At precisely 11:59 Mike pulled into the driveway of Harriet and Jack’s house. It was a nice house, both larger and newer than his, nestled in a cul-de-sac several blocks away from the freeway exit. Harriet had planted hundreds of perennials around her home and though they were not blossoming at that time, they were thriving thanks to the large blue UV umbrella that covered the entire neighborhood. Harriet was waiting as they walked up the path to the front door. Mike grabbed one of his signs from the trunk while Patience retrieved the Jell-o mold.

“Hi Daddy. Hi Patience.”

“Hi, Harriet,” said Patience. “Thank you for having us over.”

“Of course.” Harriet and her robot step-mother exchanged kisses on the cheek.

“Hi Honey,” said Mike. “You look gigantic.”

“Thanks a lot, Dad.” Harriet ran a hand over her protruding baby bump. “I am gigantic.”

“Where’s Jack?”

“He’s in the garage shampooing the car interior,” she answered but looked quizzically at the sign he held in his hand.

“Oh, I brought you a present for your yard.” He showed it to her and then pressed it into the earth in the small garden beside Harriet’s door.

Mike’s daughter guided them into the house and closed the door.

“So why’s he shampooing the car seats now?” asked Mike as he plopped onto the couch.

“It’s quite a story,” answered Harriet. “Renee Holmes—she lives down the street, well she asked Jack to drive her to the pharmacy. She has two kids and they had to go with her because she didn’t have a baby sitter. Anyway, she got her prescription, but on the way back she started coughing so much that she threw up right in the back seat. Well, her oldest—that’s Mikey—he got a whiff of the smell and threw up too. Then Mikey’s little sister Marie vomited right in Jack’s lap and that set him off. So the entire car was practically filled with vomit and I told Jack that there was no way I could ride to my obstetrician’s appointment this week with the car smelling like that.”

“It’s just like that movie Stand By Me,” said Mike with a smile.

“I… oh, I don’t think I’ve seen it.”

“It was based on a story by Stephen King,” said Patience. “Originally published in King’s 1982 collection Different Seasons, it tells the story of three adolescents who set out on a journey to see the body of a dead boy.”

“Um, Okay,” said Harriet, putting a protective hand on her belly. “Patience, why don’t we set the table? Daddy, why don’t you go out to the garage and talk to Jack? Maybe you could even help him.”

The next morning after breakfast, Mike was just thinking about making a run to the store when the doorbell rang. Opening the front door he found two teen-aged boys. He immediately recognized their faces as those of former students though only one of their names swam to the surface of his brain.

“Hey guys.”

“Mr. Smith, I thought you lived here.”

“I do. I have since before either of you were born. Come on in.”

He led them inside and gestured for them to have a seat in the living room. The teen whose name he remembered as Curtis was a tall thin African-American with close-buzzed hair. His friend was just as tall, though not quite so thin, with long blond hair and a very red face. Both were obviously hot.

“Patience, would you bring these young men something cool to drink please?” he called, and then turned back to them. “What would you like?”

“Just water,” said Curtis.

“Yeah,” said the other one.

Both stared at Patience when she brought them their drinks. Curtis had to elbow his friend to remind him to take the glass. It wasn’t that she was dressed provocatively, in a shorts combo and a pair of pump sandals, but it was just impossible it seemed for her not to be attractive. They both kept staring at the spot where she exited the room long after she was gone.

“So what can I do for you guys today?” asked Mike.

“Francis is doing a paper for his junior History class and he has to have an interview as one of his references. So I told him to come and ask you.”

“It’s August.”

“We’re taking summer school so we can get a credit ahead. He’s taking History and I’ve got Pre-Calc.”

Mike looked and noticed for the first time that the other boy, Francis, had a small wriTee tucked under his arm.

“Francis,” he said, more to reinforce the name in his memory than to address him. “What is your paper on?”

“The 1950s. Do you remember what it was like?”

“Well first of all boys, I was born in 1982. In fact, my father wasn’t born until 1963.”

“Oh. Well, do you know anything about the fifties?”

“I’m a teacher. I know everything about the fifties. I don’t worry about the bomb, I’d rather be dead than red, and I like Ike.”

“Who’s Ike?” wondered Francis.

“Eisenhower. Dwight D. Eisenhower. That was his nickname—Ike.”

“How do you get Ike out of Eisenhower? There’s no K in it.”

“I don’t know. That’s just what they called him.”

“They should have called him Ice,” offered Curtis, “like Ice-enhower, or Ice-double H.”

“Yeah,” agreed Francis. “That’s edge. Wait a second. I thought he was that World War II guy. That was the forties, not the fifties.”

“He was a general during World War II and he was President during the fifties.”

“See. I told you he knows it,” said Curtis to his friend. “Turn on your Dictathing.”

Curtis unfolded his wriTee on the coffee table and with a swipe of his finger the screen came to life.

“So what was life like in the fifties?”

PS: The His Robot Wife Facebook page is now online.  If you enjoy the book, type in the title in your profile under Arts and Entertainment.