A Change of Heart

Nancy Frederick

In Association with White Wolf Press, LLC

Copyright 2011 Nancy Frederick

1

"Don't stop at the Quick Mart now hon, please.  The parade is going to start any minute and I promised we'd be there early.  Maggie will have plenty to drink at her house."  Annabeth Welner laid her hand gently on her husband's knee, feeling it tense beneath her fingers.  "I promised to take pictures of the parade."

R.J. glowered at her, "Since when did Maggie ever have beer?  I drunk all of her lousy iced tea and lemonade I'm gonna.  I want my beer. We got time, so relax, will you."  Cursing at a roadblock, R.J. swerved the van around the barrier and into the parking lot of the Quick Mart.

Annabeth regarded her husband, reached to smooth his hair, felt him flinch once again and watched as he exited the van and walked toward the store.  He was a man not yet fifty, smaller than five-feet-eight-inches tall, his arms and legs rather scrawny although he appeared overweight because of the beer belly that resembled a basketball somehow swallowed in tact and protruding above his belt.  His hair rose wildly from his scalp, and now and then he scratched at his head, a nervous gesture which compounded the problem.  What was it about him today?  He had that look he sometimes got when he'd taken a shortcut he shouldn't have, when something he'd carelessly set in motion was bound toward disaster.  But what?  In his eyes was desperation, discontent in the extreme.  Could all this be because they were once again going to Maggie's?  R.J. had made no secret of his dislike of her old friend over the years, but he wasn't usually so bad tempered, and Annabeth wondered why.  Could R.J. be unwell?  Annabeth glanced at the dashboard clock, which kept perfect time.  It was a small town and an even smaller parade.  The whole event took just minutes.  She shook her head; there was the whistle.  It had begun already.

Annabeth craned her neck, first watching the corner to see the parade begin and then mentally calculating how long it would take to reach Maggie's house and whether they could beat it by taking a short cut.  Then she glanced into the store, where her husband lingered, two six packs on the counter in front of him, and a smile on his face.  Behind the counter stood a young woman who was about the age of their older daughter, Laurel, and Annabeth could see her smiling as well.  R.J. touched the girl on the shoulder, something that struck Annabeth as rather odd.  He was always flirting, though.  He loved women and needed attention and enjoyed turning on the charm for a stranger.  It was harmless and Annabeth couldn't remember ever being jealous.

She glanced at the clock again and wished R.J. would speed it up.  At this moment, Maggie was no doubt sitting on the green glider on her front porch, complaining about the heat and pressing a half-emptied iced tea glass to her cheek.  Her husband Hugh, placating as always, would by now have started fiddling with the camera so that he could get a shot of their granddaughter Lindsey when she paraded by with the other karate students.  And Maggie was probably saying something like, "Oh Hugh, wait for Annabeth, she's artistic."

This was ridiculous.  What was R.J. doing?  She exited the van and walked toward the store, and only then did he emerge.  "We're late.  By the time we park, the parade will be over."

"So what?  Three floats and a bunch of Shriners in kiddie cars isn't no big deal.  Bad enough you have to haul a ton of food over to her house for every party."

"What's the matter with you R.J.?  Are you all right?"

"I just wanna get this over with, okay?"  R.J. parked the van and carried only a crockpot filled with homemade baked beans, which he balanced on top of the beer, leaving her to struggle with large containers of fruit, potato and pasta salads, several bags of breads, and a basket of cookies.

Hugh, a lawyer and the perfect Southern gentleman, leapt up to help Annabeth as Maggie growled,  "You're late!  You missed the parade and Hugh had to take the pictures.  And he's half blind, so who knows if they turned out at all.  My granddaughter is in the parade for the first time and we maybe don't have a shot of it."  Oblivious to her husband's scowl, Maggie clucked her tongue, then narrowed her glance at R.J., "And I see you brought your own drinks.  Thank goodness for the miracle of beer."

R.J. looked down at Maggie, who hadn't bothered to rise from the glider.  "You're lookin' a bit heavier, Mags.  Been gainin' weight lately?" Annabeth cringed as Maggie's mouth dropped open.

Once more Maggie glared at R.J. then said, "You look a bit fatter yourself, or did you swallow a whole watermelon?"

"Stop it you two.  Behave yourselves.  It's too hot for all this nonsense."  Annabeth interrupted before anything worse could be said.  Holding up the basket, she continued, "Who wants a cookie?"

"Who has time to sit around eating cookies," complained Maggie, snatching the basket from Annabeth and digging in it.  "No Chocolate chips?"  Locating one, she put it in her mouth then walked into the house, indicating that Annabeth should follow.

"How's the car collection," Hugh asked R.J., who brightened at the change of subject and trailed after Hugh to the back yard where the smoker was already cooking chicken and ribs.

