"Charles," Dora Evans called to her husband from the kitchen, where she held open the refrigerator, "we need bread and milk."

"We don’t have any left?" Charles said loudly, without turning away from the late evening news.

"Just enough for breakfast, dear," Dora answered, taking out a piece of chocolate pie and then closing the refrigerator door. "Do you want a snack?"

"No, no," Charles declined.

"I think it’s supposed to snow tomorrow," Charles commented, as Dora rejoined him in the living room. He sat at one end of a large, green couch that rested heavily and directly in front of the television set. Dora sat beside the couch in a well-padded wicker chair. "Should you be having that? Your cholestrol."

"The weather will be on next," Dora said, ignoring Charles’ warning. "They’ll tell us if it will snow or not."

"Wish we still had the car," Charles said. "I hate being old."

"No you don’t," Dora laughed. "It gives you license to complain about everything and no one ever contradicts you."

"You do," Charles groused.

"That’s my job," his wife smiled.

"I still wish we had the car," Charles repeated. "We could zoom right through the snow."

"The last car we had couldn’t ‘zoom’ through anything," Dora reminded her husband. "It was two-wheel drive and slid on anything even remotely wet or slick."

"Hmph," Charles grunted. "You shouldn’t have that pie this late."

"Please," Dora sighed, rolling her eyes. "I don’t believe it matters at our age whether we sneak an extra piece of pie or not. Besides as skinny as you are, you should eat more anyway."

"Bah," Charles grumbled again.

Charles and Dora had been married over fifty years. Neither could recall much of life prior to their time together. They had met in college and fallen in love, passionate love. But after fifteen childless years, they had hit a sour patch. Charles strayed a few times and Dora considered divorce. But no sooner had the patch developed, than it ended. Charles rediscovered his commitment to Dora and they passed over the rough spot. They concentrated on their university careers, his as a professor of math, she as a Victorian specialist in the English Department.

Finally, after thirty years together they had settled into a comfortable life of mostly companionship and mutual support. They attended academic functions together, traveled abroad, enjoyed their lives as a well-respected couple on campus. And they grew into a relaxed old age, a warm, golden time highlighted by pleasant company and easy friendship. When they retired from the university they became each other’s constant companions with the matronly Dora’s calm personality the perfect counterpoint to scrawny Charles’ occasional grumpy frumpiness.

These days, as the couple approached their eighties, life had become quiet, almost still. The parties were mostly a thing of the past, old students seldom came by anymore, and the couple relied more and more on each other’s company. They breakfasted, puttered around the house or out in the garden in good weather, walked up the hill to the little store where they bought their groceries. All in all, they had found a level of contentment that worked for both of them.

"The weather’s starting," Charles said, waving his arms as if Dora couldn’t see the set six feet in front of her.

"They never get it right anyway," Dora said, dismissing the chunky, pseudo-meteorologist who appeared on screen with a smile wide enough to perhaps endanger the muscles in his cheeks and jaws.

"Hush," Charles told her.

"We’ll see how the weather is in the morning anyway," Dora said, burping loudly at the end of her sentence.

"See," Charles said, pointing at her. "I told you not to eat that pie."

"You hush," Dora said, but she put a hand over her mouth to hide another belch. "I’d better get some orange juice to wash this down with."

"Be better off with a 7-Up," Charles said.

"You be quiet," Dora said, rising. She rubbed her chest when she was out of Charles’ sight and made her way back to the kitchen for the orange juice.

* * *

When Charles and Dora got up the next morning the sky was gray with snow clouds heavy with moisture. Dora made them a traditional breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, and milk and they read the morning paper as they ate, Dora hiding her continued indigestion behind the entertainment and travel pages.

"We still going to the store?" Charles asked, setting the sports section down on the table by his dirty plate.

"We need to," Dora said, belching quietly into her paper.

"It’ll be cold," Charles noted the obvious. "You just had bronchitis for cryin’ out loud."

"Worry wart," Dora countered.

