Natalie awoke late. The January sun through that cold and dirty Denver air was slow coming through the window. She stirred in the sheets. “Charlie?” she said sleepily. She pulled nearer to the opposite side of the bed. “Charlie?” she said again. “Turn up the heat.”

In the recesses of the house, Charlie moved from the kitchen to the hallway and looked at the old thermostat on the wall. “Turn it up to July, August or September?” he called back.

“Just up,” Natalie said. She pulled the covers over her bare shoulders and up underneath her chin. “Won’t make a difference anyway,” she said. “Charlie?” she called. She rolled and faced the door. “Charlie, may I have a glass of water?”

Rolling onto her back again, she remained very, very still. Then the familiar click-click-click of the furnace came on then the familiar sound of the air coming through the vents. The air, cold. “How is this a heater?” she whispered. Then a clank, a cupboard closing then the hiss of the tap. Last Charlie’s footfalls out of the kitchen and though the hall.

He stood in the doorway half shadowed. “Water?” he said. He moved toward her after she made a motion upward.

Taking the glass from him, she said, “does this room smell like a sick person?”

He straightened, took a deep breath through half stuffed nostrils. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, I’m getting up today,” she said.

“Okay,” he said.

“I’m going to drink a cup of coffee. I’m going to eat a big breakfast,” Natalie said.

“Well, don’t overdo it,” he said.

“Then, then I’m going to screw your brains out,” she said. She leaned up on an elbow and look over her brow as she pulled the glass to her lips.

“I’ll endorse that,” Charlie said.

“Then,” she said as she swallowed the water. “I’m going to smoke a cigarette.”

“You don’t smoke,” Charlie said. “Remember?”

“Not even after sex?”

“No,” Charlie said.

“That’s not right,” she said.

“Good try,” he said.

“They’re old friends,” she said.

“Listen, one thing at a time,” Charlie said.

“I want to go over to that diner on Colfax,” she said.

“Okay,” he said.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“I’m always hungry,” he said. “The question is: are you?”

She sat still, upright. “How am I so fucking hot in the night and so cold now?”

“I know,” he said. He put the robe around her shoulders. “I know.”

“At least this time of year no one cares that I wear a hat.”

“Nope, no one cares,” he said. He grabbed one of her hands and she hoisted herself to her feet. She turned toward the bed and put her feet into slippers.

“What’re you going to eat?” she asked.

“Oh, I don’t know, I’ll have to see.”

“Mushroom and Swiss omelet for me,” she said.

“That’s all you used to ever eat,” he said.

“I’d like a shower,” she said.

“Okay,” Charlie said. He left the room, went to the bathroom and turned on the light. He adjusted the seat in the shower.

“I’ll do it alone today,” she said.

His look of surprise did not go unnoticed. “Sure?” he said.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’ve already gone through the old glass door.”

Charlie nodded. He always looked over the floor for bits of the old glass door.

He’d been out in the yard raking the last of the autumn leaves when she fell through the door. Sixty four stitches. Complications. All of it, bad. That was earlier on, October and now January, so late on.

He moved aside as she came into the bathroom. “It’s okay Charlie, you can leave the seat if you want to.”

“I’ll be just outside,” he said.

“Yeah,” she said. 

He listened intently to the sounds inside, the larger splashes of water over the normal cadence from the shower head. When the water slowed then stopped, he tapped his knuckles on the door. “All good?” he asked.

“Don’t worry so much,” she said.

“Just holler,” he said. When he heard no reply, he added, “Okay?”

“Okay,” she said exaggerating the end of it.

Charlie tidied the bedroom. It did smell like a sick person, someone who’d been laid up for weeks. It smelled like Denver dust come January and a furnace filter which needed changing. It smelled like old bed linens. It smelled like her room, but her room did not smell like her.

He was laying out clothes when the bathroom door opened. He stopped fussing with things, her things, when she came into the room. He slowly faced her. A feeble smile came over his face. “How’d it go?”

“Is that what I’m going to wear?” she said. She pointed to the bed. He nodded and slightly shrugged his shoulders, all of it without any real commitment. 

“I want my Doughnut Jockeys t-shirt,” she said.

“Doughnut Jockeys?” he asked.

“I know I’ll be swimming in it,” she said.

“Doughnut Jockeys?” he asked again.

“I know, I know,” she said. “I know it’s January and it’s a t-shirt.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “I think it’s upstairs. I can go get it.”

Charlie quickly left the room. He walked through the hall with mounting speed before he took the stairs two at a time.

His bedroom, which had been their bedroom, was not kept in the same good order as the rest of the house. Truth known, he did not like being in this room, not at all. He slept elsewhere, the sofa, Natalie’s new room.

He pulled the dresser drawer open slowly. He pulled the entire stack of neatly folded t-shirts out. Standing upright, he pulled the whole lot of them to his nose. Old textiles which had been clean but the freshness had escaped them and he searched for remnants of his wife, her perfume, her soap, her sweat.

