“My God, Carl,” Alma said, “don’t you remember? Only two years ago.”
“Ah yes,” Carl said and wrote on his notepad. “2002.” He glanced up. “And before that, Alma?”
“In 2001 of course.”
“Yes, yes. 2001. And then there was 2000.”
“How could you forget the new century?”
“The false new century.”
“People couldn’t wait. They had to celebrate a year too soon.”
“Good old too soon, good old Paris. In 2000.” He scribbled.
She glanced over and leaned forward. “What are you doing?”
“Remembering, recalling Paris. How many visits.”
“How nice.” She leaned back, smiling.
“Not necessarily. Were we there in 1999? I seem to recall—”
“Jane’s wedding. Sam’s graduation. We missed that year.”
“Paris missed, 1999. There.” He struck a line through the date.
“We were there in 1998, 1997, 1996.”
She nodded three times.
He went down the years, all the way back to 1983.
She kept nodding.
He wrote the dates and then spent a long time looking at them.
He made some adjustments and scribbled some comments beside some of the dates and then sat for a moment, brooding.
At last he picked up the phone and punched in a number. When he reached it he said, “Aragon Travel? I want two tickets, one in my name and one with no name, today on the United flight at five to Paris. I’d appreciate your getting back to me as soon as possible.”
He gave his name and credit card number.
He put down the phone.
“Paris?” said his wife. “You didn’t warn me. There’s no time.”
“I just made up my mind a few minutes ago.”
“Just like that? Still—”
“Didn’t you hear? One ticket with my name. One with no name. Name to be supplied.”
“But—”
“You’re not going.”
“But you’ve ordered two tickets …”