"Doctor says you should take it easy," Charles warned.

"Doctor doesn’t live here, does he?" Dora smiled.

"Hmph," Charles grunted. "That makes a lot of sense. I wish we still had the car."

"Walking is good for us at our age," Dora said, folding the newspaper and setting it on the table. She collected all the dishes and took them out to the kitchen.

"I don’t know," Charles said when she returned to the dining area.

"Oh, come on," Dora said with a smile, "it’ll be an adventure."

"It may snow," Charles declared.

"It is snowing," Dora replied, looking out the living room window, "apparently for awhile, too. But it doesn’t look like there’s much wind and it’s not terribly cold."

"How would you know that?" Charles wanted to know.

"It’s never terribly cold when it snows," Dora explained, "at least not around here."

"Oh," Charles said. "Well, we should at least protect our heads."

"I have my scarf and you have your hat," Dora told him.

"Better than that," Charles insisted.

"All right," Dora said agreeably, "we’ll take the umbrellas."

"Umbrellas?" Charles asked, shaking his head. "It’s not raining, it’s snowing."

"They’ll be perfect," Dora assured her husband.

"Hmph," Charles grumbled, but he let Dora collect the umbrellas from a tall, metal cannister where they were kept in a closet by the front door. They kept their coats and boots in the same closet and Dora drew those out as well.

"Here," she said, handing Charles his coat, boots, and one of the umbrellas.

"This isn’t my umbrella," he said. "Mine’s black."

"That is black," she assured him, unsnapping the cover strap on her umbrella, "mine’s dark blue."

"If you say so…." Charles began. Suddenly he grabbed Dora’s arm and umbrella. "Don’t open that indoors," he cried, "that’s bad luck. Don’t do that."

"Oh, for heaven’s sake," Dora sniffed, "don’t be silly."

"Don’t do it," Charles insisted. "It’s a bad idea. A really bad idea."

"Very well," Dora said, setting the umbrella down while they put on their coats and boots.

"Ready?" Charles said, when Dora had buttoned his coat around the collar for him.

"Ready," she said.

Charles exited the house first, Dora following behind. She began loosening her umbrella as she crossed the threshold and let it pop completely open out on the front porch.

"It’s really snowing," Charles said, stepping onto the porch steps.

The snow fell hard, in big beautiful flakes, and it was accumulating rapidly. There was about three inches on the ground and the heavy sky promised much more in the hours to come.

"We’d better get going, then," Dora said, suddenly having to repress another heavy belch.

As they walked down the street, snow crunching pleasantly beneath their winter boots, the elderly couple was quiet for awhile. They had been together so long that at times they had no need of conversation; they communicated their closeness and caring without words, by simply being together. For all his grumpiness, Charles had no idea what he would do without Dora, and she had been his friend and helpmate for so long she could not imagine a world in which Charles was not there either.

As they began the climb up the hill to Dawson’s Grocery Store, the snow was really plummeting down. It was falling so hard, the Evans’ were beginning to slog instead of walk. Charles began to grumble about not having the car again but his grousings went unanswered as Dora was really struggling up the incline. She was having trouble catching her breath and what breath she caught didn’t seem to be quite enough. There was even a tightening in her chest.

"At least we brought these umbrellas," Charles complained out loud, but mostly to himself.

Dora’s reply was a loud belch. She stopped and put the back of her hand to her head.

"Are you okay," Charles said, turning back when he realized his wife was no longer alongside him.

"I’m fine," Dora wheezed, "just indigestion."

"Still?" Charles asked, scowling.

"I’ll be okay," Dora reassured him. "I’ll be fine."

"It’s this damnable snow," Charles said, waiting for Dora to reach him. "We shouldn’t have come. I …."

"Oh," Dora groaned in Charles’ mid-sentence.

"What’s wrong?" Charles asked, reaching for her.

"I’m light-headed," Dora said, "can’t breathe…."

Suddenly, Dora simply sat down in the snow in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Oh," she moaned.

