ED

Emily sat on the bench for a moment, rose to her feet and said, "Thank you for your time. Sorry to have bothered you," and walked slowly away.

Later, when Abby and I were alone in her apartment, I mentioned the exchange I had had with Emily.

"I know," said Abby. "She called me soon after she spoke with you. Something you said made her think she had to talk to me. It was a difficult conversation for her. She hinted that she thought you were the perfect mate and she would consider sharing her bed with you. She wasn't that direct, but I figured that was what she meant. It was as if she thought you needed my permission."

"I don't know how she got that idea. I told her I would never consider anything that would strain our relationship, otherwise I would . . . Oh! I think I see the problem. It's that unassuming word 'otherwise.' I may have left her with the impression I was okay with the idea if there were no possible repercussions with you."

"I see. You may be right. She may believe that, if I know what's happening and give my blessing, then everything would be out in the open and she could borrow you for a while."

"'Borrow?' I'm not sure I like that characterization. It makes me feel like some kind of commodity, available to anybody for a price."

"That's not what I meant," laughed Abby. "Although you may have hit on a way to make a little extra cash. Let me talk to Emily and see what moved her to start this conversation."

Two days later Abby resumed the conversation we had had about Emily. "Emily is looking for sex. There aren't many choices on the farm and she thinks you're head and shoulders above the rest. If it weren't for our commitment, she would probably have jumped your bones by now."

"Okay. I get it. But why now? She's had opportunities to mention it before this."

"I pressed her on that exact topic. You've heard about pre-menopausal women having a biological ticking clock? Well, Emily's experiencing another type of clock. She told me she hasn't had sex in over nine years. She's getting on in age and she's afraid she'll die without ever experiencing sex again. For some reason it's very important to her."

"Well, I feel for her but I'm not her man."

"Maybe you are."

"What?"

"I told her I'd talk to you about it."

"You made a commitment for me without my knowledge?"

"No. I just made a commitment to talk to you. Nothing's been decided."

"You're okay with this?"

"I am. Emily's a good friend and I hate to see her in distress. You're my guy. Nothing will ever change that. You have unlimited potential and I can't be angry if you do this for her, and me."

"I'm really uncomfortable about this. I get the friendship thing. I might do it if you agree to some conditions."

"Shoot."

"You're not part of the conversation from now on. You won't discuss it further with either Emily or me. Second, no questions, ever. You're not involved. You won't know when, you won't know where and you won't know how. What happens, if it happens, is personal to Emily and me and you have to honor our privacy."

"Done. "How about you take me out to lunch now?"

The rest of the week, whenever I saw Emily, I smiled and nodded to her. I'm pretty sure Abby had not spoken to her since whenever I smiled at her she looked down and turned her head. Finally, one afternoon, after Abby had left for an overnight visit with her daughter, I approached Emily and asked, "What are you doing after dinner?"

I thought at first she was going to faint, but she recovered quickly and smiled a broad smile. "I'll be alone in my apartment after seven. Thank you."

Two days later Abby met me in the hallway before breakfast and dragged me into the library. "I don't want you to be mad at me. I had nothing to do with it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Yesterday, after I got home, Emily came up to me and said 'Thank you.' She told me how much of a gentleman you were. She said you were everything she dreamed about and more."

"Ouch. I didn't ask Emily to keep quiet. I didn't think I had to."

"It's okay. No harm done. I'm proud of you. I just wanted you to know that."

After that, somehow, Emily became an occasional part of our private lives.

About six months later, Abby and I were discussing the future. I suggested we get married and she quickly agreed. I told her I had done the math and we could buy a house together and not pay the monthly farm fees. I was certain that, even if we ate out every day, we'd be ahead.

We put our heads together and put a down payment on a house nearby. We picked a date and arranged for a small party at a restaurant we both liked. With the help of a local lawyer, we drew up a couple of prenuptial agreements and signed them.

Then we told the kids. I thought my son might have a stroke when I told him. "Dad you're almost seventy-three years old. You can't take care of yourself."

"I can, and I will with the help of Abby."

I actually think he was more concerned about his inheritance so I didn't tell him about the prenuptial agreements.

We closed on the house and moved out of the farm. The move had the added value of ending the sometimes awkward relationship with Emily.

We were married on a Saturday in November. Abby wore a beige gown and I wore my best dark suit. We honeymooned in Niagara Falls. It's kind of kitschy but it worked for us. We dined out often and went to the theater and the movies. We traveled extensively and saw as much of the world as we wanted to. We even cruised once, but neither of us took to it. We made love, or had sex, at every opportunity, on every continent. The powders came every month.

We had a fantastic twelve years before God called Abby home. I almost followed her. It took over six months before I felt even a little social. Abby talks to me often in the night. She told me to get on with the rest of my life and she'd be waiting for me when the powders ran out. I sold the house and moved back to the farm. I actually got my old apartment again.

There are lots of new faces, and some old ones, here on the farm, although Emily's is not one of them. Maybe I'll meet someone. Meanwhile the powders continue to accumulate. One can always hope.