They argued less and less with each passing year. For some people, it was a sign of maturity, of coming into their own as calm, rational adults. Kate worried that her illness was bleeding them of that sometimes wild, reckless fervor. And Lord knew, passion of any kind had been in short supply the past few years.

“Look, there he is,” Kate said, leaning forward and pointing at the loon in the middle of the lake.

“Wonder where his mate is.”

“Can’t be far.”

Another warble, and up popped the loon’s mate from under the water. Seconds later, they both dove, searching for dinner.

“You know,” Andrew said, “we’re turning into that old couple from On Golden Pond. Should I be alarmed?”

“Only if you don’t wanna suck some face.”

He kissed her softly, the sharp bite of whisky deliciously rolling around her tongue. When they’d met, Kate had been the one to drink Andrew and all their friends under the table.

Ever since she’d been put on the cocktail of meds, she’d had to give up drinking altogether. A good, stiff drink was one of many things she missed.

Kissing Andrew now reminded her just how much.

What I wouldn’t give for a nice cocktail and a roll in the hay. Scratch that, a few cocktails and a good old-fashioned fucking.

A sharp pain in her hip from leaning to kiss Andrew forced her to break away.

“You kiss way better than Henry Fonda,” she said.

Andrew sat back and took a sip of whisky, his face puckering for a moment. “You’re good, but that Kate Hepburn, she was a hellcat. It’s why I married you. She got me addicted to Kates.”

She punched his arm, hurting her fingers in the process. “You wish Katharine Hepburn gave you the time of day. Even when she was in On Golden Pond.”

“Hell yeah. She’d be my sugar momma and we’d be rich. This would be our permanent home, not just a summer escape.”

Kate was about to punch him again when something snapped in the woods. It sounded like someone taking a dry branch and cracking it over their knee.

It was loud, and it was close.

Andrew jumped up, spilling his drink on the crotch of his shorts.

“Whoa,” Kate said, giggling at his soaked crotch. “You’re too drunk to be wound so tight.”

He ignored her, going to the railing and looking around.

“Hey, I was only kidding,” she said.

What had him so excited? It was probably just a branch falling. They were surrounded by trees, and not all of them were healthy.

Andrew shushed her, which raised her dander just a bit. Her mother had been a world-champion shusher. Nothing got under Kate’s skin quicker than a shush.

After a few moments, he said, “You hear anything?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes, my husband freaking out over a tree limb.”