Moon River, Wider Than A Mile

Sam had lied about eating the last chocolate chip cookie. He had lied about being almost home when he was still twenty minutes away. Once, during a particularly desperate game of hide-and-seek with their nieces, he had claimed to be in the garage while actually crouching behind a stack of winter coats.

Tonight, however, was different.

Tonight, he was lying for romance.

“Where are we going?” Jodie asked from the passenger seat.

“Somewhere.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It is technically an answer.”

“It is technically an evasive maneuver.”

Sam smiled and kept driving through Seabrook’s quiet downtown. Most storefronts were dark. The Viking News building had long since emptied, and the streetlights cast warm pools over the pavement.

Jodie folded her arms. “You’ve been acting suspicious all day.”

“Suspicious?”

“You disappeared during lunch.”

“I had an appointment.”

“With whom?”

“A person.”

“What person?”

“A very trustworthy person.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Sam.”

“Jodie.”

“You are terrible at secrets.”

“I am actually excellent at secrets.”

“You once tried to hide my birthday present in the freezer.”

“That was because you never look in the freezer.”

“I was looking for ice cream.”

“Exactly. It worked.”

She laughed despite herself.

That was what Sam had been hoping for.

Their anniversary had begun with coffee in bed, continued with flowers on Jodie's desk, and included dinner reservations she had correctly guessed by noon. But Sam had one final surprise, and he had been guarding it for weeks.

He turned onto a side street and pulled up outside Vincents, the old-fashioned cinema that had become one of Seabrook’s favorite landmarks.

Jodie stared through the windshield.

“Why are we here?”

Sam turned off the engine.

“Because,” he said, “I have a favor to ask.”

The marquee was dark. The doors were locked. No cars occupied the little parking lot.

Jodie looked at him.

“Sam.”

He got out.

“Come on.”

“You brought me to an abandoned movie theater?”

“Technically, it's not abandoned.”

She followed him to the entrance.

Before Sam could knock, the door opened.

A man in a cardigan stood there, smiling.

“Happy anniversary.”

Jodie’s mouth fell open.

“Vincent?”

“Come in,” the owner said. “Your husband has been planning this for weeks.”

Jodie looked at Sam.

“You called in a favor?”

Sam shrugged.

“Vincent is a friend.”

“A friend who owns a cinema.”

“A very useful friend.”

Vincent laughed and waved them inside.

The lobby looked completely different after hours. Without the usual crowds, ticket stubs, and chatter, the cinema seemed almost enchanted. The brass fixtures gleamed. The carpet swallowed their footsteps. The concession stand was dark except for a small lamp Vincent had left glowing.

Then Jodie noticed the poster display.

Her face changed.

Audrey Hepburn.

Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Roman Holiday.

Sabrina.

Funny Face.

Charade.

My Fair Lady.

Wait Until Dark.

Jodie slowly turned toward Sam.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You did not.”

“I did.”

“An Audrey Hepburn marathon?”

“An Audrey Hepburn marathon.”

She stared at him for several seconds.

Then she threw her arms around him.

“You remembered.”

“Of course I remembered.”

She squeezed him.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Vincent cleared his throat theatrically.

“I hate to interrupt, but I have several hundred dollars’ worth of projector equipment depending on me.”

Jodie laughed.

“Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. Come on. I’ll show you the theater.”

He led them through the auditorium.

The screen was enormous in the darkness.

A few small table lamps had been placed along the aisle, giving the room a soft golden glow. Two seats in the center had been marked with little cards.

MR. & MRS. IHLE.

Jodie stopped.

“Oh, my gosh.”

Sam grinned.

“Best seats in the house.”

Vincent gestured toward a table at the rear.

“I also took the liberty of arranging refreshments.”

There were popcorn buckets, candy, bottled water, coffee, sparkling cider, sandwiches, and a plate of tiny pastries.

Jodie looked delighted.

“You thought of everything.”

“I had help.”

Vincent nodded solemnly.

“His instructions were approximately four pages long.”

“Five,” Sam corrected.

“Five.”

Jodie slipped her hand into Sam’s.

“This is ridiculous.”

“In a good way?”

“In the best possible way.”

Vincent checked his watch.

“I’ll start the first film, then I’m heading home. If you need anything, call me. The emergency number is taped to the projector booth.”

