Max and Rosie

Max listened, becoming more curious about Robin."Leah told me you grew up on a farm and never went to school before getting accepted to nursing school."

"Right, I was lucky to grow up at Rainbow's End. My sister Lark and I never went to school and my parents just let us play and learn what we wanted to. We had a lot of books in the house and we took care of the goats and chickens and helped in the big garden we shared with the other families who lived there. None of the kids on the farm attended school, but our friend, Tollie, got accepted to Harvard."

"Really, that's interesting. Both Rosie and I were pushed to do well in school by our parents so that we would get scholarships, and we both got into prestigious colleges and we made sure Leah kept up with her studies. She graduated near the top of her class."

"I tried ninth grade in the local school for two months, but it was the biggest waste of time. It was all memorizing, so I left so that I could read and do things I was really interested in like painting. Then I took the SATs and got into nursing school. I was going to go to art school but I'm glad I didn't. I love taking care of people."

Leah was right, Robin's lively presence added good energy to the house. She made Rosie laugh when she sliced up an orange for her and placed the rind over her teeth and smiled at Rosie. When she swept the kitchen floor and Rosie was sitting looking out the window, Robin gently swept Rosie's feet then said, "Oops," which made Rosie laugh hysterically. Robin often plugged her iPod into a speaker she had and played old songs from the seventies and it seemed like Rosie was remembering songs she liked. Rosie even moved her head from side to side. A few times, Robin got Rosie out of her chair and took her hand and they danced. Robin snapped her fingers and wiggled her hips and Rosie did the same thing and laughed.

Max enjoyed Robin's manner with Rosie and thanked her every day for all the things she did that were beyond the routine of taking care of Rosie's needs—showering her, taking her to the bathroom, combing her hair, making sure she took her medication and vitamins.

Several times a week, she would dress Rosie in one of her old outfits and let her look at herself in the mirror. "You look so beautiful," she would say. Rosie smiled as she looked at herself. Robin would then present her to Max who would look up at her and smile.

"You wore that dress when we saw Les Miserables at the Academy."

"Really, this is the dress I wore that night?" Rosie smiled and looked down at her outfit. "I think I remember that night."

Robin kept the kitchen and other rooms spotless. She made delicious meals and would sit with Max while she made up a menu for the week and together they would make a shopping list for him in order to save trips to the market. He did the shopping on Thursdays after his classes, but occasionally Robin borrowed Max's old Volvo and would do the shopping and pick up items she needed.

They settled into a routine and Max enjoyed Robin's presence in the house and the way she respected his need for quiet and privacy. She stacked Max's New Yorker magazines neatly and put them in a corner out of the way rather than leaving them in a sloppy pile on the floor next to his recliner. She brought Max tea while he was writing in his small office or going over his students' stories from his creative writing class.

Rarely did she join them for their afternoon ritual of tea and raspberry jam on rye toast, but many times she walked to the park with them to feed the ducks. "I love the fresh air and this park is so beautiful," she would say. She also picked wildflowers which she brought back and placed in a vase that she put in the middle of the round oak kitchen table.

Rosie was now in a wheelchair and Max would push it slowly while they went to the park, but gradually, Rosie stopped tossing bread and it was just Max and Robin feeding the ducks. Eventually, as it got colder and it appeared Rosie didn't know where they were or didn't care, they stopped going to the pond.

Leah came over several times a week to visit and after greeting her mother, would join Robin to drink coffee and chat. Leah would tell her about Ron, the man she had been living with and how the relationship wasn't going anywhere and she wasn't sure what to do. Robin listened and Max could hear their voices from where he sat in his office or the living room and was fascinated by Robin's perceptive comments. "What do you expect? He's a mama's boy and wants someone to take care of him. Don't be a doormat."

Not only did Max appreciate how well Robin took care of Rosie, he enjoyed looking at her while she cooked or cleaned. Rather than wearing a nurse's uniform, he liked how casually she dressed and noticed how her ass strained the tight jeans she usually wore, or the black yoga pants she'd had on the first day. Sometimes she wore shorts or cutoffs and tank tops or T-shirt and a few times he saw her dash into the bathroom at night wearing a short nightgown that barely covered her ass. She was unaware that Max was paying any attention, or how aroused he got because he hid his glances and pretended not to notice how she dressed. She felt comfortable in the house and as the months passed became more relaxed and casual around him.

