"I enjoyed your sermon," Bob told Rev. Stanton.

"I enjoyed having you folks here," the minister answered. Jeanette Brennan could tell that the "you folks" was to include her. Bob was nearly always in church on a Sunday. "Bob tells me this is a special day for you," he said to her.

"Our anniversary," she said. "Four years Thursday. As Bob works six days a week, we're celebrating today."

"Four years? I'd have thought that you were still on your honeymoon." A few people in the line behind them murmured agreement.

She and Bob started walking towards their apartment in the warm city air. A block from the church, she reached over and took Bob's hand. He squeezed hers. Holding hands in church bothered her, and Bob had agreed to abstain the same time he had agreed that he wouldn't rest his hand on her butt on the street. Almost always, he remembered both. "Ice cream?" Bob asked. She nodded. "Y'know," he continued. "Special day and all that. We could get two cones."

It was a special day, but... "Separate treats on our anniversary? Let's stick to one." They continued on where the path to their apartment turned aside. They knew the man at the ice cream shop, and he knew them. They couldn't afford many treats, and ice cream was a frequent one when the weather suited.

Today, however, he didn't greet them with "One chocolate cone?"

"I've got a proposition," he said instead. "Guy came in here earlier, I heard him ask for a hot-fudge sundae with chocolate ice cream. I absentmindedly made it with the usual vanilla. When he pointed it out, I made a new one. Anyway, I have a hot- fudge sundae I'll sell you for the price of a single cone. Want it?"

She looked at Bob. She liked hot fudge, but Bob loved it.

"Sure!" Bob said. "Two spoons?" They took stools at the counter.

"Fine," the man said. "I kept it in the freezer. It's not quite what it was, but it's still in good shape. Why don't you sit in a booth, and I'll bring it to you?"

For a sundae, they could sit in a booth. Besides, from there, they could see the bright sun and the passers-by on the Boston sidewalk. The man brought over the sundae, two spoons, and two napkins, even though there was a dispenser on the table.

She thought that Bob must be really anxious for the sundae. He dug in with his spoon, not even letting her get ready. Well, she figured, this was a special day. She'd hold back and let him have more than half.

Then Bob held the spoon towards her mouth. The sundae was delicious. Cold and sweet, the ice cream melting on her tongue and the taste of the fudge. The love shown by that gesture was even better.

She dug her spoon into the sundae, making sure that she got a generous serving of fudge, and held it out to him. He held her hand while he tasted the contents. Finally, he squeezed gently and let her go. His feet eased forwards under the table; his ankles hugged one of hers. She looked over to check whether the man behind the counter could see. There was another customer, however; the man was busy.

They ate slowly, one spoonful for him followed by one spoonful for her. Freezer or no, the sundae had started out softer than it had been when it was fresh. Finally, the last of the ice cream was gone. The bottom of the bowl was covered with liquid and a few streaks from the sauce. "Finish it up," she said. She would have left that remnant, but Bob never left anything on a plate. He scraped it all up for another minute.

He looked a question at her. She wiped her mouth carefully with the napkin and nodded. Bob wiped his own face and hands, got up, and carried all the stuff over to the counter.

"Thank you," he said in the general direction of the proprietor. For some reason, the shop was busier than usual; people were waiting in line. Bob clearly didn't want a conversation, but some courtesy seemed necessary. The treat, coming on the special day, called for a "thank you."

"Thank you," the man answered, looking up from making a cone.

When Bob returned to the booth, he offered her his arm. The amount of assistance you could receive when getting out of a booth was minimal, but the symbol pleased her. She held on to his arm as they walked out into the heat.

"See you," the man called after them. It was strange that he spoke to them when there was so much business. Still, both of them turned and waved. Then Bob took her hand and they again headed towards the apartment.

