February 1976
A month to the day after our first lunch together, Shannon and I moved into a small house her father had inherited a decade before and that had stood empty for nearly as long. Her father, Howard, was the epitome of a gruff former Marine. He'd fought in both Korea and Vietnam, but now he was a plumber, just as his father had been. His mother had willed him the house, and the first thing he'd done was remove every bit of pipe, every faucet, toilet, sink, and bathtub. "He didn't really need to," Shannon said to me once. "He just likes keeping busy."
We didn't tell Howard or Marilynn, Shannon's mother, that we were living together for several months. "Daddy might have a problem with it," Shannon said one afternoon as we were arranging books in the room we'd designated as a den. Shannon was working on her teaching certificate at the time, and she had a desk set up with papers, pencils, and a beige IBM Selectric typewriter.
"Dads usually do," I said.
"Moms, too. Sometimes. What do your parents think?"
I shrugged. "I told my mother. She said she'd tell Dad."
Shannon was arranging her hardcopy collection of Dickens. "What did your mother say?"
"That she doesn't think we should ruin the surprise."
"Surprise?"
"I think she's counting on our getting married. That's the surprise, I guess. Finding out about each other while we're blissfully married."
She slid Bleak House onto the shelf. "What do you think?"
"About my mother?"
"About us. About moving in here together."
We were sitting on the floor. I didn't have my leg on, but I scooted over to her as gracefully as I could. "I don't like surprises," I said, and I brushed my forefinger along the base of her throat. She shut her eyes and tilted her chin up. "But your dad will find out soon enough. He isn't stupid."
"No, he certainly isn't. I'm hoping he won't go all Marine on you." She laughed.
"I'm a cripple," I said. "He wouldn't hurt me, would he?"
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