At 3:00pm, it was early for Roger Mooney to be loading his fence tools into the back of his truck. He had been out all day repairing a section along the east boundary. Post hole diggers. Wire stretchers. A bucket of staples. A couple of spools of barbed wire.

February could be a fickle month. One week ago, it was hot. His first real sweat of the year. Today he was wearing his insulated jacket. There was just no telling, one day to the next.

He ate breakfast early. The wood stove was warm. He was looking at his almanac, which he kept on the shelf next to his chair. Roger was a devout follower. He regularly consulted the weather forecasts and planting schedules. Most of the time, he found the almanac to be more accurate than the experts on TV.

He kept a stack of them on his shelf, going back 20 years or more. He was looking at one dated 1976, from five years earlier. He often made notes in the margins so he could keep up with his work. Notes about rainfall, temperatures, and the exact days that he plowed or planted his corn.

February 14th. Let’s see. Back in ’76, it was 80°. Today the high is supposed to be 42°.

“Confounded weather,” he muttered.

It wasn’t until Roger had set the last post before lunch that something came to him like a bolt of lightning. He had seen the date as plain as day in the almanac that morning and it just never occurred to him until now that it was Valentine’s Day.

At first, it made him mad that he had forgotten. He sat on the tailgate and chewed his sandwich like he was trying to kill it and eat it all at the same time.

“After 47 years, you’d think I’d remember.”

He spat the words out. He wondered if being an idiot was a forgivable offense. The preacher’s sermon this past Sunday was on forgiveness and the healing that comes with it. Roger was hoping his wife was listening.

When he went back to digging holes, he punished himself by not putting on his gloves. A man who’d forget Valentine’s Day didn’t deserve gloves. He deserved blisters. Then he cut his hand handling the wire.

“I might be an idiot, but I ain’t no fool.” The gloves went back on.

The best and worst thing about working alone is the inherent opportunity for a man to think. Roger was having unkind thoughts about himself. He had left the house without saying much. No goodbye darling, honey, or sweetie pie. No kiss. No card with a heart on it.

He hooked the wire stretcher on a brace post and pulled the last strand of the top wire tight. He walked down the line, a handmade cloth sack hanging over one shoulder, driving a staple behind the barb at each post as he passed by.

“I’ll stop work a little early,” he thought to himself. It was a 20-minute drive to the grocery store. “If I get cleaned up and go to town, maybe I can find a card and some flowers before supper.”

His tools loaded, Roger cranked the old Chevy and followed the two-track lane across the pasture and through the gate at the top of the hill.

He was worried that Kate would wonder about him being back at the house early. She might start asking questions.

“I’ll park behind the barn,” he thought, “wash up at the sink by the well, and just wear my work clothes into town.”

Even so, that meant he would also have to sneak by the house without being seen.

If need be, he could drive back out across the farm and use the back gate. He’d have to cross through the Habersham place, but if Dick asked him what he was up to, he’d say he was looking for one of his cows that got out.

It was a flimsy plan, but it might work.

Well, Roger got lucky. When he pulled up at the barn to unload his truck, he saw that Kate’s car was gone. It was a Friday.

He thought maybe she had gone to the beauty shop. Was it Fridays or Wednesdays? Roger couldn’t remember.

He left his boots by the back door, went in, got a quick shower, and headed for town.

It never occurred to Roger that he might meet Kate on the road. Himself headed into town at an odd time of day. Her, on her way home from the beauty shop.

When he got halfway through the curve past the bridge, he saw her car coming toward him. All he could think to do was to lean down like he’d dropped something on the floor.

If he hid, maybe she wouldn’t notice the only blue 67 Chevy truck still on the road in these parts.

At the grocery store, Roger felt awkward. He’d go there when Kate would ask him to pick up a few things. But he had no idea where to find the cards and flowers.

He asked a young girl with the red apron on where to find them.

“They’re on the aisle at the far end,” she said. “Did you forget it was Valentine’s Day?”

Roger thought it was none of her business and just kept walking.

When he stepped around the corner where the cards were, he saw two other men standing there. Work boots. John Deere caps. He knew them both.

“You fellers are cutting it close, ain’t ‘cha?” Roger thought he’d poke fun.

“You must be the kettle calling the pot black,” they said.

Roger sat in the truck and scribbled a few lines on the inside of the card. He felt bad. Kate deserved more than what he was offering. He loved her. He knew that. It’s just that these dang holidays sneak up on a fella sometimes.

On the way home he got to thinking about how he might explain himself. He didn’t want her to know he had forgotten. Maybe he could hide the card before she saw it.

He pulled up under the sprawling oak tree by the house. Evening was coming on. The sky was grey and the wind stiff.

He walked around to the back porch, like he was coming in from the field. Maybe she wouldn’t notice his clean clothes. The light was on in the kitchen. He could smell fish cooking on the stove.

He opened the back door. Without even turning around she asked him, “Where’d you go today?”

He was caught red handed. Right then and there he decided. He had never once lied to her and now was no time to start.

“I had to go to town to get you a card and some flowers.”

She laid down the spatula, turned and walked up to him and put her arms around his waist. It gave Roger hope that forgiveness was possible.

“What about you?” he said. “Where were you coming from? The beauty shop?”

“No silly. That’s on Wednesdays.”

She let go with one arm and reached into the kitchen drawer.

“I had to go get a card for you. I forgot.”

Forty-seven years, and she still has his heart.