On a quiet Sunday evening, Bert and Edna swayed gently on their porch swing, tea cups in hand, watching squirrels wrestle over a lone Cheeto. Married for fifty-five years, they were the picture of enduring love—and mischief.
Edna broke the calm. “Bert, let’s talk bucket lists.”
Bert squinted. “Buckets? I’m 87. The last thing on my list is remembering where I put my pants tomorrow.”
Edna laughed. “No, silly. I mean—things we’ve always wanted to do before we leave this world.”
Bert rubbed his chin. “Well…skydiving has been a dream.”
Edna nearly choked on her tea. “Skydiving? Bert, you fainted tying your shoes last week!”
“I’ll land in the neighbor’s garden if I fall,” he shrugged. “Always wanted to haunt him anyway.”
Edna grinned. “Fine. You skydive. I’ll do mine too. But what’s yours?”
Her eyes twinkled like the time she “accidentally” tossed Bert’s bowling trophy out the car window in ’65.
“I’ve always wanted to confess something,” she whispered.
Bert gulped. “Confess what?”
Continue reading on next page…