“Emergency number?” Jodie asked.

Vincent looked at Sam.

“He worries.”

“I am a journalist,” Sam said. “Risk assessment is my profession.”

“Your profession is asking uncomfortable questions.”

“That too.”

Vincent smiled and headed upstairs.

The lights dimmed.

The first notes of the opening music filled the theater.

Jodie leaned against Sam.

“Roman Holiday?”

“I thought we should begin with the princess.”

“You know me so well.”

“I married you.”

“That helps.”

They watched Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn ride through Rome, and within minutes Jodie was completely absorbed.

Sam wasn't.

He watched her.

The changing light from the screen crossed her face. She smiled at the funny moments, sighed at the romantic ones, and whispered observations about costumes, dialogue, and Audrey's expressions.

At one point she caught him staring.

“You aren't watching the movie.”

“I am.”

“You're watching me watch the movie.”

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

“Because you're beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You're unbearably sentimental tonight.”

“It's our anniversary. I'm allowed.”

“Only tonight?”

“Every night.”

She kissed his cheek.

The movie ended.

The lights rose slightly.

Jodie stretched and reached for popcorn.

“That was perfect.”

“Ready for number two?”

“Absolutely.”

Sabrina appeared next.

Then Funny Face.

They debated which Audrey character Jodie would most want to be.

“Jo Stockton,” Jodie declared.

“Why?”

“Paris.”

“Fair.”

“And the clothes.”

“Also fair.”

“And Fred Astaire.”

Sam considered this.

“I have concerns.”

“You're jealous of Fred Astaire?”

“I am maintaining reasonable marital vigilance.”

She laughed so loudly that Vincent, somewhere upstairs, called down, “Everything all right?”

“Yes!” Jodie shouted.

Sam whispered, “He can hear everything.”

“I know.”

The marathon continued.

By the time Charade began, the popcorn was nearly gone.

By My Fair Lady, Jodie had kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet beneath her.

Sam had supplied blankets from a storage closet.

The cinema had become their private little world.

No phones rang.

No newsroom deadlines waited.

No editors needed copy.

No mayor needed a quote.

No crime story demanded Sam's attention.

There were just two people in a dark theater, watching movies.

During My Fair Lady, Jodie rested her head on his shoulder.

“Do you remember our first date?”

Sam smiled.

“Of course.”

“You were so nervous.”

“I was not.”

“You spilled coffee.”

“That proves nothing.”

“You apologized to the coffee.”

“It was hot.”

“You apologized to the coffee.”

Sam laughed.

“All right. Maybe I was nervous.”

“You were adorable.”

“I was terrified.”

“Of me?”

“Of getting it wrong.”

She lifted her head.

“What?”

“I knew I liked you. A lot. And I didn't want to ruin it.”

Jodie's expression softened.

“You didn't.”

“Good.”

“You still don't.”

He kissed her forehead.

The movie continued.

Afterward, they sat quietly for a while.

Jodie looked at the blank screen.

“Five years.”

“Five years.”

“It doesn't feel like five.”

“Good or bad?”

“Good.”

She smiled.

“Very good.”

Sam reached into his jacket.

Jodie immediately noticed.

“What is that?”

“Nothing.”

“Sam.”

He pulled out a small envelope.

Jodie immediately noticed.

“What is that?”

“Nothing.”

“Sam.”

He pulled out a small envelope.

“It's not a ring.”

“I wasn't thinking ring.”

“You were absolutely thinking ring.”

“I was thinking maybe chocolate.”

“Also reasonable.”

He handed it to her.

Inside was a photograph.

It was an old picture of them from early in their relationship, standing outside the Viking News building, both laughing at something just outside the frame.

On the back, Sam had written a sentence.

Jodie read it silently.

She blinked.

Then she looked at him.

“You kept this?”

“Of course.”

She read the sentence again.

“You wrote this five years ago?”

“On the back.”

“What does it say?”

Sam smiled.

“You can read.”

“Say it.”

He took her hand.

“It says, ‘I hope I get to spend the rest of my life making you laugh.’”

Jodie stared at him.

“You idiot.”

“That's not the response I expected.”

She hugged him fiercely.

“That's exactly the response you should have expected.”

He held her.

For a while, neither spoke.

Then Jodie whispered, “You succeeded.”