Pulling them away, he knew the Doughnut Jockeys t-shirt instantly, the bright-bright day glow pink was not to be missed.

“Here it is,” he said as he held out the shirt for Natalie.

“Oh, goodie,” she said. With no more speed, but with eager smile, she began to dress.

Charlie looked on with his usual pride and despair, just waiting to help, should she need it.

“How’s the weather out there?” she asked.

“Cold,” he said. 

“Snow?” she asked.

“No snow,” he said. But that was January in Denver, cold, no snow, just cold.

“Why don’t we take a trip out to Red Rocks today?”

“Red Rocks?” he asked.

“I know it’s far away,” she said.

“Red Rocks?” he said again.

“It’s like we only get in the car to go to the hospital.”

“Red Rocks?” he said a third time.

“And I’m really fucking tired of the hospital,” she said.

“It’s pretty cold,” he said. He stood still, focused his gaze on the floor. “I’m tired of the hospital too. We can go to Red Rocks.”

“Let’s do it, you know, after breakfast.”

“Good idea,” he said.

Natalie lifted the shirt, she sat on the edge of the bed. She opened the shirt, spread it out across her knees and looked at the image. “This was the best day of my life,” she said.

“Best day?” Charlie asked. He looked at the shirt too. It was a good day. Doughnut Jockeys were her band. He had never cared for them one away or the other, not until that day, the day they went to see them at Red Rocks. They were a great concert band. Charlie, in a very small way, became a fan. “It was a good day,” he said.

“We ate ice cream for breakfast,” she said. She touched over the shirt. “We walked around the lake. You found that twenty dollar bill. Then we ate in that fancy restaurant in Golden. We went to the show, which was the greatest show ever, then we went to that carnival downtown then to the Sunny Side Diner.”

“And you had a mushroom and Swiss omelet,” he said.

“If that wasn’t the best day, then what?”

“The day we graduated?” he asked.

“No, a big one,” she said.

“Day we closed on the house?” he asked.

“Exciting, not the best,” she said.

“Day we got married?” he asked.

“Since you mentioned that one third after graduation and the day we got strapped with a mortgage, I don’t even think the wedding was great for you either.”

“Good party,” he said.

“Yeah,” she said. “Great photo-op.”

“A photo-op?” he said.

“The Doughnut Jockeys concert was just us,” she said. She slowly lifted the t-shirt over her head and carefully put it on. She smoothed it over the front of her body. She looked down at the image. “I’m not swimming in this as bad as I thought,” she said.

“Omelets?” he said.

“Let’s do this.”

In the parking lot of the diner, Charlie slowly negotiated the car to face the sun. He checked all his mirrors before finally parking the car. “Well,” he said.

“Well,” she repeated.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked. He unbuckled his seat belt but held the two parts close together. He waited. He opened his door quickly and escaped the car.

Natalie adjusted the stocking cap on her head. She undid her seat belt and waited, holding her cane between her legs.

“Okay,” Charlie said as he opened her door. Between Charlie and the cane, she got out of the car.

The sun rose higher now in the winter sky. The traffic along Colfax Avenue growled to and from stop lights on both Pearl and Pennsylvania streets. The porn shop sharing the parking lot seemed every bit as busy as it would at night.

“Get us a good table,” Natalie said. “A booth by the window,” she added.

In the diner, they got a booth by the window. Their window, steamed over and greased up, overlooked Colfax Avenue and the office supply store opposite. Natalie all but fell into the booth. She pulled her cane in toward her. “Remember that roach hotel we rented there on Pennsylvania Street?” she asked.

“How can I forget?” Charlie said. “The roaches and that old lady upstairs who used to break the plumbing.”

“And your record collection,” she said.

“I won’t forget those,” Charlie said.

“All those records and no Doughnut Jockeys, it’s amazing, really, truly amazing.”

“They’re your band,” he said.

“Help me with this coat,” she said.

When the order came, it was as they expected: sunny side eggs and Canadian Bacon for Charlie and Natalie got the mushroom and Swiss omelet. She pulled her plate very near to her. Steam came from it, the potatoes glistened, there was a fine film of oil on the top of the omelet. And the toast. The toast, thick sourdough drenched in butter. “If Doc Blake saw this,” she said.

“Yup,” Charlie said.

“You’re not going to tell her?” she asked.

“Naw,” Charlie said.

Natalie looked back down at her plate. “I’ve always hated those people who take pictures of their food. But. But this plate is perfect.”

Charlie held his fork and knife. He waited for her just like the perfect gentleman that he was. When she raised her fork and knife, she slowly cut through the side of the omelet. She peeked inside. She put her cutlery down. Raising a piece of buttered toast, she took a small bite and chewed slowly.

“And?” Charlie asked. “How is it?”

“I wish I could taste it,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. He looked down at his plate. He’d grown weary of the food suddenly. He’d been hungry and now, he just felt disappointed. He pushed the parsley sprig off the orange twist. “These garnishes are silly.”

