Emma never got a chance to say good-bye to her husband. Hadn't spoken to him in eight months, the horse's ass. That was the last thing she actually said to him.

"You're a horse's ass, Teddy." After that it was all notes.

"I'll get us home. Quit nagging and knit."

Usually she smiled when he bleated k-n-n-n-i-t. Not that day. That day she'd been looking forward to seeing her niece, up from North Carolina for a rare visit. Instead Emma finished knitting a pair of socks, started on mittens.

When they finally returned home after six hours of driving, she called to apologize for missing dinner, and vowed not to speak to Teddy until he admitted he was wrong. He said since it was her family, she was the navigator and it was her fault.

On the second morning after the missed visit, Emma found a note in the refrigerator, stuck to the orange juice carton.

"Movie tonight?"

"The new DeNiro, and only if I drive." She wrote at the bottom, and left it on top of Teddy's denture box.

More notes followed, found in sock drawers, donut boxes, and coffee tins. Their daily routine didn't change, but Teddy ignored her sign language and she couldn't write fast enough to see the beginning of Oprah. Emma bought her own remote and they waged clicker wars. After a week they settled down, and in for a long one.

Their standoffs were legendary. The record was over who should wash a bright yellow Dansk pot which sat covered on a back burner for three years. The leftover ziti had been eaten by what may have been a miracle cure for jock itch had it been harvested in time. They offered friends money to wash it --no takers -- and finally ditched it when they moved. Or maybe they moved to be rid of it; Emma couldn't remember anymore.

Teddy gave Emma ear plugs for her birthday. She gave him a CD of Handel's "Messiah."

And then he died. Alone in the old Buick, stopped at a red light, signaling a right turn.

Emma bought a simple pine casket from the Baker Funeral Home. Teddy never was one for fancy and wouldn't have wanted her to spend extra for satin, mahogany and brass. She wanted a three day vigil, but the remainder of the insurance just covered one. The small room was gold and gaudy, and the air conditioning conked out in the late afternoon. The evening hours were hot and humid; few people stayed for long.

Mr. Baker came in to announce closing time, but Emma was alone by then, sitting in the first row. He quietly shut the door so she could have a few private minutes.

Emma leaned into the coffin and kissed her husband's cheek. She slipped a pen into his jacket pocket and a Post-It pad with her scrawled message under his hands.

"Did you find your way all right without me, Teddy?"