Bob took off his sport coat at the bottom of the stairs (he hadn't worn a tie). She climbed ahead of him. Bob was gentleman enough to let the lady lead the way; he was voyeur enough to enjoy watching her butt going up the stairs. She'd have expected him to get over that after four years. He hadn't, and -- sometimes, including this time -- she enjoyed knowing that he still found her sexy.

The temperature climbed as they did. At the door to their apartment, it was as hot as a steam bath. Inside it was better, inadequate as their air conditioner was. Some days, there were advantages to a one-room apartment.

The sofa bed was still out, if made. She wondered briefly whether leaving the bed out was Bob's attempt at subtlety. More likely, he thought that the celebration of their anniversary so obviously involved bed that he didn't have to say it. And, the three previous celebrations certainly had. When he had abstained the night before, she had known why.

He hung his coat in the closet and put his shirt in to join it. He wouldn't wear a dress shirt for another week. "Want me to hang up yours?" he asked.

"Presents first." He brought the package from the closet to the card table at the end of the bed. The card from his sister joined it, and the single rose he'd brought her the night before.

She was eager to see what his mother had sent. She'd called on Saturday, as she did every other Saturday. Being who she was, she'd have called on their anniversary even if it had been off schedule.

"Happy anniversary, dear."

"Thanks, Katherine. We got a package from you and your husband. And a card from Vi. We aren't opening anything before tomorrow, so I can't be more specific in my thanks."

"The present is just from me this year, dear. You'll understand when you open it."

Now, it was easy to tell who had selected the gifts. Bob's father chose something which would foster her interest in French; the clothes which were good enough for the office but not too good for the office were bought by his mother. Although neither was appropriate for a wedding anniversary. Still, the presents were given by both of them except on Christmas, when they each gave something.

Her curiosity had to be put on hold. "I hope, dear," Katherine said, "that your marriage is all that you dreamed it would be."

Actually, her experience of marriage had been mostly a surprise. However frank she was with Katherine, though, she wasn't about to tell her the sort of pleasures Katherine's son provided his wife.

The night before had been one of Bob's "games." In between talking to her (Bob knew what turned her on), he'd kissed her everywhere -- her back, her arms, her face. By the time he'd settled on her breasts, she'd been ready for his entrance. He'd been ready, too; she could see his erection pulse with his heartbeat.

Instead of going on with the sex, though, Bob had kissed a spiral up her left breast. By the time he'd reached her nipple, she'd been panting. Still, he'd delayed. He must have taken twice as long kissing another spiral up her right breast. When he'd kissed each thigh all the way to their junction, she'd pulled his face against her.

If it had taken him forever to reach her center, he had wanted to stay there even longer. She had arched against his mouth again and again. She'd been sure that she'd been done by the time he'd finally glided into her, maybe done for years. Still, he'd evoked one more response on her part.

Then, with his arms about her and his seed leaking out of her, she'd collapsed in sleep. Luckily, she hadn't needed to get up the next morning. She hadn't been out of the shower for an hour when Katherine had called at two o'clock. No, she hadn't dreamed of that before the wedding; she'd thought of sex as something she'd do for Bob.

She realized that her silence had gone on too long when Katherine said "Oh dear!"

"Really," she told her mother-in-law, "it's the wrong sort of question." She tried to gather her thoughts in the silence -- silence, she realized, that was costing Katherine long-distance rates. "The issue isn't whether I'm getting what I dreamed of, but whether I dreamed of what I'm getting. I wanted to be married to Bob, but not half so much as I would have if I'd known what being married to Bob would mean."

"You're happy then?"

"Yes. Happy sometimes, content most of the time. You can be constantly unhappy, even desperately unhappy. You can't be constantly happy. Still, I'm glad I married him. Even besides getting to be your daughter- in-law."

"That's nice of you to say, dear." It was the honest truth; Katherine was the woman she admired most in the world.

"Bob's at work?" Katherine asked.

"The millwork warehouse goes six days a week. I worry about the work sometimes," (Bob came home with splinters in his hands, and in his shoulder) "but Bob prefers it to office work."

