Chapter 2

The morning sun had barely crested the horizon when Jim Patton laced up his sneakers and stepped out onto the porch, breathing in the crisp dawn air. For the first time in years, his knees didn’t creak. His back didn’t protest. He felt… light.

He stretched, rolling his shoulders, and took off down the sidewalk at a pace that would’ve left the old Jim wheezing after half a block. Now, he barely broke a sweat.
Martha Whitmore, their nosy neighbor, nearly dropped her watering can as he jogged past.

“Jim? Is that you?” she called, squinting through her bifocals.

Jim slowed just enough to flash her a grin. “Mornin’, Martha! Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
She gaped. He hadn’t called it a beautiful day since… well, ever.

Inside the Patton house, Linda hummed softly as she knitted. The needles clicked in rhythm, the yarn, soft pastel blue, coiling into something small, something for a child. She wasn’t sure why she’d picked that color. It just felt… right.

She’d spent the last week deep-cleaning the house, rearranging furniture, even buying new throw pillows. Jim had joked that she was nesting, and she’d laughed—but then she’d caught herself standing in the baby aisle at Target, staring at stuffed animals for no reason.

A knock at the door startled her. “Linda? You in there?” Martha’s voice carried through the screen.

Linda set down her knitting. “Come on in, Martha!”

Martha pushed inside, her sharp eyes scanning the living room—the freshly vacuumed carpet, the organized shelves, the half-finished tiny sweater on the coffee table.
“You’ve been busy,” Martha said, raising an eyebrow. Their house hadn’t changed in years.

Linda smiled. “Just feeling inspired.”

Martha’s gaze lingered on the knitting. “That’s awfully small for Jim.”

Linda’s fingers stilled. “Oh, it’s just… practice. I’ll donate it or give it to the Henderson’s for their little boy,”

Martha wasn’t buying it. She set the sweater down and crossed her arms. “Linda Patton, I’ve known you for years. You haven’t knitted since… well I’ve never seen you knit. And Jim? Jim is out there running like he’s training for a marathon. What in the world is going on with you two?”

Linda hesitated. She hadn’t even realized how strange it must look, Jim, who used to groan getting out of his recliner, now bounding around like a man half his age. And her, suddenly obsessed with tidiness, with soft things, with,
No. That’s ridiculous

She forced a laugh. “We’ve just been… feeling good, I guess. Maybe it’s the weather.”
Martha’s lips pursed. “The weather doesn’t un-stiffen joints or make women suddenly reorganize the house.”

Linda’s cheeks warmed. “Well, whatever it is, we’re not complaining.”
Martha’s eyes narrowed. “You taking some kind of miracle drug?”

Linda stiffened. “Of course not!”

“Vitamins? Experimental treatment?”

"Martha, we're just feeling refreshed," Linda said, forcing a smile as she carefully folded the tiny sweater. The yarn between her fingers felt instinctively comforting, like she'd done this a thousand times before. "Jim started walking more, I've been gardening, it's amazing what a little movement can do."

Martha's penciled eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. She leaned in, lowering her voice like they were sharing secrets at church. "Linda Patton, a week ago Jim struggled to walk to the park, now he’s out jogging.” Her eyes flicked to Linda's smooth hands. "And since when do your arthritis knobs not look like walnuts?"

Linda instinctively tucked her hands under the knitting basket. The joints had been painless for days now. "Maybe we caught a second wind," she said lightly. Too lightly.

"Hmph." Martha's gaze landed on the end table where a parenting magazine lay half-hidden under a crossword book. Linda didn't remember buying it. Had it come in the mail? The cover showed a beaming mother cradling an infant, the headline screaming "Your Best Nursing Bras!"

A flush crept up Linda's neck as Martha's fingernails, frosted pink and filed sharp, tapped the coffee table. "You know," Martha said slowly, "the Wilsons down the street got one of those illegal youth hormone cocktails from Cuba. Woke up in the hospital missing a kidney."

"For heaven's sake!" Linda's laugh came out shriller than intended. "We're not,"
The teakettle whistled from the kitchen, saving her. Linda practically leapt up, knocking her knitting to the floor. The ball of blue yarn unraveled across the carpet like a retreating tide.