Most nights after Rosie went to bed and the kitchen was cleaned up from dinner, they would have tea and talk, but gradually they started drinking the wine that Max began buying to have with dinner. They would finish the bottle which made both of them more relaxed. Sometimes, they would sit at the kitchen table and Robin would put her feet up on one of the chairs, stretching out, leaning back. Max would notice how her breasts pressed against her T-shirt and he could see she wasn't wearing a bra which caused her nipples to poke at the thin material. He'd look away but would find himself drawn to looking at her and wishing he could control his growing desire for her.

He couldn't keep his eyes off of Robin and became familiar with her wardrobe. He always noticed what she was wearing and became excited when she wore a particular T-shirt or blouse that turned him on. He pretended not to notice or sometimes said how nice she looked that day, relating to Robin in his usual casual, friendly way, but more and more he was secretly thinking...good, she's wearing that green tank top. I love her nipples, or, those jeans are so tight. Her ass looks so good in those jeans.

It had been at least three years since he and Rosie had sex and he recalled how awkward and uncomfortable he felt the last time because she no longer stroked his erection the way she used to. Also, when he rubbed her breasts or reached between her legs, he didn't know what to say or do when she asked in a bewildered frightened voice, "What are you doing?"

He wanted to give her an orgasm and have one, but couldn't because she became tense and stiffened when he tried to enter her and she squirmed away. Finally, he rolled off of her and masturbated. He remembered the confused and puzzled expression in her eyes as she watched him moving his fist up and down his hard cock and realized that Rosie, the passionate, somewhat aggressive lover he knew in bed, was gone. He still loved holding her at night before they went to sleep, but she was now just the woman who slept next to him, no longer his lover.

Max wondered if Robin was aware of how he looked at her, how his eyes roved over her body when she went about her day taking care of Rosie, how he loved seeing her ass straining her jeans when she wheeled Rosie around the house or out to the patio for fresh air. He wondered if she was swaying her hips for him when she walked into the living room after dinner, or if she could feel his eyes on her while she cooked dinner and whether she liked it. He noticed how she would look at him and smile, and he wondered if she knew what was going on, even though she didn't say anything.

Robin occasionally went to her sister's house for a few hours on Sundays or sometimes on a Friday night. Max was aware that her sister was inviting men over to visit or arranging dates because Robin told Max everything about the guys she met and the few dates she had. Their conversations became intimate and he liked that she felt so comfortable with him. She even told him when she made out with one of the guys in his car but that was it. She told him that one of her dates, a guy named Alex wanted to take her to New York City for a weekend, but she decided she couldn't because of Rosie.

Max wasn't certain how he felt about her dating and though he always said, "Have fun," he also wondered why he felt protective. Finally, he admitted to himself he was jealous and afraid she would fall in love with one of the men and was confused by what he was feeling. Why am I jealous? This is ridiculous.

Though he was old enough to be her father, he enjoyed the way she listened when he talked about world events or a book he was lecturing on. He liked that she giggled at his corny jokes, or nodded at his astute observations. He enjoyed the way she would punch his arm and say, "now you're being silly." Max was a master of puns and often made her groan. He could tell she appreciated not only his lively mind and keen sense of humor, but also his wisdom. When she read a few of his stories or the poetry he wrote, he valued her responsive comments. She always said, "Wow. That made me cry," or, "I couldn't stop reading," or "You're amazing...that was so wise and deep. I loved it."

Though it felt good to hear Robin's appreciation, Max remembered Rosie's praise as well as her useful suggestions. He still missed the way Rosie would look up when she finished reading something of his and smile before she commented, but he also remembered the way she'd close her eyes and take a deep breath before telling him what bothered her. He also missed listening to Rosie read his poetry out loud and the way she knew exactly how to emphasize certain words.