"Car collection,"  sneered Maggie.  "No other wife would let her husband keep all those cars at the side of the house.  What's he got--a dozen or more now?"  Maggie clucked her tongue then began smearing icing on a large sheet cake while Annabeth silently set out some of the food.  It was pointless to discuss R.J.'s cars with Maggie; they'd done it too many times before.  Collecting those cars made him feel young, and even if he never did manage to restore them as he boasted he would each time he hauled home a new one, they made him happy, so what was the harm?

The backyard had begun to fill with assorted friends and family members, and the two women went outside to join them. Annabeth, spotting her father and stepmother Ginger talking to Hugh, walked over and reached up to kiss Will Copeland's cheek, which he carelessly accepted without a break in the conversation.

"Um, Dad?" said Annabeth.  When Will held up one finger indicating he was concentrating on Hugh's comments, Annabeth turned to check on the food.

"Oh, Annabeth," said Ginger, "I need some hems done this week."

Annabeth answered without even pausing to think about her own obligations, "Sure, okay."  They stood mingling, talking, eating, until the little bell fastened to the side gate began to ring.  It was her daughter Sally with Maggie's son Jackson.

"Did you start without us?" asked Sally.  Annabeth smiled as she observed them; they made a nice couple.  He was tall with freckles and sandy hair, and his demeanor was slow and constant.  Sally was soft and sweet, a girly girl, emotional and sensitive, kind of like Annabeth herself, although she was slight and small boned, delicate looking, with dark hair and eyes.

"I wanna talk to you two," said R.J., always a bit too loud.

Annabeth wrapped her arm tightly around Sally's shoulder and she wondered  how many beers had R.J. drunk so far.  She hoped he wouldn't say anything he shouldn't.

"Yes, sir?" asked Jackson politely.

"You been livin' with my daughter for how long now?"

Jackson's eyes widened as Sally blushed and said, "Daddy!"

"And you know I was against it."

Annabeth reached her hand toward her husband's arm.  She had been against Sally moving out of the house as well, but they were old enough and maybe Sally would go to college eventually.  "R.J.," she said, hoping to sidetrack him.

"And now you just keep on livin' together, don't you.  Takin' advantage…"

"Daddy!" exclaimed Sally, blushing even more deeply.

"Well, we're going to get married eventually," said Jackson.

R.J. nodded his head vigorously, "About time."  Raising his voice, he spoke to the group, "Did y'all hear that?  We got an engagement!  This boy is finally gonna marry my little girl!  We'll have a wedding by next month!"

Observing Sally's shocked face and Jackson's look of astonishment, Annabeth interceded, "Not so fast!  They're way too young to marry and next month is obviously out of the question."

Jackson leaned toward Sally, whispered something in her ear that Annabeth couldn't hear, then he said, "Okay, sure, how about September then?"

It was hot outside, so it was natural that Sally's face would appear a bit damp from the heat, but Annabeth was certain her daughter perspired because she was unready to make this huge commitment, this monumental decision.  She was a baby still, just a girl, too young, way too young, and not ready.  "No," insisted Annabeth, "They're too young."

"It's okay Mom, really," whispered Sally.

"You'll get married on Valentine's Day," decided Maggie.

Thinking that would allow them plenty of time for postponements if necessary, Annabeth offered no further protests.  Later, as she and R.J. drove home, she spoke up.  "What were you thinking, bullying those kids like that?"

"I wasn't bullyin' nobody."

"R.J.!  You just can't do things like that.  Remember the bike?"  He looked at her, narrowed his eyes and remained silent.  Sally had been three when R.J. decided she should be able to ride a bike that was too big for her.  He pushed and pushed and eventually she did ride the bike, but the moment he stood back and left her to do it on her own, Sally toppled and bloodied her knee.  "She wouldn't get back on a bike until she was six, remember?"

"Oh, for God's sake, she's not three."

"Kids have to do things when they're ready, not when we think they should.  Not that I think Sally and Jackson need to rush into anything.  They're young."

"Why should she be on my back all my life?  He should marry her."

"On your back?  What's wrong with you, R.J.?"  How many beers had he drunk?

"Yeah well, he'll live with her for a while, get sick of her and kick her out.  Then I'll have to take care of her."

Annabeth shook her head.  "What a thing to say about your daughter!  Jackson loves Sally, you know that.  He always has.  Since eighth grade.  And Sally works at the bank, earns her own living.  She's not some property that needs taking care of!"

There was a sense of raw desperation in R.J.'s eyes as he glanced at her.  He looked like an animal right after it had been trapped in a cage.  "I know, you're right, I'm sorry, I know."  He parked the van in front of their home and wearily exited it, lumbering up the few steps to the front porch, where he dropped down heavily into a rocker.