Martha stooped to help gather it, her rhinestone glasses glinting. "This looks just like the layette set my niece knitted for her baby shower," she murmured. When Linda didn't respond, Martha added, "Funny how life works. All those years teaching other people's children... never got to have your own, did you?"

Linda’s eye’s narrowed at her friend's biting comment, “No… and by the way how is your daughter doing, she still on the other side of the country in Seattle?” Linda asked.

Linda's fingers paused on the knitting needles as Martha leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Linda Patton, tell me the truth now." Her knobby fingers gripped the armrest. "Have you found some... fountain of youth out there?

The laugh that bubbled up from Linda's chest felt lighter than it had in years. "Oh Martha, if I'd found the secret to youth, I'd have bottled it and sold it at the church bazaar by now." She set aside the tiny blue sleeve she'd been working on. "We're just feeling good, is all. Sleeping better, eating right,"

The front door burst open before she could finish. Jim stood in the doorway, cheeks flushed pink, his white hair damp with sweat but his eyes bright. In his hand, a perfect yellow daffodil trembled with his excited breathing. "Thought you might like this, Lin," he said, presenting it with a boyish flourish that made Linda's heart skip.

Martha's eyes narrowed at the flower. "That's from my garden bed by the mailbox, Jim Patton!"
Jim blinked, then grinned unrepentantly. "Well Martha, beauty ought to be shared, don't you think?" He winked as he handed it to Linda, his fingers surprisingly steady for a man who'd needed both hands to lift his coffee mug just weeks ago. Linda brought the bloom to her nose, inhaling the sweet scent. When she looked up, Martha was studying them both with new intensity.

"You're different," Martha murmured, more to herself than to them. "Not just healthier. You move like... like..."

"Like we've got springs in our shoes?" Jim laughed, bouncing on the balls of his feet as if to demonstrate. "Tell you what, Martha, come by tomorrow morning. I'll show you the stretch routine I've been doing. Might put some pep in your step too." Martha opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her gaze drifted from Jim's energetic stance to Linda's radiant complexion, then to the half-knitted baby garment on the coffee table.

She was well into to dealing with the indignities of old age, they were getting younger, whatever they were doing she had to find out. "Well," she said at last, pushing herself up from the chair with considerably more effort than either Patton required these days, "I suppose some people just age better than others." The words held no malice, only wonder. "You two enjoy your... whatever this is. Oh and stay out of my daffodils Jim!” Martha said as she shut the door behind her.

“She’s definitely on to something, do you think she’ll mind her own business?” Jim asked with a chuckle.

Linda twirled the daffodil between her fingers, watching the petals catch the light. "Not for a second," she said, and found she didn't much care. Jim mopped his forehead with his sleeve. Then his smile faltered. "Lin... how many miles do you think I just ran?"

Linda set the flower carefully on the coffee table next to her knitting. "However many it was, you weren't doing it three weeks ago." She reached for his hand, turning it over in hers. The age spots that had dotted his knuckles for a decade were fading. "Jim, what's happening to us?"

Jim flexed his fingers, watching the smooth movement of tendons beneath unexpectedly firm skin. "Remember the day the guy we helped in the park bought us lunch.”

"Clark," Linda nodded automatically, then blinked. She hadn't thought about him since that day, yet his name came to her lips without hesitation.
"Yeah, well..." Jim rubbed the back of his neck where a very bad mosquito bite had nearly driven him crazy last week. "Then we were both bit by those giant mosquitoes, the next day, my neck was all swollen up and sore, but my back didn’t hurt.”

Linda's knitting needles clattered to the floor as the realization hit. Her gaze dropped to the tiny blue sweater sleeve. "Yeah, it was a really bad bite, but the next morning my arthritis was better than it had been in years."

Jim cleared his throat. "You don't think... I mean, it's not possible that we were infected with something?"

"I don't know what's possible anymore. But I know I woke up yesterday wanting oatmeal with brown sugar for the first time since I was 30."

Jim's laugh started deep in his chest, richer than it had been in years. "I ate peanut butter straight from the jar last night. Like a damn college kid."

