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Clara had been laughing for two minutes straight now. "You should see your face, Emmett Darling."

"I fail to see what's so amusing about this." Emmett was still reeling from what he had just witnessed and looked bewildered at his wife of almost twenty years.

"Really? Is it really that surprising to you that absent me you and Marty could develop a more intimate relationship?" Clara asked.

"Surprising is putting it rather mildly," Emmett shook his head. "Marty is a good friend, my best friend even but this ..." Emmett made a helpless gesture, trying to express the degree of his disbelief.

"You're telling me you never even considered ..." Clara eyed him supiciously.

"What the hell, no!" This was totally ridiculous, he thought.

"Not even in 1955?" she teased.


"In 1938?" 

"Seriously? I'm almost fifty years older than him!" Emmett stressed.

"And I'm almost seventy years older than you, so?" Clara pointed out.

"That's totally different!" Emmett sputtered.

"Why? Because I don't look seventy years older than you?" Clara asked. "I hate to tell you, but having cheated time and time again, you don't look so bad for almost eighty-five years old either." Suddenly something seemed to occure to her. "God. Verne is going to love this."

"You are not telling our sons about this!" Emmett protested loudly. "And why would Verne even ... Oh." The ballet lessons could have probably been a hint, he thought.

"Yes," she gave him a sympathetic smile, "you've got a brilliant mind, my love, but sometimes you are a little bit slow on the uptake," and kissed him on the nose.