The routine of having conversations with Robin in the evening after Rosie was in bed became more and more enjoyable, and he could tell that Robin also enjoyed their growing friendship. They would sit at the kitchen table where they had tea or finished the wine from dinner, or she would sit on the couch with her feet up under her and sketch, while he read his New Yorker on the recliner. Occasionally she would make popcorn when they watched a movie and they would sit together on the couch. She liked scary movies and Max liked how she would clutch his arm or shove her face against his shoulder or chest when she was frightened. Sometimes it was uncomfortable for him when they watched a romantic movie and a steamy sex scene came on, and he could hear her breathing and would become aroused, feeling her arm and thigh pressed against his. He would wonder if she was as aroused as he was, but they watched it quietly, and when it was over, she would say, "Wow, that was hot."

They would sit together for a few moments after the movie ended and not say anything. Robin would look at Max and smile. They would gaze into each other's eyes, then Robin would sigh and pick up the empty bowl of popcorn and take it into the kitchen. She'd come back to the living room to say goodnight, and Max would smile and say, "Sleep well," or "Pleasant dreams," aware that he was trying not to look at her breasts or notice how the green tank top he liked revealed her cleavage. Often, when she'd walk away, he'd glance at her ass and the slight swaying of her hips and cringe at the sexual urges that swept over him.

After she'd leave the room, he'd sit back on the couch, aware of how aroused he would get when he looked at her, but then he'd shake away his thoughts and look around the living room at all that he and Rosie had acquired over the years—the lamp from an antique shop in Vermont, the vases, the couch, the recliner he sat in and the floor-to-ceiling bookcase filled with all of the books they had accumulated since their college days. He would sigh and turn off the lamp next to his chair then walk down the hall and into the bedroom he still shared with Rosie, but would glance at the closed door of Robin's room on the other side of the bathroom.

Rosie was always sound asleep and he'd listen to her quiet breathing. He'd lie next to her and while he could feel the warmth of her body, he'd look up at the ceiling and think about Robin in her room down the hall, but then he'd look over at Rosie next to him. He'd take a deep breath, aware of his confused feelings, then lean over and kiss the back of her head as she slept facing away from him. He smelled her fragrant hair, grateful that Robin used Rosie's Apple Blossom shampoo because he had told her how much he loved the smell when she washed Rosie's hair with it.

One day, Max looked at himself in the mirror after shaving and decided to grow a beard. I want a beard. What will Robin think? That thought surprised him, but he knew he wanted Robin to be attracted to him the way he was attracted to her. He looked into his blue eyes, remembering how people often commented on his eyes. He liked his eyes and wished he didn't need to wear the wire-rimmed glasses. He thought about his eye doctor telling him he was developing cataracts and how it would be a good idea to have them removed because it would become difficult to drive at night. He would have twenty-twenty vision again and wouldn't need glasses except possibly for reading. Maybe I should do that. I would look younger.

He looked at his wrinkled brow and noticed the lines around his eyes and wondered what he would look like with a beard. He had a beard when he first started Harvard, but had shaved it off two years before he met Rosie. He had a ruddy complexion and his skin was still smooth. He remembered how youthful his father looked when he was in his seventies and was grateful for the genes passed onto him. Despite his graying hair, people were surprised to hear he was fifty-eight.

He looked at his gray hair which had grown longer in the last few years because Rosie used to cut it. When she was no longer able to do that, Max let it grow. He didn't want to pay twenty-five dollars for a haircut and remembered how it used to cost two dollars when he was in college. From time to time he would take scissors and cut it himself when it was getting too long and shaggy.

"Your hair is long. I like it," Rosie said one day but never mentioned that she used to cut it. Leah just laughed and said he looked like an aging hippie.

"Are you growing a beard?" Robin asked three days after he decided not to shave. She narrowed her eyes and looked at the stubble on his chin, then chuckled.

"I think so. I had a beard when I was in college and thought, why not?"

"I like beards." Robin studied Max's face for a few seconds and smiled, then turned back to slicing an onion for the omelet she was making for Rosie's breakfast.

"Good. I'm glad you like beards."

"Why is that good?" She glanced at him, gazing into his eyes and had a playful smile on her lips.

