Martin raised his glass with the rest of the crowd and called, "Happy Retirement."  While most of the glasses were still in the air, someone from near the back of the marquee shouted, "Lets see it now, Sam. Come on."  A few who knew what this meant clapped and called out. 

Beside the head table, Martin’s father set down the microphone and held up a hand as though reluctantly submitting.  He folded his arms, squatted and kicked out his legs like a young Cossack. People clapped and cheered, then on Sam’s fourth or fifth kick, his foot slipped.  He lost his balance and landed on his back. For a moment, he lay still.

The clapping stopped and everything went quiet.  When Martin stepped forward, his father shifted and sat up.  "Give me a God damned hand here."

Martin crouched and helped him up.

The moment Sam stood, the guests returned to cheering and clapping. Sam waved, took a bow. 

"All right, show’s over, back to your drinks." He dug a finger into his collar and pulled at it.

At the other end of the marquee, someone called, "I’ll file the law suit for you Monday morning."

"You going to be okay?" Martin asked, but his father had already turned his back and was bending one knee as though testing it.

"Fucking floor tiles laid wrong."  Sam started walking.  Martin followed.  After a few paces, Lisa caught up and tucked her arm into Martin’s. 

When they reached the makeshift bar, Sam turned to face them. His trademark big-toothed grin was back. "I’ve got a joke for you.  Lisa, you’ll be able to relate.  What do the wives of alcoholics and law grads have in common?"  Sam poured himself a scotch.  The corner of his mouth twitched.  "Both are Both are Both are Bar widows."

"Oh, that’s funny," Lisa said.

Martin gave a brief chuckle.

Sam pointed his drink Martin’s way. "Lisa, he ever tell you that when I was his age, I was first in my class and first at the Bar too?"

"Of course he did," Lisa said.

"No he didn’t. You’re just being polite." Sam still had his drink held out towards Martin. "You cut a good one out of the herd here, son."

Martin picked up the nearest bottle of wine and poured two glasses. "You could make the same joke about retiring lawyers and alcoholics. ‘At the Bar too long’." 

When Martin looked up, his father had turned and was walking back towards the marquee where Martin’s mother stood with the wives of Sam’s former law partners.  As he walked away, Sam cast a hand over his head and waved.  "Today is the last day anyone will fear the mighty legal mind of Samuel Archer," he said.

The music had started. Under the marquee, people were clearing away chairs to make space on the floor.

Martin took a long drink of wine.  "What Dad means is that I should have been first in my class and had better be first at the bar."

"’Cut a good one out of the herd’?" Lisa said.  She squeezed herself, and her shoulders rose a little.

From beside the house, Martin’s sister Carol waved. Lisa put her arm through Martin’s again.  "The torches along the laneway are all going out.  Shall we go relight them?"

Carol had started shuffling towards them, hands held up as if asking Martin and Lisa to hold still.  "I’ve lost my drink and my husband, both in the past five minutes, and I can’t decide which I’d rather have back." She pushed her tongue into her cheek and rolled her eyes. "Dad’s in top form tonight."

"Did you notice his crooked bowtie?" Martin said. "It’s been that way so long I don’t think I can say anything."

"And you?" Carol reached out, brushed fingertips along Lisa’s shoulder.  "Still trying to live life through your Chakra? Am I saying that right? Chakra?"

Lisa smiled and shrugged at the same time.

"You’re refreshing, Lisa. I’m always telling people it’s great to have someone so fresh in the family."

"Thank you."

"And check out this dress. The polka dot look.  My little Johnny likes polka dots too. You share a taste in clothes."

"This is Carol trying to be funny," Martin said.

"What’s wrong with polka dots?" Lisa said.

"I’m always trying to be funny. Scott’s smart and I’m funny. We’re a good team. Scott’s rich, I’m pretty. Or I was before Thing One and Thing Two. Pregnancy really does it to you, Lisa. Don’t ever get that little body of yours pregnant."

"Carol," Martin said.

"I’ll analyze you two. Okay, Martin, you’re smart, Lisa you’re, um..."

Lisa pulled on Martin’s arm.  "We should light the torches."

"Lisa, you’re thin."  Carol tilted her head.  "You are quite thin.  And Martin, you’re kind hearted."  She paused."Lisa, I’ve got to think of another one for you."

