“It’s a bird I roasted with lemon and thyme because you said you liked it. That’s all it is.”
They sat at the table and ate.
It was good. Not Helen’s—nobody’s was Helen’s—but close enough that he had to eat slowly and not look at Margo for a minute.
“No cards tonight,” he said, pushing his plate back.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re up three to two and my dignity needs a night off.” He stood and took both plates to the sink. “I thought we could watch something.”
Margo looked at the living room like she’d never seen it before.
“You watch movies?” she asked.
“I watch movies. I’m a person who watches movies.”
“What kind?”
Bernie dried his hands on the dish towel. “Good ones.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer that matters.” He draped the towel over the oven handle. “What do you watch?”
“I don’t watch movies.”
He turned around. “You don’t watch movies.”
“I watch the news. I read.”
“You don’t watch movies.”
“I’ve seen movies. I saw movies. I just haven’t watched one in—” She stopped.
“Margo. When was the last one you watched?”
She thought about it. He could see her going back through the years, looking for one.
“It might have been Out of Africa,” she said.
He leaned back in his chair and let out a whistle. “That was 1985.”
“It might have been after that.”
“But you’re not sure.”
Margo leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. “I’ve been busy.”
“For forty years?”
“The Shack didn’t run itself, Bernard.”
He went to the living room. He found the remote, turned on the television, and scrolled until he found what he wanted. He came back to the kitchen doorway.
“I’m going to put on something we’ll both like. You’re going to sit on the couch. And you’re going to watch a movie for the first time since Robert Redford was involved.”
“I didn’t say it was Robert Redford.”
