The Morning Crossword

Every morning, Daria and Walt do the same things. They do them in the same order. They do them for fifty years.

At six, Walt gets up first. He puts on his blue robe. He goes to the kitchen and fills the kettle.

At six fifteen, Daria comes in. Her hair is white and soft. She sits at the table by the window.

At six thirty, Walt brings two cups of tea. The tea in the green cup is hers. The tea in the brown cup is his. He puts a spoon of honey in hers. He never forgets.

At six forty, the newspaper comes. Walt brings it in. He takes out the page with the crossword. He puts it between them on the table.

Daria holds the pen. Walt holds the glasses. This is the rule. She writes, and he reads the clues.

"Seven letters," Walt says. "A small gray bird."

"Sparrow," says Daria. She writes it fast.

"Four letters. A cold white drink."

"Milk."

"Five letters. Not early."

"Late," Daria says. She smiles. "That is you at night."

"That is not true," says Walt. "I sleep at ten."

"You sleep at eight in the chair," she says. "I cover you with a blanket."

He pretends to be angry. He looks over his glasses. She pats his hand.

Walt makes toast. He cuts it in four pieces, the way she likes. Daria eats one piece and gives him one. The other two sit on the plate for later.

"The weather is cold today," Walt reads. "It rains after lunch."

"My knees know," says Daria. "They hurt a lot."

"Then we stay home," he says. "We read, and we sleep."

"You sleep," she says. "I read."

They finish most of the page. Then they get stuck on the last clue.

Walt reads it slowly. "Seven letters," he says. "Walt, to Daria, for fifty years."

Daria stops. She looks at the paper. The clue is not printed. Someone writes it by hand. It is in blue pen, over the old clue.

"Who writes this?" she asks.

"I do not know," says Walt. He looks at the ceiling. "Maybe a clever mouse."

"A mouse with your terrible letters," Daria says. "They look like spiders."

"The mouse is not good at writing," Walt says.

She puts a finger on the boxes. There are seven. Four of the letters are there from other words. The first letter is H. The fourth is B.

Daria thinks. Outside, a neighbor opens a window. A dog barks twice. The kettle ticks as it cools.

"Husband," she says.

"Count the boxes," says Walt.

She counts. There are seven. She writes the letters one by one. Each one fits.

"It is correct," she says softly.

"I think so too," says Walt.

Daria puts the pen down. She does not say anything for a moment. The sun reaches the table. The tea in both cups is still warm.

"You are a very bad mouse," she says.

"I know," says Walt. "Pass me the honey. I want two spoons today."