The sound of gravel popping under his tires grated his nerves like breaking teeth. Another Saturday night found him resentfully creeping up the long drive to the old house he grew up in. His car, like him, didn't belong on these back county roads—they were both meant for long smooth stretches of pavement and city lights.

It was his sister who brought him out again.

"But Joe, you know how Nana is. Today would have been Uncle Beau’s birthday. She’s miserable, Joe, you have to come."

He'd heard that desperation in her voice on a thousand other Saturday afternoons. Somehow, it was always some dead relative's birthday or anniversary. Some dreaded occasion that made Mary once again predict that Nana's broken heart would be the end of her unless he could come make the long drive down from the city.

"Joe, you know how Nana looks forward to Polka night. You have to help me, Joe. I can't do all of this on my own."

Mary’d been looking after Nana since their mother died, just after Mary graduated high school. He could dimly remember Mary as a little girl—pig tails flying as she sailed on the swing. Housekeeper and nurse maid, she never had time for college. Somehow, she'd aged as fast as she'd swung. And she'd used this same damn tone of voice all those years ago to get him to push.

Inside, Nana’s house looked just as it did when he'd grown up in it. The perfectly arranged little figurines, the doilies, the mauve carpet, and the flowered sofa. Frankly, it made him sick.

"Oh Joe," Mary jumped up as he came in, "I'm so glad you could come—Nana's beside herself."

In fact, Nana was thumbing through this week's TV guide. "What are you talking about, Mary?"

"Oh Nana, it's all right. We know what today is but Joe is here. Everything will be all right now that Joe is here." Nana looked fine. It was Mary's face that was lined with worry. Mary's hair that frazzled out in all directions. Mary's eyes that drooped with sleepless nights.

Nana looked at her with dismay and Mary rushed to her side, "Now, don't you fret Nana, we all miss Beau, we do."

"What, what? Oh, Beau. That's right. Today would have been his birthday. Oh my. Time does fly, doesn’t it? Well, well. That's enough of that. Joe, don't you have anything better to do than to take two old ladies out for a dance?" Her eyes twinkled now as he leaned in to kiss her cheek, "There's a good boy. But you, you always were a city boy. Why on earth did you come out all this way?"

"Mary told me you were upset," he replied, arching his eye brows at his sister.

"Oh Joe, you should know better than to listen to her."

He should, he really should. Mary, meanwhile, had moved on to other things. "Now Joe, let's just get this sorted out. You've got black pants...let me think. Here's a white shirt for you and I'll just go run and change into my black shirt and my white skirt—we'll match perfectly!"

"Christ," Joe grumbled and stalked towards the door as his sister skipped back to her room—a room probably still decorated with 4H trophies and My Little Pony dolls.

Outside, he fished a cigarette from his jacket muttering a stream of curses as Nana called after him, "Oh Joe, I wish you’d quit."

Certainly. Everyone wished Joe would quit. Quit work and move back to the county. Quit dancing in the gay bars until the sun came up every weekend. Quit working so damn hard to escape everything fucked up thing that’d happened in this little house.

Behind him, the screen door slammed. "Joe, Joe, won’t you come in and change Joe.?"

He didn’t even turn around. "I can’t keep doing this Mary, I can't. I have a life—I was supposed to be somewhere tonight."

Mary walked around him to stand in his gaze. Looking up with large eyes, "But it's perfect Joe. We'll go and we'll dance and everything will be perfect. You'll see."

The old German beer hall would have been a classic Baltimore cultural oddity if he hadn't been subjected to it every other weekend. Though smoking had been banned here for years, the heavy paneled walls, the dead deer heads, the shelves of Hummel figurines seemed coated in nicotine—almost preserved in yellow amber.

The polka band warmed up as tables around them filled with people and pitchers of beer but at their long table, there was just the three of them and some ice water to share. Mary said Nana didn't approve of drinking.

Nana laughed, "Look at you two. My Joseph, my Mary. You young people, you should be dancing."

Mary looked at Joe with the kind of nervous excitement children save for Christmas. "Oh Nana, if it will make you happy, we'll dance, we will. Won't we Joe?"

The desperation in her eyes coming from any other woman would have sent him running. But she was his sister. His little sister, his little Mary. Mary who stayed behind for Nana, Mary who sent him care packages all through college, Mary who'd traded her youth, and her prospects so that he'd never have to be bothered with who would care for Nana or who would make Christmas dinner.

The weight of it hung around his neck as he stood and reached out to take Mary's hand. Was this the punishment for his sins? Every good night in town with wine and men and conversation he’d have to pay for in Polka in this wretched place.

But when the music started, everything changed. His hand against the small of Mary's back, her eyes looking expectantly up at him, they began to sail around the room. When they danced together, years and arguments melted away. With harmony and rhythm that could never be replicated by a couple bound only by the ties of love or sex or money, their feet left the ground.

All thoughts of what a Saturday night could be left Joe's head. He saw only those great shining eyes, felt only the bond between bodies tied by blood. Nothing could ever replace this.

At the table, Nana smiled to herself, "My Joseph, my Mary."