She simply asked,

“Want to watch a western?”

They watched two.

I booked the 8:30 showing for opening weekend.

Two reserved seats.

Row F.

Exactly in the middle.

I even bought Owen a Spider-Man shirt as a joke.

He proudly wore it.

That Friday evening, Frank was asleep in his recliner when we left.

Mrs. Pham sat nearby knitting.

“Go,” she told us. “Enjoy yourselves. I’ll call if I need anything.”

Owen lingered near the door.

“What if he wakes up confused?”

“She knows what to do.”

I took his hand.

“Two hours, Owen. Tonight you don’t have to be a caregiver. You get to be a man going to a movie with his wife.”

He smiled.

“Just a guy at a movie.”

“Exactly.”

The theater was packed.

Children wore superhero costumes.

Teenagers crowded the concession stand.

The lobby smelled like butter, candy, and that strange carpet scent every movie theater seems to have.

Owen breathed deeply.

“I missed this smell.”

“It smells terrible.”

“It smells like freedom.”

We bought popcorn and sodas.

Owen carried the bucket like a trophy.

When we reached our seats, he leaned back in the recliner and sighed.

“This is perfect.”

I rested my head against his shoulder.

He wrapped an arm around me.

Then he whispered,

“Thank you.”

“You can thank me after the movie.”

“No. Thank you for getting us here.”

The lights dimmed.

Then a family sat directly behind us.

A father.

A mother.

And their son, Ethan, who looked about nine.

The father was talking loudly on his phone.

The mother was texting.

Ethan wore a Spider-Man shirt almost identical to Owen’s and carried an enormous bucket of popcorn.

He sat directly behind me.

Before the previews ended, something pushed against the back of my seat.

Then again.

And again.