Sitting down in the rocker beside his, Annabeth watched R.J. as he sat silently smoking.  "What's wrong?" she asked again.

His voice cracked as he answered, "Life.  There oughtta be more than this.  I'm forty-seven.  Might as well be ninety-seven.  I flew planes…well I could have…would have…I wanted to."  His eyes flashed as he spoke, the yearning for what might have been an ache in his voice.  "I fill vendin' machines with candy, day after day.  Drive like the wind in that van, gun the engine, feel the motor rev, for what, for nothin'."

Her anger at his earlier comments gone, Annabeth reached out her hand and clutched R.J.'s.  He was lonely, terribly lonely, and unfulfilled.  He drove so many miles all alone every week on his vending machine route when what he really wanted was to be with her.  How many nights did he get to spend at home these days?  One a week?  Poor R.J.!  "Oh, hon!" she said, her voice tender and loving and filled with compassion and understanding.  "I can travel with you.  Help you with the route.  Be with you at night in the motels."  She smiled shyly, her eyes glowing with love, and she continued, "It will be our time together.  Like a honeymoon, just you and me.  And then you won't be so lonely."  Expecting to see R.J. relax and smile, Annabeth gazed more deeply into his eyes, but the look of desperation was still there; in fact he looked cornered, like his head was about to explode, so she grew even more worried and clutched his hand more tightly.  "It could be the best time of our marriage, romantic, and lots of time to talk.  It could be wonderful," she said softly.

"Don't be silly, that's nuts."  He walked into the house, not waiting for further discussion.

When they finally climbed into bed for the night, Annabeth slid over next to him, snuggling against his side and resting her palm gently against his cheek.  They hadn't made love in a long time.  She paused for a moment to think about it.  When was the last time?  He was so rarely home…she had wanted to…when was that…he was tired that night…when was that?  She leaned in closer and kissed him on the cheek, sliding her hand along his chest.  Normally he would reach for her then…he used to reach for her first…hasty and passionate, but now she reached for him first more often, but that was all right, wasn't it?  R.J. twitched, like a shiver of discomfort, and he turned away from Annabeth, his back to her.  Instead of turning over and letting him sleep she slid closer, spooning against him and kissing his back.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed, "Will you let me sleep!"

Annabeth moved away from him then, back to her own side of the bed.  He was obviously in a deep depression. This couldn't be good.  What could she do to fix things?  He didn't want sex, felt burdened by his daughter, was unhappy with his work.  Poor R.J.  He'd always needed excitement and when he'd said he was leaving his job as an airplane mechanic and starting that vending machine business Annabeth had been glad for him.  R.J. yearned to travel and although driving from town to town all over the Florida panhandle on a route to fill vending machines wasn't exactly the thrilling life he envisioned, it was far less restricting and probably much better for him.  But what had gone wrong?  He'd been on the road for twelve years now, home less and less often.  That must be it.  He needed to be home more.  The girls were grown so they could cut back on expenses now.  Maybe she could suggest that he slow down a bit?  Spend more time at home, take up a hobby, find something that made him excited again.  Yes!  That's what she would do tomorrow when he woke up.  Feeling content that she had solved the problem and that R.J. would soon be happier, Annabeth drifted to sleep for a few hours.

She rose early, noting with satisfaction that R.J. still slept and she went downstairs to prepare his favorite breakfast.  He would eat, then they would talk and things would get better.  The cat, a gray short hair with a pink nose and green eyes that slanted often when he looked at her, waited in the kitchen.  Annabeth scooped him up for a hug, gently placed him on the floor, then fed him before proceeding.  In a matter of moments she'd inserted a pan of perfect biscuits into the oven and had started frying the bacon that R.J. would eat with every meal if she let him.

R.J. walked into the kitchen, silently helped himself to a cup of coffee and sat at the table.  He sighed once, took a deep breath, started to speak, then fell silent again.

"Morning!" said Annabeth cheerily.  "Fried eggs and bacon.  Hot biscuits.  Your favorite jam."  She smiled at him, then began cracking eggs into the pan that still sizzled with bacon grease.  She would let him eat first, then tell him her plan.

R.J. accepted the plate of food, and in his characteristic fast and ravenous fashion, gobbled the breakfast in a few huge bites.  Annabeth had eaten only a quarter of what was on her own plate when he pushed his aside.  "I gotta tell…I wanna make…I'm gonna."

Annabeth smiled at him.  "You need a change," she said calmly.

"Yes!"

"You've been working so hard for so long," she continued, when he interrupted her.

"I'm gonna move outta the house.  Need to be on my own now.  Need some time to myself."

"What?" she exclaimed, unable to believe what he was saying.

"I wanna separation.  I'm movin' out today.  Probably go stay at Mom's apartment."

