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only for a few days, and so she was not sure she could make love with him at Mackinac Island, but by the time she had told him the whole long story, they were in his apartment on a couch in front of a gas fireplace and unwrapping each other and they made tender and languorous love and fell asleep in each other’s arms and from that perfect night came eleven years of pleasant marriage, except for the Christmas holidays, of which this one was shaping up (he thought) to be the worst.
    “Oh darling, I love you so much and I love our beautiful apartment and it is such a busy time of year, what with Hansel and Gretel at the Lyric and A Child’s Christmas In Wales and the Bach Christmas Oratorio and I just wonder if we couldn’t stay right here for Christmas. I could put on a muu-muu and make you a puu-puu platter with fresh pineapple and turn the heat up and play Hawaiian music and save on using all that aviation fuel that is so hard on the ozone layer and maybe invite some needy person such as your sister Elaine in Fort Wayne to come and share the bounty with us.”
    “Darling,” said James. “You and I have always had such wonderful times in Kuhikuhikapapa’u’maumau. And an overheated apartment in Chicago is no equivalent. And Elaine is a mess. Let’s not spend the holiday doing intervention therapy.”
    “We had beautiful times there,” she said. “I’ll remember them always. But this virus has affected me in strange ways and I feel a need to stay in the city and be with friends here. I don’t know anybody in Kuhikuhikapapa’u’maumau.”
    “We could bring your friends with us. The plane can carry eight.”
    “Oh darling—my friends have jobs. They can’t just pick up for a couple weeks and go to Hawaii. What’s wrong with Chicago, sweetie?”
    He thought, Maybe I need to tell her about the pump handle thing. What a huge thing it’s become in my life.
    On the other hand, she might say, “Why didn’t you tell me that a long time ago?
    “I will do anything if you’ll come to Kuhikuhikapapa’-u’maumau.”
    She smiled. “Anything?”
    “Anything. You name it.”
    “Will you have a baby with me?”
    Oh dear. The old subject that had come up so often in the past six years. The Mommy Moment.
    He did not know anybody with children who was as happy as he was and that was the plain truth. Children meant the death of romance. The end of freedom, the beginning of indentured servitude. The stink, the noise, the sheer immaturity of children. Mrs. Sparrow wanted a baby and Mr. Sparrow wanted a good life.
    He said, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe Kuhikuhikapapa’-u’maumau isn’t the greatest idea. We can do Christmas in Chicago if you like. Go to shows and stuff.”
    “Kuhikuhikapapa’u’maumau is paradise. Sometimes I dream that I’m sleeping there with you and the windows are open and the white curtains are rippling and I can hear the surf. And then I get out of bed and there’s a baby in a crib, a baby with dark hair like mine and ocean breezes blowing over her.”
    Let’s you and I spend Christmas out there. We can talk about children when we get there. Let’s pack a bag and call up the plane and go. It was a bad day the other day. So what? Everybody has a bad day. Forget it. We belong together. That’s what he wanted to say. We had some great Christmases out there. Remember? We’re good together.
    She was giving him her intense loving look. “It’s Christmas. I wish we had a child to share it with.”
    “I know you do.”
    “I woke up last night and started crying, just thinking about it.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “I’ll be okay.”
    “Of course you will. It’s just that time of month.”
    She shot him a sharp look. “It’s not about that at all. Believe me.”
    “So what should we tell all the employees waiting for us at Kuhikuhikapapa’u’maumau?”
    “The people at Kuhikuhikapapa’u’maumau would be overjoyed if we had a baby.”
     
    The Baby Problem came up the week before