"Well, it's better than road work." Bob had worked on a road-building crew the summers before his marriage. It took him far away.

"It's better for me; I'm not sure it's better for him."

"He wouldn't dream of leaving you for the summer, dear." Bob wouldn't willingly spend a night apart, but not even Bob would tell his mother that, would he?

"You've talked to him?"

"Don't need to, dear. Bob is transparent. Which is convenient; he isn't what you would call forthcoming. I know more about his life now that you'll tell me than I ever knew when he lived at home. I hope he communicates with you."

"He does." Bob was more willing to talk about what George Bush should do than about what Bob Brennan should do, but he did consult her on decisions. Even future course work, although everything she knew about graduate work in history had been filtered through him.

"I'm glad, dear. But I should have known. After all, you do tell me things. He seldom did."

"Would he really have refused to answer a direct question?"

"No, dear, and he did tell us about switching majors. Look at your case, though. He barely mentioned you from the time he could drive until the time he needed me for a mailbox." Katherine had passed on his letters to her when her mother decided to intercept her mail.

"I'm still grateful for that."

"I was glad to do it, dear. And I will admit that he was good about including something to me in every letter. Still, I got a paragraph; and I could feel the thickness of the envelopes I passed along."

"Well..." Bob had written loads to her, and most of that wasn't anything to share with his mother, either.

"He's healthy, though? And you?"

"I'm doing great. I think that southerners have an advantage in the summer, not that Boston is all that cool this time of year. Bob would tell you that he's doing fine, but I worry about the work. He really works hard."

"He always did, dear. I know that mental labor for a couple of years followed by physical labor isn't the healthiest thing. Still, he wants the physical labor. Neither Russ nor he is really the type to go in for physical recreation."

"Even winters, he walks a lot. Still..."

"Yes, dear. We both worry. I'm sure that he doesn't let his mind stagnate during the physical periods, though."

"We're both studying the history of France. We're still in Gaul."

"It's good that you can share an interest, dear. I never pretended to like Russ's economics." Jeanette didn't think of her father-in-law as a student of economics, but she knew he had been once.

"Well, it's more Bob's finding something I'm interested in interesting." And even that didn't express it. Bob found most things interesting. And when he thought about anything, he automatically thought about its history.

"Of course it's interesting, dear. I'm sure that he's interested in what you do, but the history of France would interest him anyway. He might not read about it; art aside, I never have. But he would find it interesting." And there the mother was like the son. The Brennans found every fact interesting, indeed fascinating.

"That's one reason I'm glad I'm married to him. And he can convey that interest." Aside from his interest in physical science, that is. Bob found all those electrons and things fascinating, too. She didn't.

But once she had hung up, she'd wondered why the present was only from Katherine. Anyway, the delay wasn't going to be that long; after the waiting Bob had inflicted on her Friday night, he was lucky she didn't keep him waiting until sunset. Of course, that would mean keeping herself waiting, too. So she wouldn't be that mean, wouldn't even insist on making Sunday dinner first.

Bob opened the card first. It was commercial, but nice. Vi included a note: "Wishing you all the best, and many more anniversaries like this one."

Then he tore the brown paper wrapping from the package. He handed the package inside, wrapped in special paper for an anniversary, to her. When she opened it, there was a nightgown -- a very sexy looking nightgown. She held it up so Bob could see it.

"Pretty," he said. "Going to model it?"

"Of course."

"Y'know," he continued, "she's my mother and all, but you'd think that for a wedding anniversary she'd have included a present for you, too."

"It is for me, silly. Do you like it?"

"I think seeing it, seeing you in it, will give me much more pleasure than wearing it will give you."

"Having you express that gives me pleasure," she said. And it did. Bob thought her sexy, and pretty. He thought her intelligent, too, and sometimes said so. The verbal appreciation was one of the pleasures of being married to him, and one she could have mentioned to his mother.