Their eyes met, and in that moment, an unspoken agreement passed between them. Whatever was happening, whether miracle or madness, they wouldn't question it. Not yet.

Later that night the Pattons sat on the couch, Linda thumbed through her parenting magazine, trying to remember when she bought it. Jim flicked through TV channels, and settled on old cartoons that he’d watched as a child, but they seemed so new and he found himself engaged. During a commercial he glanced over and watched Linda reading, the article was top 5 things to do when preparing for a new baby. Then his eyes caught an ad for Pampers. He felt himself growing aroused and started staring at Linda’s breasts, they seemed far more supple and... Without thinking he reached over and lifted her nightgown.

“Jim, what are…” Linda started but grew silent when Jim latched on to her nipple and began sucking, something he had enjoyed doing back in their youth when sex was far more frequent. She dropped the magazine and instinctively began rubbing his head, and in a few minutes they made their way to the bedroom for something they hadn’t enjoyed in a very long time.

Chapter 3

Jim woke slowly, wrapped in a warmth he hadn’t felt in decades. His limbs were heavy with sleep, his mind still floating in that soft, dreamy place where nothing hurt and nothing worried him. He hadn’t woken up to pee at 3 AM. He hadn’t woken up at all.

Then he shifted, and froze. The mattress beneath him was cold. His stomach dropped.
No. Not again.

He lay perfectly still, as if maybe, just maybe, if he didn’t move, it wouldn’t be real. But the dampness clinging to his thighs was undeniable. The faint, sour tang in the air was unmistakable. He’d done it again. Two nights in a row.

Linda had been awake for ten minutes, her nightgown cold and damp, just like yesterday morning. She felt Jim stiffen beside her, heard the sharp hitch in his breathing. She’d pretended to sleep through his frantic, whispered “Oh no, no, no” as he realized.

Last night, he’d blamed a spilled glass of water. This morning, she wasn’t giving him the chance to lie. She rolled over and flicked on the lamp. Jim flinched like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. His pajama pants were dark with moisture, the sheets beneath him soaked. His face, younger now, smoother than it had been in a decade, was flushed with shame. They stared at each other in the yellow lamplight.
Finally, Linda reached out and touched his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” she said softly.

Jim’s throat worked. “Lin, I…”

“You wet the bed honey, don’t lie,” Linda said.

“Yeah I guess, I don’t remember, I was asleep, it wasn’t on purpose.”

“I know, lets just get cleaned up again, its no big deal.” Linda said. They stripped off their wet clothes and bedding, then Jim got towels to dry the mattress where there was a ring from last night's accident.

The washing machine churned in the background as Jim sat at the kitchen table, wrapped in a robe, staring at his coffee struggling with shame. Jim Patton, 71 years old, or was he? Had just wet the bed like he did when he was 6 years old. He remembered that shameful time in his life and how his Dad accused him of being too lazy to get out of bed.

But Linda… Linda wasn’t upset. That was the strangest part. In fact she seemed to be amused, maybe even happy about it. She set a plate of pancakes in front of him, the syrup pooling golden in the center. “Eat,” she said. Jim picked up his fork, his hands steady. No tremors. No arthritis. Just smooth, easy movement. He took a bite. The sweetness burst on his tongue, rich and comforting. He hadn’t craved pancakes like this since he was a boy.

Across the table, Linda watched him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. “OK, here’s what we are going to do, we’ll buy a mattress protector, and you’re going to go to the doctor and get checked out. Make sure you don’t have a bladder infection or something,” Linda said.

“I don’t feel like I have anything wrong, and what about the changes..” Jim asked.

“I don’t know but we need to be smart about this, your health is the most important thing to me sweetie. The doctor can rule out there is nothing wrong, maybe it’s just a phase, but I’m putting a towel between us tonight, she said. THey both chuckled.

Jim got an appointment to see the doctor the very next day, and for the third morning in a row woke up wet. It wasn’t as bad this morning since Linda had placed a heavy towel under him. Doctor Patel entered the examination room and seemed surprised when he looked at his patient. “Wow Jim, you look younger, what's your secret?”