“What?”

“You made me laugh.”

Sam smiled.

“I'll keep working on it.”

The projector clicked.

The next film began.

Wait Until Dark.

Jodie immediately sat upright.

“Oh, absolutely not.”

Sam laughed.

“You said you wanted the marathon.”

“I wanted Audrey. I did not necessarily want terrifying Audrey.”

“You love suspense.”

“I love suspense when I am allowed to sleep afterward.”

He handed her the blanket.

“I'm here.”

She pulled it around herself.

“If something jumps out, I'm blaming you.”

“Fair.”

They watched.

Halfway through, Jodie grabbed his arm.

Sam didn't tease her.

Instead, he squeezed her hand.

The movie ended well after midnight.

The auditorium was silent.

The screen faded to black.

Jodie sighed.

“That was amazing.”

Sam looked at the clock.

“It's technically tomorrow.”

“Then happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary.”

She leaned over and kissed him.

Slowly, softly, without an audience.

Except, technically, for Audrey Hepburn.

Jodie pulled back.

“Thank you.”

“For the movies?”

“For everything.”

Sam smiled.

“You're welcome.”

A light came on in the aisle.

Vincent stood at the auditorium entrance holding two cups of coffee.

“I figured you'd need these.”

Jodie laughed.

“Do you always provide coffee at one in the morning?”

“Only for friends.”

Sam stood.

“Thank you, Vincent.”

“Anytime.”

Vincent looked toward the screen.

“Everything go well?”

Jodie nodded.

“Perfectly.”

Vincent smiled.

“Then my work here is done.”

He disappeared again.

Sam and Jodie sat together, drinking coffee in the empty theater.

Jodie looked at the Audrey posters visible through the lobby doors.

“You know what I love most?”

“What?”

“That you remembered.”

Sam frowned slightly.

“Remembered what?”

“That Audrey Hepburn is my favorite.”

“I remember everything about you.”

She smiled.

“That sounds like a dangerous promise for a journalist.”

“I can handle it.”

She rested her head on his shoulder.

The cinema was quiet.

Outside, Seabrook slept.

Inside, the projector hummed softly, cooling after hours of work.

Sam looked at his wife.

Five years.

Five years of deadlines, bad weather, breaking news, family dinners, arguments over whose turn it was to buy groceries, late nights, early mornings, laughter, tears, adventures, and ordinary Tuesdays.

He wouldn't trade any of it.

Jodie closed her eyes.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Next year?”

“Yes?”

“Can we do another marathon?”

He smiled.

“Absolutely.”

“What director?”

He pretended to consider it.

“Cary Grant?”

She opened one eye.

“That's not a director.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

He kissed her temple.

“Next year is your choice.”

“Deal.”

They sat there a little longer.

Eventually, Vincent returned with the keys.

“I really hate to be the villain,” he said, “but the cinema has to reopen at nine.”

Jodie groaned.

Sam laughed.

“Fair enough.”

They gathered their things.

Before leaving, Jodie turned toward the empty auditorium.

“Goodnight, Audrey.”

Sam looked at her.

“You're saying goodnight to a movie theater.”

“It's been a very good date.”

“Fair.”

They stepped outside.

The night air was cool.

Sam locked the car.

Jodie slipped her arm through his.

As they walked across the parking lot, she looked up at him.

“You know something?”

“What?”

“This may be the most romantic thing you've ever done.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He smiled.

“Then I've got five more years to top it.”

Jodie squeezed his arm.

“You don't have to.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why?”

“Because I married you.”

She laughed.

And beneath the darkened marquee, with the last glow of the cinema behind them, Sam kissed his wife and silently made himself the same promise he had written five years earlier.

He would keep making her laugh.

He would keep surprising her.

He would keep showing up.

And whenever life became too loud, too busy, or too difficult, he would find some little way to make the world feel magical again.

Sometimes that meant flowers.

Sometimes it meant coffee.

Sometimes it meant five pages of instructions to a friend who owned a movie theater.

And sometimes, if they were lucky, it meant Audrey Hepburn on a giant screen after midnight, popcorn between them, and the person they loved most sitting close enough to hold their hand.

For Sam Ihle, there could hardly be a better anniversary.

For Jodie, there was only one possible verdict.

Perfect.