"I don't know. It just is."

Max looked at Robin's lips, her playful smile and the way she looked into his eyes and wondered if she was flirting or teasing. He knew he was suppressing his urge to kiss her. I want to kiss her. Why is she looking at me like that?

Robin turned away and took the toast out of the toaster-oven and started buttering it. She threw the diced onions into the omelet, lifted her mug of coffee to her lips, then looked back at him and smiled."So you're growing a beard. Cool!"

When he was close to her, he could feel her energy and it made standing next to her strangely appealing, as if he was being drawn to her like a butterfly drawn to a flower petal. Her teeth are so white. She's so pretty...such a sweet smile. I wish I had the nerve to kiss her. I want to.

Normally, when he felt these urges, he would then do something to distract himself from her. He'd pour himself another cup of coffee, or sit down at the table and pick up the grocery list and study it.

But that morning, Max didn't sit down or pour more coffee. He wanted to touch her, hold her, express the attraction he was fighting against and take the chance that she would accept his touch. Instead, he asked, "How does Rosie seem this morning?"

"I've noticed she's sleeping a lot more," Robin said and faced him, her smile disappearing. "She doesn't seem good. Her appetite is gone. I'm concerned."

He nodded and the longing to kiss her dissipated with the serious tone in Robin's voice.

"I think you're right. I've noticed that too. What are you concerned about?"

"She's lost a lot of weight. I weighed her yesterday and she's lost twelve pounds in the last two weeks."

Robin put the omelet on the plate and placed it on a tray along with a cup of coffee and a small plate of orange slices. "She leaves half of her food."

"She has to eat."

"I know but this is a sign that she's getting ready to die. I've seen this before."

Looking at Robin, he sighed, closed his eyes and turned away, holding back tears. The thought of not having Rosie in his life was unbearable, and yet he knew she was hardly in his life, that the Rosie of their thirty-six years of marriage was no longer the woman he married. It was like living with a ghost and he was holding on to her spirit, or the spirit he remembered, but now it was like trying to hold fog. She was a specter, and who knew what she was experiencing when she was awake and didn't recognize him sitting next to her or feel him getting into bed at night.

He noticed her confused smile when Robin propped up her pillow and asked, "Can I get you anything?" or, "How are you Rosie?" It was as if she had no idea what Robin was saying and could only smile and even that began to fade as the weeks became months, and it took both of them to help Rosie into the bathroom or shower. While they did that, Max would feel Robin's hands, or her arm against his. He could see her breasts when she bent to help lift Rosie and he wanted to look away but didn't, and more and more he felt torn between their helping each other take care of his wife and his desire to take Robin in his arms and feel her body pressed against his and embrace her. What's wrong with me? How can I look at her like this?

When they took Rosie back to bed and got her comfortable, he would look at Robin and she would look at him. They would see Rosie looking up at both of them before closing her eyes and knew she had no idea who they were. Max knew he was falling in love with Robin and was certain she had no idea what he was feeling or thinking. Or did she, he wondered.

Sometimes he thought he saw her affection for him. He'd see it in her smile and in her gleaming eyes, but it seemed more like she felt affection for a member of a team working together to take care of his dying wife. The thought that she had sexual feelings for him, a married man, old enough to be her father, was too much to believe.

At night, in bed, or while they were sitting in the living room after dinner, he would think sexual thoughts about Robin and hate himself for his fantasies of suddenly fucking her over the kitchen table or coming into her room at night while Rosie slept, but then he would shake those thoughts away and ask her how her painting was coming along, or whether she needed anything when he went into town.

Sometimes, Max would look at Rosie sitting in her wheelchair at the kitchen table staring blankly down at her hands resting on her lap. He would look out at the yard at the blooming daffodils and tulips she had planted years ago, then at the blue jays at the feeder and the woodpecker pecking at the suet and remember how she loved feeding and watching the birds and how excited she would be when an oriole appeared, or a cardinal. "Look, an oriole!" she would shout, pointing. Now, she seemed oblivious to anything around her and Max would stare at her thin, pale face and bony arms and feel the burning ache in his throat and tears swelling.