"We should fix the torches before anyone thinks of leaving," Lisa said.

Martin took a step towards the lane.  "If we see Scott, we’ll let him know you’re looking for him."

"Forget it.  Changed my mind."  She raised her right hand with a flourish.  "I’d rather find my drink."

***

Martin added fuel to the first torch, lit it, then continued down the lane towards the apple orchard.  Lisa followed.

"You know, I was afraid of what she was going to say about me," Lisa said.  "In her analysis thing.  She’s always a little mean to me."

"She just thinks she’s being funny." Martin held his lighter to the torch’s soft bristles and watched them catch.

"She’s mean though, Martin.  A lot of the time."

"She likes you," he said.

"She doesn’t like me."

"What am I supposed to say, Lisa? She’s my sister."

"I’m your wife."

"When Carol says something you don’t like, just laugh and forget about it." 

Martin crossed the lane, re-lit the next torch, then continued down the gravel drive.  He expected Lisa to follow, but she didn’t. For a while she just stood there at the top of the slope.

Where the lane met Bodega Bay Road, Martin turned to look back at the dim orange flames. Lisa was approaching between them. Martin dug the toe of his shoe into a small divot in the drive and dropped his gaze.

"It’s like it would have been in the old days," she said. "A hundred years ago they’d have used torches like this to light everything."

Martin offered his hand, but Lisa didn’t take it quickly enough and he let it drop.  Strains of Heartbreak Hotel drifted up the lane.  Martin turned towards the tent and began walking. After a moment, Lisa followed.

*          *          *

Carol and Sam were dancing at the edge of the crowd, moving in a rhythmic sway, their arms around each other and their bodies close.

Lisa cut two pieces of cake and offered one to Martin. He took it, then set it aside and picked up the glass he thought had been his.

"I ever tell you about the time I dropped Dad’s birthday cake? Halfway through Happy Birthday, I let the plate tilt. Boom, there it was on the floor--a couple of candles still burning. Dad pushed my face at it.  Like you do when a dog craps in the house."

"That’s awful."

"It was around the same time that he nicknamed me Pear. During my fat phase."

"I can’t believe you were ever fat."

"Carol gathered up the cake, set it on the table all squished over and awful looking. Dad was still yelling at me, and Carol said ‘If you don’t come back to the table, neither of you gets any cake.’ Mother used to defend him. It was Carol who was always on my side. Although somehow she wasn’t against him either. Carol was sort of amazing."

Lisa opened her arms as though to envelop him, but Martin took her hand instead and led her towards the dance floor. They’d just begun to dance when the record skipped, hit a scratch then stopped all together. A few people groaned and almost everyone stopped dancing.  Except for Carol and Sam who swayed on in the corner by the stacked chairs.  

Someone tried to find the right cut on the record. People called out. Sam took the cigar from his mouth. "I’ll sing it for you. I’ll sing it," he yelled, but just then the song started again at the beginning.

"Change partners?" Carol asked. She held out one hand for Martin. The other rested on her hip. Sam shrugged, returned the cigar to his mouth, and stepped towards Lisa, arms spread.

*          *          *

Lisa and Martin left just before two in the morning. Martin took back roads to the highway--narrow roads through forest so near the car that it felt like they were travelling at a great speed.

"The day Carol met Scott, I was the first person she told," Martin said. He kept his eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel. "I remember it so clearly. She’d only known him three hours, but she said, ‘I’d marry him if he asked.’ Can you believe that?"

Lisa didn’t answer. She was already asleep in the passenger seat.

Martin slowed as he neared the on-ramp, passed through pools of light and onto the darkened highway. It was hypnotically still in the dark. No one ahead of him, no one behind.  The gas light blinked on, but Martin figured he could push it.  Lisa was snoring softly. She looked good sitting there in the dark.  Cheeks smooth.  Arms folded neatly across herself. She looked peaceful in a way she hadn’t all evening.

Martin took the first bend too fast and the car felt unsteady beneath him. He slowed on the straightaway and was relieved to see another car, its brake lights a friendly face. He followed for several miles. When the tail lights ahead brightened, Martin also applied his brakes. The road stayed straight, but the car ahead continued to slow. Martin pulled into the passing lane, came alongside just long enough to glance over. The driver had his head back. Martin’s heart stood still, then the driver, little more than an outline in the dark, turned and looked over at Martin.

