April Fools

Marie flicked the knob on the coffee maker to the "on" setting with a careful, trembling index finger. The machine hummed like a tiny car engine and rattled on the countertop, going unnoticed by a silver-haired man whose was face hidden behind a newspaper. He sat at a round table off in the right corner of the kitchen, using a magnifying glass to rescue his eyes that squinted over the tiny font on the page.
"I swear the print gets smaller and smaller," Henry muttered to himself, bringing his nose to the paper.
Marie turned bacon over in a the small pan on the stove. The bacon lacked crisp as if untouched by heat, the ends of it laid lifelessly flat in the pan. She raised the pan off of the electric stove her son had gifted her for Christmas last year; she felt like the appliance resisted her on a daily basis, running smoothly sometimes and other times— not so much. Steam trailed slowly from the spout of the kettle on the burner in the upper right corner. On the burner on below that, scrambled eggs sat burning in another pan.
"Something burning?" Henry asked, struggling to read a line on the page.
The kettle whistled as bits of water erupted from the spout. The bacon had just begun to sizzle while the pan with the eggs engulfed the kitchen in a smokey haze that caused Henry to jump from his seat and rush to the stove.
"Goodness, dear." he cried, turning off all the stove tops. "Is everything alright?"
Marie was occupied with banging the side of the coffee maker. The hum that it previously rattled with had finally subsided and coffee droplets rained slowly into the decanter. She wiped her freckled brow with her forearm and relaxed against the counter. Her normally straight, wheat-colored hair had begun to frizz in the heat of the kitchen, exposing the many grey strands intermixed. Her blue cardigan was delicately dampened near her chest, with sweat that ran down her graceful goose-like neck to her bosom. She turned to the coffee maker and filled a mug that said "Best Grandpa" with coffee. She handed the cup to Henry.
"Jenna said that Zachary picked that cup for you." Marie said, smiling. "Do you remember when she bought the one that said 'World's Best Dad' for your birthday when she was six? And now look, your grandson thinks of you just the same. "
Henry stared at her, bewildered by her calmness. He took the coffee cup, thanking her while he brought it over to the table where his newspaper lay. The front page was stamped with bold letters that said, "Coronavirus Cases Rise in New York City."
Turning back to her, he pulled her into a hug. He kissed her forehead gently. After a moment, he held her at arms length.
"Sweetheart, whats going on in here?" he said, chuckling. "Are so you unhappy in this marriage after forty years, that you wanted to burn us and our home to the ground?"
Marie pulled his face down to hers, kissing him through his thick grey mustache. The coffee machine began to rattle again behind her, interrupting them. She turned around and flicked the knob off.
"Why don't you just use the Keurig coffee maker that Jenna got me for my birthday?" Henry asked.
"Because contrary to what our daughter thinks," Marie said, matter-of-factly. "Her father likes coffee better from this old one we bought in the 80's."
Henry smiled, walking over to the window above the sink and opening it. The smog that was floating in the kitchen slowly began to clear.
"Yes, honey. But with the new one, you wouldn't have to worry about socking it to get it to work. Plus, you could cook without worry while it brews."
"I was cooking without worry." she said, calmly.
"Yes, without worry as to whether or not both of us cook in flames. Plus, we've got this brand new stove—"
"THAT stove," Marie interrupted. "Is too complicated to use! I was trying to make the bacon so that you could have it with the eggs, but it simply would not cooperate."
Henry grinned, walking over to the stove.
"Sweetheart, it needs to be pre-heated. You forgot to do it under the one with the bacon."
"Well I thought they were all preheated, they all were on— and they were red!"
Henry took her hand and led her over to the table where he pulled out a chair for her. She sighed, looking over at the counter where Henry poured water from the kettle into her mug. He dropped a teabag into the water and added two teaspoons of sugar to it; he poured a bit of cream into it before setting it down in front of her. The mug had an older woman in an apron on it and said, "I love my Grandma's cookies." Marie brought her lips to the brim and sipped the tea.
"You know, Greyson loves my cookies." she said, putting the mug down. "I wonder if he knows that his father is going to blame for him hating his grandmother's pancakes, now that we've got that blasted stove."
"Andrew felt safer with us having an electric stove instead of a gas one," Henry said, sipping his coffee. "Especially since they don't live as close anymore."
Marie stirred the tea.
"I miss making him those pancakes." she said. "Andrew put him on the phone with me yesterday and do you know what he asked me?"
"Whats that?" Henry asked.
"He said, 'Grandma, can I come over for my birthday for pancakes?'"
Her voice trembled as though she would cry. He reached for her hand, caressing it with his thumb.
"He will," he said. "He'll be able to come over soon dear—"
"When?" Marie sobbed. "It's been a month already! We haven't seen our grandchildren or our children! This virus— I hate what it's done. I hate that it's separated us from everyone."
"I know," Henry said. "It will all pass soon, sweetheart."
"Will it?" she said, tears climbing down her cheeks. "Or will we pass before any of this ends—"
Henry dropped to the floor, kneeling by her lap. He took both of her hands and held them firmly. His grey eyes glistened, as if they were clouds thickening with rain.
"Marie Elizabeth Stamford," he said. "We are not going anywhere. We will be here to see our grandchildren grow. We will be able to see them make their own pancakes. We will see our children have more children—and maybe even them have children. This, too, shall pass my love. I promise."
