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I glanced at my watch. It was nearly 12:30.I called Riley. She was just leaving to pick me up for Thanksgiving Dinner at the Swedish American Center in Ballard. I could hear her gasp when I said I was at the hospital and quickly explained that I was visiting a friend and to please swing by there and pick me up instead of at my apartment. She arrived about fifteen minutes later.I must have been looking pretty fit because she relaxed visibly when I got in the car.“You had me worried for a minute there,” she said as we pulled away. “Is everything okay?”“It is,” I smiled. I told her about my original encounter with Billie and the issues surrounding her wait for a new heart. I omitted the part about setting up a trust fund for her, but Riley looked at me a little strangely when I said an anonymous donor had come to the rescue. I’m sure she was associating it with Simon’s dispersal of funds. She was kind enough not to pursue the idea out loud.“Well, I have a bit of news, too,” she said. “I. Dress in a suit, take plenty of money, and pick up Beverly at work. Take her out to a nice restaurant to celebrate your anniversary. Love you both.”He looked ashamed. I tried to look stern, but couldn’t hold back my laughter. He took me in his arms and hugged me.“You laughed!” he said. “Have you stopped being mad at me? Should we go out like Mom said?”“You are totally hopeless.”“And helpless. I can program for myself, but I can’t live without your direction.” That was a wild exaggeration. He’d been employed (if underpaid for a programmer) when I met him. He’d kept himself fed, dressed, clean, and punctual with nobody’s help. His apartment had been far neater than most bachelors’ places.“Seems to me you did for thirty-five years.”“Not lived.” Which was sweet of him to say. So, if not quite ready to say that I forgave him, I stopped pouting; pouting is a stupid way to spend your anniversary.The dinner was great, if a late meal. After we got back to the house, I stopped him for a kiss.
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