Vegas, everything’s open late.’

  Charley paused in front of the restroom. ‘I’ll just clean up a little.’ Except he had nothing to wear that wasn’t wrinkled, damp or worse. He’d planned to arrive in plenty of time to buy new clothes. He should know better.

  ‘Here.’ Frankie held out a shopping bag. ‘I had a few free hours.’

  In the bag were tan slacks and a cream shirt that matched her dress.

  ‘No shoes?’

  ‘If I’m not wearing any, why should you?’

  In the restroom he spent most of his time scrubbing his feet in the sink. He didn’t even get any strange glances. It was Vegas.

  There was a line at the courthouse and also at A Little White Wedding Chapel. They stood on the well-worn, too-bright carpet and passed the time by examining the photos of celebrity weddings that had taken place there.

  The crease between Frankie’s eyebrows that she got whenever she was thinking too hard appeared.

  He took her hand. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Do any of these marriages last? Maybe we’re cursing ourselves by coming here.’

  ‘There’s no such thing as a curse. Besides, what about Paul and Jo?’ Charley pointed at the photo of Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward, then tugged on a lock of Frankie’s hair until she met his eyes. ‘Doesn’t she seem like a Jo to you rather than a Joanne? I bet Paul’s called her that – for nearly twenty-five years. That’ll be us. We’re built to last.’

  He kissed her then, and he didn’t stop until the couple behind them shuffled and coughed.

  ‘It’s our turn at the altar,’ Charley said. ‘Ready?’

  She faced forward. ‘Set.’

  ‘Let’s go.’

  Frankie

  Frankie abandoned sleep for the night. Her brain was far too busy.

  After hanging up on Hannah, she took a shower, got dressed, made coffee. Then she stared out the kitchen window until office hours began and she could make an appointment for Charley with her doctor.

  She probably should have waited for Hannah, but what if he had convulsions or a stroke or a heart attack before she got here? What if Hannah insisted on taking him back to DC and he expired on the plane?

  ‘Zeisele, why is that your problem?’ Irene asked when she called just after eight thirty that morning.

  ‘Wasn’t I supposed to call you?’

  ‘You forgot.’

  She had. Although 8:30 a.m. was early for Irene to conclude this, why argue?

  Charley continued to sleep. Frankie had gone in to make sure he was still breathing. He was.

  ‘He’s in my bed,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t that make him my problem?’

  ‘Only if you let it.’

  ‘I think this has gone past my control.’

  ‘Because you let it.’

  ‘Shut up, Irene,’ Frankie muttered.

  ‘You know I’m still on the phone, right?’

  ‘Not any more.’ Frankie hung up. She was getting quite good at it.

  ‘How’s Irene?’

  Charley stood in the doorway – shirtless, barefoot. Still thought he owned the place.

  ‘She’s … uh … Never mind. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Great.’

  He went to the coffee pot, reached into the cabinet where she’d always kept the cups and poured himself one. After taking a sip – he closed his eyes and enjoyed that first hit of heaven the same way he always had – he turned and gifted her with the smile that had won her heart. Before he’d broken it.

  They’d always been two peas in a pod, wanting the same things, loving the same things. They’d encouraged and supported each other. No one had ever believed in Frankie the way that Charley had. No one had ever looked at her, talked to her, or respected her – before him or since – in quite the same way. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that until he’d strolled back in and started doing it again.

  ‘You should have woken me when Lisa came home.’

  Her warm bubble of nostalgia disintegrated. Guess she wouldn’t have to ask him leading questions to discover if he was still cuckoo.

  ‘I wish I’d been up to see her off to school.’

  Frankie didn’t bother to point out that she never would have let their daughter stay over at someone’s house on a school night. And if she had, then Lisa probably wouldn’t have come home before school but been dropped at the same by the equally insane mother who’d allowed a sleepover on a weekday. Charley wouldn’t have known this even when he’d lived here. Frankie had dealt with their daughter’s day-to-day life; Charley had dropped in once in a while and been Lisa’s hero.

  ‘What do you want to do today?’ Charley asked.

  I w
ant to get you to the doctor then out of my house.

  ‘I made an appointment for you with Dr Halverson.’

  He drank his coffee, staring at her over the rim. ‘That’s your doctor.’

  ‘You don’t have one in town.’

  He’d always seen doctors in New York or DC. As he was there more than here, it had made sense.

  ‘I don’t need a doctor.’

  Frankie took a breath. ‘Charley, you seem to have forgotten a few things.’