Jim forced a chuckle. “Retirement and a good moisturizer?”

The doctor’s laughter faded as he scanned Jim’s chart. “Says here you’re here for nocturnal enuresis.” His stethoscope hovered over Jim’s chest. “Three nights running?”
“Yeah, but…” Jim swallowed as the cold metal touched his skin. “

“Hey bud, don’t be ashamed, you wouldn’t believe how many people have that issue, incontinence is way more common than you’d think. 20 million americans” Dr. Patel said. Jim didn’t feel relieved.

Dr. Patel stared at the urine analysis results, then at Jim’s blood pressure reading (117/78), then back at the chart. “Your PSA levels are better than mine. Kidneys function like a twenty-year-old.” He flipped a page. “You say you stopped drinking?”

Jim’s fingers drummed on his knees, smooth knees, no more creaking. “Not a drop.”

“And you’re still taking the lisinopril?”

“Every morning.” Until last week, Jim didn’t add, when he’d inexplicably started forgetting.

The doctor scribbled notes, his pen hovering over the diagnosis line. “Jim… medically speaking, you’re in better shape than you were at fifty. There’s no physiological reason for the bedwetting.”

Jim’s pulse throbbed in his suddenly dry throat. “So what’s next?”

Dr. Patel wrote on a notepad and tore off the page. “Go to Wal-Mart and buy some of these. If it persists past a month, we’ll do a sleep study.” He hesitated. “Off the record my grandfather lived to ninety-six. Grandma said he wet the bed like a baby for years. Getting old sucks, my friend.”

Jim stared at the script for Depend overnight protection. “Thanks doc,” he said.

***

Jim was breathing heavily as he and Linda pushed a cart towards the incontinence aisle. "You can go back to the car," Linda said with a smile.

"No, this is no big deal," Jim said though his quicker pulse would indicate otherwise. Jim's palms were slick against the shopping cart handle as they turned down the dreaded aisle. Neon blue packaging screamed "OVERNIGHT PROTECTION!" beside cheerful young men and women on packs of disposable briefs. His stomach clenched. There was someone down the aisle, an older woman. She placed a pack of Depends for women in her cart and turned. Jim and Linda froze, it was their neighbor Martha.

“Oh, umm, Hi Linda, Jim,” she said. There was a large pack of Depends already in the cart and a container of baby powder.

“So umm, shopping?” Jim asked.

“Yeah, I pick up supplies for Mildred you know down the block, she doesn’t drive now,” Martha replied.

“Oh, I see,” Linda said with a smile.

“And what are you two doing here?” Martha asked.

Linda didn’t hesitate, “Jim’s having accidents, he needs bladder protection,” she said.

“What, no!,” Jim said in horror.

“There’s no use trying to hide it honey, you’re not as young as you used to be,” Linda said and winked at him.

Jim's face burned hotter than the Florida pavement in July. He opened his mouth, closed it, then saw the mischievous glint in Linda's eye. Two could play this game.

"Well since we're airing grievances," Jim said, slinging an arm around Linda's shoulders, "my lovely wife here keeps buying prune juice and fiber supplements like we're running a retirement home cafeteria." He nodded to Martha's cart. "Though I see you're shopping for Mildred's... special needs too."

Martha's grip tightened on her cart handle. The baby powder suddenly looked conspicuously placed next to the Depends. "Mildred has very sensitive skin," she sniffed.

"Of course she does," Linda said sweetly. "You're such a good neighbor."
An elderly man turned into the aisle, paused at the sight of the three of them, then quickly reversed his cart with surprising speed.

Jim grabbed a package of men's briefs with exaggerated consideration. "Now Linda, do you think I need the overnight protection or just the light days?" He held them up like wine bottles. "This one has a floral scent, might pair nicely with Martha's selection."

Martha's lips pursed. "You're enjoying this."

"You're right," Jim sighed dramatically. "I should be embarrassed. But between Linda's fiber obsession and your... Mildred supplies, I figure we're all in the same leaky boat."
Linda squeezed his hand in approval as Martha's stern expression cracked into a reluctant smile.

