Grammy took off her glasses, breathed deeply on the lenses, and cleaned them in the folds of her apron.

She returned the glasses to her face and gazed longingly at the road.

And I left her alone with her secret.

Now on the morning of my kiss, at a farmhouse like my childhood home, the door opened and I turned from the rocking chair and saw an average, perfectly lovely woman. She was wearing a white peasant dress. Could it be? Was this her? The one I'd been searching for?

The woman said, "Hello. Where's your shirt?"

"I'm sorry. My truck broke down in the corn, and—"

"The corn stole your shirt?"

"Well, um, no. I guess I never put one on this morning. You see—"

"You're wounded," she said, staring at my chest.

"Yes. A long time ago."

The woman stood expectantly, waiting for me to explain how I got a scar over my heart in the shape of a cross. I just stood there, playing dumb, waiting for her to change the subject.

"Sorry to stare," she said. "I've never seen a scar like that."

"That's okay. May I please borrow your phone?"

The woman smirked warmly and handed me her cell phone. "Here. Call your therapist while I go find some flannel to cover you up."

"Thanks."

I sat in the rocking chair, leaned forward and back, took a deep breath, and dialed the gas station. "Grease, I need your help."

"Danny," he said, "where the heck are you? At the post office?"

"Listen," I said, rocking more quickly, "I'm out in the country. My pickup is stuck in a cornfield about a mile north of Saint Isadora’s."

"Okay," Grease said, yawning, "here I come. You're lucky I'm not busy today."

"Thanks, Grease. I owe you."

"That's right. You never paid for your last tank of gas. What's with that? I thought mailmen were rich from stealing people's birthday cards."

"Shut up, Grease."

The woman returned with a man's shirt draped over her arm.

"My ex-fiancé, Ethan, never liked flannel. Or work boots. Or having to kill things. You should have seen Ethan the first time I butchered a chicken. He got the heaves and started flapping his arms. And he started clucking. Clucking! How crazy is that? Anyway, I'm Melissa."

I arose from the rocking chair. "I'm Danny."

"You look familiar," she said. "I've seen you somewhere. You were fully
clothed."

"Maybe you saw me delivering the mail in town."

"No," she said, tapping her fingers against her thigh. "But I have seen you before. I'm positive."

"Well," I said, "thanks for letting me use your phone. And thanks for offering the flannel. I'm a big fan of flannel."

Melissa gave me the shirt and I gave her the cell phone. Our fingers lingered for an electric moment as we made the exchange, and I thought: hmm, could she be the one who kissed me?

Melissa was tall and strong. Her hair was short and dark, and she spoke with a half-laughing voice. "This shirt was too big for Ethan. He had such narrow shoulders, and his arms were different lengths. And his poor head. It was asymmetrical! Our children would have been freaks. This farm would have become a circus."