  He shrugged, filled his cup again. ‘Jet lag is a killer.’

  ‘Where did you fly in from?’

  ‘Botswana. Wildlife shoot. You know the country is one of the great safari destinations in Africa?’

  ‘Show me your boarding pass.’

  He frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘Humor me.’

  After setting his cup on the counter, he went to the front hall. On the way he paused to stare at a new photo she’d framed – a black lab puppy curled up in a bright red wicker basket sound asleep. Frankie waited for him to ask what had happened to the one that had been there in the past – their wedding picture – but he didn’t. Instead he said, ‘Nice,’ before taking his boarding pass out of his duffel and handing it to her.

  ‘This says DC,’ Frankie pointed out.

  ‘I certainly couldn’t get a plane from Botswana to Milwaukee. Weird though. I had to book from DC to here. I didn’t have a connecting flight. I’ll have to talk to Sheila about that.’

  Sheila had been in charge of travel arrangements at National Geographic back in the day. Was she still? Charley thought so.

  He seemed to be functioning fine in his work universe, and why wouldn’t he be? His work had always been his universe.

  ‘What year is it?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’ He laughed, taking back the boarding pass and crumpling it in his hand, but he continued to tighten his fingers around the paper until his knuckles whitened.

  ‘Charley? The year?’

  His forehead creased. ‘I …’ His free hand came up and began to massage his temple. ‘I’m gonna lie down for a sec. Then we’ll do whatever you want for the rest of the day, OK?’

  He kissed her before she could back away – a quick peck and he was gone – up the stairs and into her room.

  ‘This is bad,’ Frankie said to the empty hallway.

  Two hours later they sat in the waiting room. Apparently Dr Halverson, or her decorator, had bought into the ‘blue is the color of calm’ propaganda – indigo seat covers, lapis walls, cobalt carpet. For Frankie, it wasn’t working.

  At the house, Charley had fallen into a slumber like an exhausted two-year-old, but when she woke him he was cheery. She’d decided not to ask him again what year it was. Let Halverson do it.

  She’d convinced him to visit the doctor by telling him she’d received a notice from ‘their’ insurance company stating that he needed to have a physical by the end of this week.

  ‘I’d rather see my doctor,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s just get it over with.’

  ‘Sure, Fancy. Anything you want.’

  He sounded so much like Her Charley it was maddening. Because he wasn’t Frankie’s Charley any more; he was Hannah’s.

  Speaking of Hannah, she wasn’t getting into Milwaukee until late afternoon. Maybe by then Dr Halverson would have given Charley a pill that caused him to remember everything, and he’d be on the next plane out of Frankie’s business.

  As this wasn’t Wonderland, Frankie doubted a pill would change much, but she was ever hopeful.

  ‘Charley Blackwell.’

  Charley, who’d been critiquing People magazine under his breath, glanced up as the nurse called his name, then stood along with Frankie.

  ‘You don’t need to go in,’ he said.

  ‘I’d like to, if that’s OK.’

  ‘Sure, baby.’

  Every time he said that Frankie had to fight not to flinch.

  The nurse, who appeared all of fifteen and didn’t help the image by wearing scrubs that featured Sponge Bob, weighed Charley.

  ‘Huh,’ he said. ‘Didn’t realize I’d put on that much weight.’

  He was twenty pounds heavier than when he’d been married to Frankie, and Frankie was at least the same. Not that he’d noticed. If she didn’t hate him so much, she might like him again just for that.

  The nurse ushered them into a cornflower-blue exam room, where she took Charley’s blood pressure, his pulse, his temperature – the usual – then set a laptop on the counter and left.

  The doctor came in almost immediately. She must have been hovering in the hall. That alone clued Frankie in that Halverson had gotten a heads-up from her receptionist about Frankie’s call. Her quick glance Frankie’s way confirmed it.

  ‘So what’s going on, Mr Blackwell?’

  Dr Halverson was a tall, solid, no-nonsense woman, who kept her hair no-nonsense short and had let it go gray to match her eyes. She had been Frankie’s doctor since right after Lisa died. Halverson had been very kind. She and Frankie were of an age, and the doctor had children as well. It probably hadn’t been easy for her to see Frankie, imagine herself in the same position. Or maybe that was why she’d been so helpful, because she could imagine it, as any mother could. The trick, Frankie had found, was to stop imagining it.

  ‘Frankie said I need a check-up for our insurance company. I’ve been out of the country, and I guess it’s gotta be done this week.’

  ‘How have you been feeling?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Anything abnormal going on?’

