Eric & Marie

Eric came awake easily, as always. Though he'd never before slept in this particular place, he immediately knew where he was. He turned over and looked toward the clock but could not see it. Raising himself to peer over her, he saw that the orange clock numbers glowed 4:15 a.m. Perfect.

Slipping out of bed, and working in the dark, Eric stepped into the sandals he had laid out the night before, in a neat and prescribed order. Then he felt his way to the door, listened for a moment, unlocked it, and slipped softly out of the room.

He followed his planned route at an unhurried glide: along the hall to the south end staircase; down six flights of stairs; out the side door. On the way he saw no one, not surprising considering the hour. This was why his rule was to avoid motels near airports or casinos.

Crossing the motel parking lot, Eric threaded his way among the lines of cars, vans, and trailers. He enjoyed early mornings, especially early summer mornings like this. He walked easily, casually, aware of his surroundings without seeming to be. Alert as always for strangers, noticing none.

His car was where he had left it. Starting the engine, he rolled out of the motel lot and up the silent four-lane commercial strip. He had taken care to top off his tank when he arrived on Friday, so he was able to motor straight to the freeway interchange. As he sped down the entrance ramp, he let out a long breath.

What a great weekend it had been! Refreshing, invigorating, quite a rush as always. Eric felt grateful as he drove. Grateful to be alive, grateful for his health and means, grateful to live in a country where one could come and go at will. And, most of all, grateful for, and to, Marie. Grateful for her 24 years of love and devotion. For her beauty and sensuality, as appealing to him now as in their long-ago college days. For the deft and expert way she had mothered their children. For her honest and clearheaded ways. Grateful even for her passion for genealogy.

She had taken that up when Jenny went away to college. What started as casual hobby grew quickly into an obsession. She bought computer programs. She spent hours tracking information on the internet. And she traveled a lot. To genealogy conventions, for seminars and exhibits and chances to chat endlessly with fellow enthusiasts. As well as to out of the way towns all over their region of the country. She haunted graveyards, scoured courthouse archives, pored through church records and genealogy society files. Adding relentlessly to her ever expanding tree of ancestors and relatives.

At first, quite naturally, Eric went with her on these treks. Togetherness was what marriage was all about; together was how they always did things. But damn, it was boring. He cared not a rap about genealogy. He disliked conventions – did enough of those on his job. He abhorred churches and cemeteries and courthouses. And poring through dusty books or blurry microfilm for scraps of information about people he did not know -- that was about exciting for him as watching a haircut.

Being a man, Eric kept quiet about his feelings. Being a woman, and in fact a perceptive and loving one, Marie read him like a sandwich sign. She understood quite clearly how threatening to their marriage festering resentments could be. So she sat him down to talk it out.

And, as it turned out, to present a plan.

She started this way: We have interests in common, you and I. And we continue to share and enjoy them together, and I'm sure we always will.

I'm sure we will too, he replied.

But, she said, over the years we've each developed new interests. Which is only natural. I have genealogy. And you have your enthusiasms.

All true, he said.

I accept, without hurt feelings, that my genealogy bores you, she went on. Just as I know you accept that I find your special hobbies almost. . .well. . .terminally tedious.

I do accept that, he told her, smiling.

Now, she said: Spouses who love each other don't require each other to give up the interests that are near and dear to them. And I love you.

I love you too, he answered.

And, she went on, spouses who really love each other give each other the space and time to pursue those interests. And I really love you.

I really love you too, Eric affirmed.

Which is when Marie proposed what came to be known as their "breather weekends."

The idea was simple. Taking turns, every two or three months, one of them would go away for a couple of days to do his or her "own thing." There were only three rules. The non-traveling spouse had to stay at the house, to be available should any of their children call. Neither was allowed to do anything to dishonor their marriage vows. Afterward, each had to tell the other everything that happened.

He had agreed at once. . . .