The old woman opened her eyes, blinked a few times, and sat up in bed. She turned this way and that, peering at the objects in the small room: a low, narrow bed with fairytale figures carved in the headboard; a window behind her; a chest of drawers with discolored patches in the varnish around the handles and a mirror on top.

 

The woman rose slowly, then arched backward, hands pressed to her lower back. Her spine popped. She shuffled to the chest of drawers and picked up a framed picture of two women. The woman looked at herself in the mirror, then again at the picture. One of the photographed women had her face, but the hair in the mirror was whiter. The other woman looked to be thirty years younger and had broad features framed by light, bobbed hair.

 

Bedsprings squealed from beyond the door; the woman startled and dropped the picture. The glass in the frame cracked against the floorboards. She brandished a hairbrush before her like a kitchen knife and peered around the doorjamb.

 

Down the hall, a man squinted back at her. His back was straight, and he wore pajamas with a collar and breast pocket. His hair was white like hers.

 

"Who are you?" she asked, shaking the hairbrush at him.

 

"David. Who are you?"

 

"Jenny. Why are you in my house?" She looked at the bare walls. "Is this my house?"

 

"I thought it was mine."

 

"There's a picture of me in here."

 

David glanced around his room. "Here's one of me with a young lady."

 

Jenny lowered the hairbrush, confused. "What do we do?"

 

He smoothed his pajama shirt and raised his chin. "What any dapper man does when he wakes to an elegant woman: have breakfast."

 

She paused for a long moment. "And then?"

 

He shrugged and smiled. "Wait for help to arrive." He strode down the stairs and out of sight.

 

Jenny ran the brush through her hair before replacing it and following him.

 

The living room was empty, save minimal furniture and towers of identical boxes. She followed a clatter and found David lighting the gas stove under a pan.

 

"I found the kitchen. Do you like omelettes, princess of the fay?"

 

"What nonsense are you rattling about?" She lowered herself by degrees onto a chair at the small kitchen table.

 

"How else should I explain the magical appearance of an alluring beauty in my home?"

 

She waved him off but smiled. "My house. An omelette would be fine."

 

He bowed, then cracked eggs he took from the refrigerator. The smell of butter sizzling brushed the air while he beat the eggs in a bowl. They crackled like static when they hit the pan.

 

Jenny rested her chin in her hands and watched him swirl the pan. "What do you remember, David?"

 

"Not much. My name. How to make an omelette. My father taught me when I was seven. I remember his thick, hairy fingers around the pan's handle." He held out his own hand to her, but his fingers were thin and papery. They shook a little.

 

She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. "Do you . . . think you have a wife?"

 

"I don't know. But I know you'll love this trick." He hefted the pan, shook it once, then tossed the omelette low. It flipped and landed half in, half out of the pan. Raw egg splattered his pajamas and dripped to the floor. The stove's flame stunk up the kitchen with burnt egg.

 

Jenny laughed and clapped. David went to one knee, spread his arms wide, and bowed.

 

"You're quite the charmer. You must have been popular with the ladies in your day." She turned the burner off, took a roll of paper towels from next to the sink, and began mopping up.

 

"I have only one lady before me now." He took the dirty paper towel from her and laid it aside, then enfolded her hand in his.

 

She blushed and whacked his shoulder lightly with the paper towel roll. "You're too forward."

 

He released her hand, though it continued to hover there, and shrugged. "Not usually, I think. I'm comfortable with you."

 

"Yes . . ." She ripped another towel from the roll and wiped underneath the stove. A glittering thing skittered across the floor.

 

He lifted it and showed it to her with a smile. It was a golden wedding band. Inscribed on the inside was "David + Jenny, March 28, 1971."

 

"But why's it on the floor?" She hovered at his side and placed a hand on his arm.

 

He slipped it onto his ring finger, then bent over and pressed his lips to hers. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in.

 

A key rattled in a lock, making them break off. A moment later, a woman with broad features and light, bobbed hair walked in. She stopped in the kitchen door and looked them up and down where they stood clutching each other.

 

"An oddly intimate moment for you two. And messy. Go get cleaned up. The movers will be here soon." She removed her overcoat and threw it over Jenny's chair.

 

"Movers?" David asked.

 

She looked at them again through narrowed eyes. "Oh. It's one of those mornings." She straightened. "Dad, you're moving to Powhatan Retirement Community at 10. Mom, you're moving to Brooke Assisted Living at 4."

 

Jenny tightened her grip on David. "Apart? I love being with him."

 

He kissed her forehead. "And I wouldn't want to live any other way."

 

The woman sighed. "Today that's true. But you'll both thank me on your lucid days when you remember." 

Outside, a motor rumbled and brakes squealed. The woman looked over her shoulder. "They're early. Get cleaned up, you two." She walked out.

 

Jenny looked up at the man she held so close. "Remember what?"

 

David brushed her hair back. "I don't want to know."