Roland honked outside Heather's parents' house. A few minutes later she came out and waved. He rolled down the window.

You don't want to come in? she said.

Wanna get a good table.

Not even just to say hi? Mom's in there. She wants to see you.

Nah.

Nah?

We're late.

They took the back way. Through the connected neighborhoods. The residential streets.

She looked over at him. Picked something off his sweater. They don't make you like, wear your uniform all the time now?

Nah.

Nah. Is that your new thing? Nah?

He smiled. Yeah.

The pep rally and bonfire were over. The small parking lot was full. Someone with an orange vest directed them to an overflow area.

The band was setting up.

There's Maureen, she said. There's Brett. They'll make room for us.

How's things over there? Brett asked him while Maureen and Heather were in the bathroom.

All right, I guess.

Boring most of the time, I bet.

Well.

No?

Girl got her foot crushed in the weapons elevator last week, Roland said.

Sorry can't hear you.

Said someone got their foot crushed. On the ship.

Ah fuck man.

Stuck in there for a few minutes. Until they figured it out. Screaming god help me. Over and over again.

No shit?

Roland looked away. Nah. Just joking.

The women returned. The band began. In between sets, they said hello to all the people they knew from high school.

You'll be happy to know, Heather said as Roland held her coat for her at the end of the night. You're still the only one I let do this.

Outside was a frozen mist. He shoved his hands into jean pockets. She linked her arm through his. They walked the dark block to his rental car.

Not yet, she said once they got there. I'm not ready yet.

They kept walking. Passed by rows of new storefronts.

This used to be the hardware, Roland said. And this was the, uh. Hmm.

Christian Science Reading Room.

Right.

The nativity scene outside of First Congregational was staged and lit. Roland meandered among the plastic statues, casting big shadows.

When're you going back, he said.

Saturday, she said.

And then what.

And then what what?

You're really going to do it, Roland said, picking up one of the hollow plastic sheep.

Yes, she said. Next year. That's the plan. That's what happens. People get married.

Oh right. He put the plastic sheep under his arm.

Don't take that, she said, even though she was smiling.

Just the one, he said. They've got two others.

You're ridiculous.

They walked back to his car. He put the sheep in the trunk. They held hands on the drive to her parents' place. The windows in the house were dark. He parked on the street.

Here's the thing, Heather said. About you coming in.

It's the last time, Roland said.

That's right.

Inside, a cooking smell filled the living room. A rectangle of soft yellow light cut across the wall from the kitchen.

Heather? a voice whispered.

Yes mom.

Roland with you?

Yes mom.

Better get in here.

Janice stood at the kitchen island in her blousy floral pajamas. Surrounded by bowls of ingredients and spice jars. Flour splotches on her apron. A towel draped over a pie dish. She moved a stack of recipe books and the stepstool out of the way to hug Roland.

Where they have you now?

San Diego.

Oh I see, Janice said, stepping back to take him in. Mister suntan. Mister beach bunny. 

Nah.

She was having some wine. Just a little to cook with. She poured two more glasses. She asked about who they saw at the bar, who got fat, who was getting bald.

You know Heather's grandpa was a navy man, Janice said, uncorking a new bottle of wine. Heather, you know this? That man in uniform! Phew. Seen all these old pictures. No wonder they had so many kids.

Jesus, mom.

Just saying.

Mom, Heather said. How late are you going to stay up?

Stay up? Janice redid her ponytail. Honey, I am up.

I'll get outta your way then, Roland said.

You have somewhere to go today? Your mom's?

Yes.

She hugged him again. Gave his shoulders a little squeeze. It'll be alright, you know, she said, patting his chest.

Roland blinked. I know.

Heather walked him to the door. She grabbed her coat from the bannister.

One more, she said, zipping up.

One more what? It's three in the morning.

One more anything, she said.

#

They found an all night diner. Basement of a building across from the old train station.

I swear, Heather said. I have never seen this place before.

Roland hadn't either. Maybe it's new?

They ordered apple pie to share.

Roland asked the man behind the counter how long they'd been open, but the man pointed out the window.

Look, he said, smiling.

It had just started snowing. They watched it fall for a few minutes without saying anything, the scene outside faintly orange in the streetlights.

We could go back to my mom's, Roland said. Sneak in through the basement.

We could, Heather said.

They walked outside. Heather slid in the slush and spun around on her bootheels.

C'mon, Roland said. I've got an idea.

He drove back to First Congregational and retrieved the hollow plastic sheep from the trunk. They walked hand in hand up the slight rise to the nativity stage. Roland placed the sheep back with the other two.

They stood there watching flurries collect on the nativity. A thin layer of frost on old decorations. It would be the image each would recall for decades to come when someone would mention churches or snow or sheep or love or what it's like to see someone for the last time and not know it.

###


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