Martin accelerated, put distance between himself and that car. He passed a service station, but didn’t stop for fear of waking Lisa.  By the bridge, the needle stood at Empty, but Martin just wanted to get home and into bed. They’d both had a lot to drink. Maybe that’s why Lisa was already snoring, and maybe Martin had drunk enough that he shouldn’t have been driving.

As he crossed the bridge, Martin looked over at the skyline--a cluster of sky scrapers: bright beautiful buildings cut into the night. Martin drove through the park, rolled down 17th then started climbing the hill. The car spluttered.  He gave it gas.  Put the pedal all the way down. The engine coughed then stalled. Martin set the emergency brake and tried the ignition. It turned once, twice, then quit. He checked the mirror. Nothing behind him but street lights and parked cars. He let the car roll back and guided it into a spot in front of the church.

Lisa was still asleep.

"Lisa, we’re home, Honey." He spoke softly, touched her shoulder, but she didn’t move.

Martin walked around to Lisa’s side and coaxed her out of the car.  She groaned something while he kicked the door closed.  "Can’t you carry me in?" she said then she lifted her head. "Why did you park way down here?"

"Ran out of gas."

"Oh."

She leaned back against the car and rubbed her face. Martin looked up. Here the night sky felt lower, a black tarp tied just above the houses. He drew his arms around himself and also leaned against the car.

*          *          *

Pogo started barking before Martin had even unlocked the door. He patted her on the way in, walked through the apartment, and collapsed onto the bed. 

Lisa scooped up Pogo and followed Martin into the bedroom.  "Your dad was telling me and Carol that these are the best days of our lives."

Martin closed his eyes a moment and realized how sore they were. "I’m tired. Aren’t you tired?"

"I was. I’m not now. You think Carol and I will ever become friends?"

"Sure. Of course."

"I’m not so sure."

"You're too sensitive."

Lisa tickled Pogo under the chin. "What do you mean, ‘too sensitive’?"

Martin rolled onto his side.  "It’s three in the morning, Lisa."

Lisa set the dog down and walked to her side of the bed.

"Do you think Scott will give you a job?" she said after awhile.  "I mean, once you’ve passed the Bar."

Martin didn’t answer. His jaw locked. He swallowed and pretended to be asleep. Eventually Lisa slipped under the covers, and after a time, he took her hand in his, and together they slept.

*          *          *

The phone rang just as the sun crept into view. It was Martin’s mother. Reflecting on it later, Martin was amazed she was so calm. Among other things, she commented on how thankful she was Carol and Scott had a babysitter that night, how thankful she was the kids hadn’t been in the car.

The conversation was short. Martin only asked one question. "Where are they now?" he said, and his mother started to cry short, quiet sobs.

"They took Carol to the hospital. Scott they didn’t even try."

"We’ll be right up."

Martin was still wearing his shirt and trousers from last night. He couldn’t find his shoes and eventually put on runners. He was at the door before Lisa had finished dressing.

Last night, the final thing Carol had said to Martin was that the kids had better be asleep by the time they got home. She’d found that funny for some reason. She’d started her donkey laugh. It was a sort of convulsion--Carol with her mouth frozen wide, bent a little as though burdened by her own laughter.

When he reached the car, Martin remembered they didn’t have gas. He kicked the door and stood looking at the church. He’d never paid much attention to the place before. It needed a coat of paint. A sign advertised Sunday’s services.

Lisa caught up to Martin and pulled on his sleeve.  "What about the kids? Who’ll take care of Sarah and Johnny?"

Martin put his arms around her, pulled her close and held her. A chill dropped down his spine, and he shivered as he lowered his chin to rest on the crown of her head.

"We have to," Lisa said. "You know it’s us that has to."

Even though his mother had mentioned the kids, Martin’s mind hadn’t touched on them. He’d been thinking of Carol and Scott, their little roadster, of shattered glass, crushed steel, the sight of compacted cars at night. He’d thought of ambulance rides, hospitals, doctors, blood and pain, but until now he hadn’t thought of the kids.

Martin’s teeth began to chatter. He tightened his arms around Lisa.

In this way they held each other up, in front of an empty church, beside a car with no gas, at the start of a long journey.