Marie dried her eyes with a napkin and used another, to catch a tear clinging to the bottom of her husbands eyelash. She took a deep breath and helped Henry to his feet.
"I just worry," she said, hugging him. "I worry about your heart since that operation."
Henry kissed her head, squeezing her tightly against his chest.
"My heart is fine, honey. Especially after—"
His words were suddenly cut short as he struggled to catch his breath. His body began to buckle over as he gasped for air; Marie attempted to hold his body up, but was brought down to the floor with him. She sobbed as she turned him onto his back.
"H-Henry?!" she sobbed. "Henry, whats wrong?"
She took off her cardigan and rolled it up under his neck. She felt his forehead with the back of her hand and felt no fever. Henry had not been coughing, she thought to herself. They had been very careful with staying quarantined in the house. His breathing was slightly more controlled, but still not enough to ease her worry. Marie feared the worst. She had known the symptoms of coronavirus and, though, people were instructed to call before the visiting the doctors office— she did not want to waste any time. She sprang up to her feet and began fumbling for the car keys in Henry's Jacket pocket.
"Henry," she shouted over her shoulder, as she dug deep in the pockets. "I'm going to get you to the hospital, if I have to carry you the myself. You promised me! You promised me that we would make it together—"
There was a sudden silence. Henry's heavy breathing could not be heard anymore. The radio was the only sound that was on, coming from the living room. Marie heard a man on the station, warning people to have concern for the elderly and immune compromised. That was it, that was the last thing she heard before her ears seemed to deafen to everything around her. Her fingers caught the car keys from his jacket and she whirled around hoping to find her husband still breathing on the kitchen floor. He was not. He was not on the kitchen floor. He was standing with a big grin stretching across his face. Marie dropped the keys on the floor, her mouth wide open.
"April Fools," Henry said, chuckling.
Marie turned from him and buried her face in her hands. Henry rushed forward to her and wrapped his arms around her.
"It's not funny, Henry." she sobbed.
"I know,"
"I thought you were...I thought—"
"I know, sweetheart." he said, kissing her head. "I'm sorry. I just thought I'd make light of the situation."
Marie wiped her eyes and turned around to jab him in the chest. She walked into the kitchen, gazing at the mess that was left behind after her unsuccessful attempt at breakfast.
"Ouch," he said, rubbing his chest. "Do you actually want me go into cardiac arrest?"
Marie emptied the burnt eggs into the garbage can. Henry rushed forward to help her. He grabbed the pan with the uncooked bacon.
"Should we save this?"
"I don't know if it'd be any good," she said. "Come to think of it, that was the last of the bacon."
"Oh," Henry said. "Then I'll just run out and get more—"
"No," Marie said. "I don't need you going out there with all of this going on."
Henry put the pan down.
"Marie, I'm your husband." he said, firmly. "If there is something we need, I will take care of it."
Marie placed the burnt pan in the sink. She turned the water on and began to scrub it.
"Henry," she said, her back to him. "After what you put me through in the past twenty minutes, you'd be lucky if I let you use the bathroom without chaperoning you. You will do no such thing. I will write Benji a list and he will get what we need."
"Benji?" Henry protested. "The timid fella' who always counts his steps when he enters our home? Absolutely not—"
"He has offered," Marie interrupted. "He's a sweet boy who means well by us."
Henry knew that there was no point in arguing with her, he grunted and sat back down at the table. He opened the paper, squinting at the print again. Marie jotted down a list of items on a piece of paper; she snatched a post-it that was on the refrigerator with Benji's cell phone number on it. Much like her distaste for the electric stove, she despised using her cell phone; she picked up the home telephone and began to dial Benji's number. As the phone rang, she glanced at Henry whose forehead creased with stress; he looked as though she had put him in time-out. She smiled, thinking of his words: how she would see her family again, how they would make it through the pandemic and how it all would pass. The ringing was cut short when a panicked voice answered.
"Mrs. Stamford!" the voice shouted. "Is everything alright?! I'll come over right now!"
Henry's eyes widened, as Benji was loud enough to be heard across the room.
"Benjamin dear, calm down." Marie said. "All is well, I assure you."
"Oh," Benjamin said, breathing heavily. "I was already out the door, on my way to you."
"It's not urgent, dear." she said. "I just had a list of items that I needed from the grocery store. I didn't want to bother you if you were busy—"
"I'll be there in a jiffy," Benjamin said. "I just have to find my gloves and my hand sanitizer."
"Alright dear," Marie said. "Thank you so much, I'll leave the list and money underneath the flower pot on the porch. You remember which flower pot, right dear?"
"Yes," Benjamin said. "The one on the right, with the flowers that always make me sneeze."
"Precisely." she said. "Thank you, dear."
Marie hung up the phone and turned around to Henry who was peering over the newspaper at her.
"What is it now?" she asked, her hands on her hips.
"I can still go if you want." he said, smugly.
Marie walked over to him and smoothed his hair across his head.
"Okay," she said. "I'll call Benji and tell him."
"Really?" he said, standing up. "I'll get my coat—"
"Absolutely not," Marie said, shoving him back into the chair.
"But you just said—"
"I know," she snapped, filling his mug with more coffee. "April Fools."