Charles was quickly at her side, helping her sit up next to the curb. He took her umbrella and held his over her head.

"Breathe slowly, sweetheart," he said.

"I feel so weak," Dora said softly.

"I’ll get help," Charles said.

"Please don’t leave me," Dora pleaded.

"I won’t," he said.

At that moment, a lady, not so different in age from the Evans, came out her front door to see what was the matter.

"Please, ma’am," Charles called to her. "Please call for help. Call 911."

The lady hurried back inside her house. Charles turned back to Dora.

"Stay with me, Dora," he said gently, "please stay."

Charles knelt beside Dora then, let her rest her body against his. Her breathing was erratic and difficult. He kept his umbrella over them. The snow kept falling, heavily.

In less than ten minutes, the paramedics arrived. A young man and young woman, both of them strong, bright-faced, and very efficient, immediately took charge of the situation. They did their best to stabilize Dora, to control her breathing, to make her comfortable. When they had gotten her into their vehicle they laid her down on an emergency cot, put a warm blanket around her, and hooked an oxygen mask to her face. The young woman helped Charles up into the vehicle for the ride to the hospital.

"What were you folks doing out on a day like today?" the emergency room doctor who attended to Dora asked Charles after Dora had been hooked up to all the proper monitoring devices and was resting comfortably. "This was hardly the day for an early morning stroll."

"We were going to the store for bread and milk," Charles explained. "We don’t have a car."

"Couldn’t someone have gone for you?" the doctor asked.

He was fresh out of med school and was filled with a righteous desire for people to take good care of themselves. It was the cornerstone of a good healthy life, he believed. Seeing these old people out doing something so foolish as walking in a heavy snow, seemed pretty peculiar to him – and counterproductive to their health.

"My wife likes to walk," Charles said, "and we had our umbrellas."

"Umbrellas in the snow?" the doctor said, controlling as best he could an ironic smile. Then seeing Charles’ sad, concerned expression, he softened. "Well, when it’s bad weather like this just be more careful."

"Uh, huh," Charles nodded.

"Your wife will be fine," the doctor told Charles, putting a youthfully paternal arm around the elderly man’s shoulder. "We’ll need to keep her here for a couple of days to make sure her breathing gets nice and smooth and we’ll take some tests of her heart. She should make a full recovery. I’ll have our nutritionist recommend a better diet perhaps and a slow lead-in to an exercise program. At least in good weather she may be able to try that hill again. But not for awhile."

"No," Charles agreed, "not for awhile."

"I’ve had the front desk call a taxi for you, Mr. Evans," the doctor said. "The snow isn’t letting up any and you’ll need a ride home I’m sure."

"Yes, thank you," Charles said.

"There is a service in town that gives elderly folks rides," the doctor went on. "I’ll have our people call them for you if you’d like. That way you can come in whenever you wish over the next couple of days to see your wife. I would imagine you might want to come back in the morning. We’d like her to rest by herself tonight."

"Yes, yes," Charles said. "That will all be fine."

"Very well, then," the doctor said as they reached the front desk, "our people will take care of all that for you, sir."

"Thank you," Charles said.

A young woman at the desk smiled patronizingly at him and the doctor hurried back to his work. Charles sighed.

* * *

Charles stood on the front porch knocking the snow off his boots before entering the house. He shook the moisture off the umbrellas, closed, and snapped their straps shut. Then he went inside. In the long hallway leading into the house, he paused and listened. It was so quiet and empty within that he thought for a moment he would cry.

He prayed to whatever power there was that he would precede Dora in death. He could see no way in which he could stand this terrible silence of nothing. He knew that without her, life would have neither purpose nor meaning.

Opening the hall closet, Charles prepared to put away the umbrellas. He knew that carrying those damnable things had been a bad idea – it was just plain bad luck. Unceremoniously, he deposited them in their tall metal storage cannister. He was glad to be rid of them. He wouldn’t use umbrellas in the snow again. Not as long as he lived.