  ‘Not really.’ His brow creased again. ‘More headaches than usual I guess. I probably wasn’t hydrating enough in Africa. I’m not sure anyone can.’

  ‘Africa.’ She typed something into the computer. ‘We’ll want to draw blood. Might be a parasite.’

  ‘That causes headaches?’ Charley asked.

  ‘Mmm.’ The doctor typed some more. ‘Hop on the table, please.’

  She listened to Charley’s heart, tapped his knees, felt his stomach, had him breathe deeply, cough and so on.

  ‘You seem healthy, Mr Blackwell.’

  ‘I try. Do you take care of my daughter as well?’

  ‘Your daughter?’

  ‘Lisa. Maybe she goes to a pediatrician. I’m embarrassed to say that Frankie takes care of all that.’ He took Frankie’s hand. ‘Frankie’s my gem and Lisa’s my jewel.’

  Frankie didn’t think she managed not to flinch from that hit. At least no one noticed.

  ‘You were born in what year, Mr Blackwell?’

  ‘Nineteen fifty-three.’

  ‘And what day is it?’

  ‘June second.’

  ‘The year?’

  His gaze went to Frankie. ‘Why does everyone keep asking me that?’

  ‘How about an answer?’ Frankie responded.

  Charley released a put-upon sigh. ‘Lisa was born in …’ Charley’s forehead creased. ‘Nineteen eighty-four. She’s five? So it’s Nineteen eighty-nine.’ He glanced at Frankie again. ‘Right?’

  Frankie’s eyes flicked to Dr Halverson. Should she agree or shouldn’t she?

  The doctor must have sensed her dilemma, or recognized panic, because she moved on. ‘OK, Mr Blackwell, I’m going to order some tests. Blood. Urine. CT scan.’

  ‘Is that really necessary?’ Charley hopped off the exam table.

  ‘Definitely,’ Frankie muttered.

  ‘Whatever you say, Fancy.’

  Halverson lifted her eyebrows at the nickname, or maybe it was the way he said it – as if he’d loved Frankie for a lifetime and loved her still.

  How many hours until his wife showed up? He was killing her here.

  ‘I’ll send the medical assistant to draw blood. She’ll bring you a cup for the urine. I’ll see if I can get you in for that CT scan today. You aren’t claustrophobic, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  Dr Halverson turned her gaze on Frankie, who shrugged. ‘He wa
sn’t on my watch.’

  Charley frowned. ‘What does that mean?’

  Halverson fled.

  ‘Your watch?’ Charley pressed. ‘I don’t—’

  Thankfully the medical assistant came in and started up the medical assistant banter designed to take a patient’s mind off the coming needle.

  Frankie took the opportunity to slip into the hall and chase Dr Halverson, who was just getting off the phone with the CT lab.

  ‘What is wrong with him?’ she asked.

  ‘Hard to say. I’ve never seen selective memory loss like this before. Doesn’t mean it can’t happen. I’m not an expert on the brain. That area is one of medicine’s last great mysteries. Weird stuff goes on in there that no one can fathom.’

  Like the love of my life leaving me for a woman young enough to be my … much younger sister? That had certainly been unfathomable. Almost as unfathomable as his coming back now as if it had never happened.

  ‘What am I supposed to do with him?’ Frankie asked.

  ‘Take him to the hospital and get that CT scan.’ The doctor tore off an order from her pad and handed it to Frankie. ‘Three o’clock.’

  She shouldn’t have taken it, but then she was too befuddled by everything to realize that. And later … Later things just got worse.

  ‘We’ll go from there,’ Halverson continued.

  ‘We aren’t going anywhere. He’s not my monkey any more.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Dr Halverson said.

  ‘Russian proverb. Designed to keep people sane. “Not my circus. Not my monkeys.” He’s not. Hasn’t been since he … you know.’

  ‘Yes.’ Halverson glanced longingly down the hall toward the exit. Frankie understood the sentiment. ‘When’s the ringmaster supposed to show up?’

  ‘On her way.’

  ‘Will she be here by three this afternoon?’

  ‘Probably not.’

  ‘I guess he’s your monkey until then. Good luck.’ She ducked through another door and greeted her next patient.

  Charley stepped out of the exam room, waggled the urine sample container with a grin and went into the bathroom. If Frankie wanted to make an escape, now was the time.

  Except Charley knew where she lived. He thought he lived there too. What was she going to do, hide inside with the doors locked until Hannah showed up? The idea was far too appealing.