“We had good times, didn’t we?” she asked.

Charlie’s attention very quickly left his plate and came to his wife. “Best times,” he said suddenly very seriously.

“Do you have a plan?” she asked. “You never talk about what’s going to happen after.”

“Haven’t thought about it,” Charlie said. He dropped his fork. He put his hand atop the scarred table and pulled the fork closer to his plate. He grabbed the ice water, took a fast sip.

“I hope you’ll be happy,” she said.

“What?” he asked.

“Travel, do something fun with your life. Get a young girlfriend.”

“Natalie,” he said.

“A tall blond. One with a nice body.”

“Oh my god,” he said. “Listen to yourself.”

“I’d hope she’d be fun, uncomplicated. Fun to fuck. I hope she’s good to you.”

“You’d hope?” he said.

“But you’re the kind of guy who likes complex women.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Charlie said.

“It’s okay Charlie,” she said. She touched the toast, pushing the top piece over the one on the bottom. 

“What?” he asked. “What’s okay?”

“All of it,” she said. “I’m going to eat this whole thing,” she said. “It’s more food than I could eat in a week.”

Charlie looked through the fogged window. Mid-morning people were walking the mag-chloride stained sidewalk. People moving here and there doing what people do. He watched two older women as they stood on the corner waiting to cross. When the light changed, his attention went to a dirty Denver PD car moving from west to east. As he recovered and focused again on the table, he knew she was intently looking at him. When he looked to her, she smiled. “Eat, eat,” she said. Charlie nodded and took a few small bites from the food on his fork.

Natalie used the side of her fork to cut the omelet. She began to eat, but not with any perceivable joy. She watched Charlie’s plate as she ate.

Charlie paid the tab at the counter at the end of the meal. He smiled at the worker as she took his money. He was quite a distance from the booth where she still sat. As he walked back to the table, the smile faded and color seemed to drain from his face. “Well,” he said. “You’re still up for Red Rocks?” he asked.

She made no move to leave the booth, but she smiled brightly. “You bet,” she said.

Charlie took her cane and then put his hand out. Her hand open. He helped her from the booth. He put her coat around her shoulders and buttoned it once it was on. He helped her down the length of the breakfast counter. Mid-morning quiet was over the whole restaurant. The disembodied heads of the short order cooks floated in the window between the kitchen and the dining room.

Outside in the January air, the temperature had not risen with the sun. The normal blue skies over Denver held a gritty-granulated brown haze. “I used to love the coin-op,” she said.

Charlie laughed. “Of course,” he said. They had used the coin-op three or flour blocks down. They’d be in there at strange hours with strange people. They’d put their clothes in the washer and cross Colfax, there at Downing Street to the liquor store. They’d buy a pint of cheap whiskey and pass it back and forth until it drained. The whiskey made laundry at the coin-op more interesting.

Charlie helped her into the car. He handed her the cane. Once he got in, he cranked the car on. He quickly turned on the heater. “I think it’ll heat up quick,” he said. 

“I’m not cold,” Natalie said.

“You’re not?” he asked.

“No more than usual,” she said.

He put the car in reverse and looked at all the mirrors and over his shoulders before slowly backing out. The car rolled toward Colfax. He turned onto the street. The Cathedral of Immaculate Conception loomed up on the right, one block later, the gold domed capitol was on the left. The mountains were lighted by the sun with dirty snow shining thought the inverted layered air.

They slowly drove through the intersections of downtown. Despite the time of day and the cold time of year, Denver was alive with people, people moving in all directions. In recent years Denver had grown, but even in her more derelict days, Denver was an exciting place to be.

Emerging downtown on the west side, Natalie looked at the buildings on Auraria Campus. They’d met so many years ago, their college days, and Auraria Campus had changed in so many ways since then. The light rail, two cars of it, pulled aside of their car. Natalie looked up at the passengers. They seemed absorbed in something, all of them, and all of them absorbed in different somethings. The light turned green and the path of the train changed with Colfax.

As they began to drive over the Colfax Viaduct, Natalie said, “Can we take Colfax all the way there?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said. He did not take his eyes from the road, nor did he take his hands from the wheel.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she said.

“Of course,” he said.

“I still want to screw your brains out,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “We’ll see.”

“It’s not contagious,” she said.

“Sex?” he said.

Natalie laughed. Her laugh devolved into a small fit of coughing which when she tried to suppress it, it only got worse. “It is habit forming though,” she said.

They crossed under Federal Boulevard. 

Natalie reclined the seat. She took a big breath, almost a surprised breath. “Doughnut Jockeys,” she said.

“Doughnut Jockeys,” he said.

“Drive slowly,” she said. She leaned her head deeper into the headrest of the seat. In the distance, the pollution was clearing. The mountains were coming into clearer detail. The buildings along West Colfax were somehow cleaner, brighter. She rolled her head on the seat and faced Charlie. She said, “I just want to take a little rest before we get there.”