"Fine," Martha grumbled, tossing a container of adult sized baby wipes in her cart with defiant flair. "But if either of you breathe a word about this at bridge club, I'll tell everyone about Jim's little waterworks problem."

"Deal," Linda laughed.

As they parted ways, Jim called after Martha: "Tell Mildred I hope her sensitive skin improves!"

Martha flipped him off without turning around, the Depends in her cart bouncing as she rounded the corner.

“Why did you tell her?” Jim asked as he dropped a package of the incontinence briefs in the cart.

“She’s very nosy, she’d find out anyway, plus she’s very curious about our recent changes, she thinks we have a fountain of youth somewhere. So I thought if she knew you were having accidents then she might not worry about it.

“Oh, clever I guess,” Jim replied.

Later that night Jim found that there seemed to be no end to the depths of humiliation he was enduring. “OK sweetie, it’s bedtime, so lets get you in your night time pants,” Linda said. Luckily her parenting magazine had an article about dealing with older bedwetters so she was ready.

Jim stood frozen in the bathroom doorway, clutching his pajama top like a shield. "Lin, I can put them on myself."

Linda fluffed the freshly protected mattress, her tone breezy but firm, the same voice she'd used decades ago with her third graders. "Of course you can, sweetheart. But we need to make sure they're fitted properly or they'll leak." She patted the bed. "Come here."

The parenting magazine lay open on the nightstand to an article titled "Nighttime Accidents: Keeping Your Child (or Loved One) Comfortable." Jim's eye twitched at the highlighted section: "Make changes part of a calming bedtime routine."

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, but his feet carried him forward anyway. The crinkle of the mattress protector under his knees sounded absurdly loud.

Linda knelt before him with the same focus she'd once given to knitting those tiny sweaters. She slid the undergarment up his legs and pulled it tight into his crotch. "There. Snug but not too tight." She patted his hip. "How's that feel?"

Jim opened his mouth to protest but stopped, "Better than last night," he admitted grudgingly. The protection did feel secure. Less like a medical device and more like... well, he wouldn't finish that thought.

Linda beamed and produced a blue plastic cup from the nightstand. "Here's your water. Just half-full tonight, we don't want too many accidents while we're training."
Jim blinked. "Training?"

"Mmm." Linda smoothed the sheets, avoiding his eyes. "The article says consistency is key for overcoming bedwetting. We'll start with scheduled bathroom trips." She fluffed his pillow. "Now, do you want a story or..."

"Linda."

She froze at his tone, then sighed. "Too much?"
Jim studied her face, the genuine concern in her eyes, the way her hands still hovered near his shoulders like she might tuck him in. A month ago, this would've sparked an argument. Now, he just felt... cared for.

"Just turn out the light," he grumbled, sliding under the covers.

Linda pressed a kiss to his forehead before he could dodge it. "Goodnight, baby."
The nickname hung in the air between them. Neither acknowledged it.

The next morning Jim woke up with a soggy wet pull-up between his legs, but a dry bed. There were a few damp spots on his pajamas but it was worlds better than waking up and stripping the bedding. He quickly got up and carefully waddled to the bathroom. Seeing himself in the mirror with the wet garment felt strange, he had wondered what this would be like for years, and now all the sudden here he was, but it wasn’t really what he wanted, it wasn’t really babyish. He pulled the soggy garment down his legs.

"Let me help." Linda stood in the doorway, bathrobe tied tight, her hair mussed from sleep but eyes alert. She'd clearly been awake waiting.

Jim instinctively turned away. "I've got it."

"I know you do." She stepped closer anyway, and took the wet pull-up from his hands and tied it in a tight ball. “The article said skin needs proper cleaning or you'll get rashes." She wet a washcloth under warm water, testing the temperature on her wrist.
Jim stared at the tile wall as she gently wiped his thighs. The clinical touch should have humiliated him, but the warm cloth soothed him.

"I bet that was better than waking up wet?" Linda murmured, applying powder with feather-light strokes. Her fingers lingered at his hipbone, thinner now, his body shedding the middle-aged spread. "You're doing so well."

The praise settled in Jim's chest like sunlight. He caught her wrist. "Lin... are you enjoying this?"

“Maybe,” she said and kissed him.