The breath knocked out of her, Annabeth opened her lips to mouth the word what again, but she was unable to speak.  He didn't need more time at home with her; he wanted to go away from her.  But how could this have happened?  She reached her arm out to touch R.J., to calm herself and him, knowing there must be something she could say, something that would set everything back to rights.  "You're going to live in our old apartment?"  R.J. wanted to return to live in the garage apartment at his mother's house, the place where they'd begun their marriage.  "But why?"

"Told you why.  Need some time alone."

"So this is just temporary, like a little vacation?"

"Shit, Annabeth, I don't know.  I gotta get outta here.  I'll come back in a day or two for some stuff."

She rose and followed him to the door, saying, "Wait R.J., don't go."  But he ignored her and she watched him climb into his van and speed away. Her mind racing, Annabeth whispered, "I can't just let him run out on me like that, I have to do something."  She walked back into the house, reaching for her purse and car keys then raced out the door and climbed into her car, an old hand-me-down from R.J. that had been giving her trouble for months.  She turned the key in the ignition and the engine started, but stalled.  "Start," she commanded, glancing at the clock on the dashboard, which was broken, then at her watch.  She had to talk to R.J., had to make him change his mind.  Several times the car started, then stalled, once making a new kind of grinding sound that Annabeth didn't recognize.  "Finally!"  The engine had turned over at last.

It was a small house, a cottage really, with a detached garage which had long ago been converted into an apartment that had been unoccupied for years. Not thinking it was right just to walk in the door as she normally would, Annabeth rang the bell and Mother Welner came to the door.  She was a slight woman, not yet bent or even old, but she looked older than she was.  Her gray hair was permed and set into a frozen swirl about her face.  She pursed her lips when she saw Annabeth and did not reach out to offer a hug.  Once they had been on good terms, but that was a long time ago, and Annabeth didn't have the strength to think about that now.  Instead she spoke as politely as possible, hoping to bypass her mother-in-law entirely.  "Hello Mother Welner,  I'd like to see R.J."

"I don't think he wants to see you."

Annabeth winced.  Before she could insist, the door swung open.  R.J. stood behind his mother.  She walked through the door, saying,  "We need to talk."

The living room was badly furnished with too-large pieces covered in cheap brocade.  The end and coffee tables were finished to look like Mahogany, although they were actually constructed of a cheaper wood.  Scattered everywhere were knick knacks of a generally worthless type, and of course there were the inevitable photographs of children and grandchildren, framed in imitation gold and silver.  The couch was quite old, although it had been maintained impeccably, primarily because no one was allowed to sit on it for its first ten years in the house.  It was on one end of this sofa that Annabeth sat facing her husband on the other.  Mother Welner, not wanting to miss the confrontation, sat in her favorite chair, her feet propped up on the ottoman that matched it.

Annabeth, looking deep into her husband's eyes, was trying to send a message to him, hoping that he would see the need for privacy and would suggest that his mother leave the room, which he did not.  Annabeth began to cough then, more from awkwardness than anything else.  "Could I have a glass of water?" she asked between gasps.

"Help yourself," said her mother-in-law.

In the kitchen, she filled with water one of the faded gold-rimmed glasses in the cupboard and waited for R.J. to come after her, which he did after several lengthy moments.  She looked directly at him and said, "Come home."

He shook his head.  "That's not gonna happen.  I'm forty-seven years old.  This is my last chance at a life, at some fun."

"We've been together for twenty-five years.  Has it been so bad?"

He shook his head again, impassive and cold.

"Let me help you with this, hon.  Come home."

R.J. reached into the refrigerator, helping himself to a can of beer, which he opened at leisure and swigged.  "Is it money?  I never said I wouldn't take care of you."  She shook her head and watched with amazement as R.J. reached into his pocket, extracting a couple of fifty dollar bills and pressing them into her hand.

Before Annabeth could comment, Mother Welner entered the room and said, "When I lost my husband, I went out and got a job."  She snatched the money from Annabeth and tucked it into the shapeless and drooping pocket of R.J.'s T-shirt.

"Stop it, Ma," said R.J., putting his arm around Annabeth and steering her toward the front door.  He walked out with her, down the front steps and across the lawn to her car, opening the door and seating her inside it.  She followed his glance up toward the darkening sky, toward the clouds that were gathering overhead.  It was going to rain soon, probably one of the electrical storms so prevalent in that area.  "I'm sorry, babe," he said softly, "But things change."  He pulled the money once more from his pocket and pressed it into her hand yet again, then stood quietly waiting for her to start the ignition.  "It isn't you.  It's me.  I hope you understand that."

Annabeth shook her head.  "What about the kids?"

"The kids are grown up and gone.  What about them?"

"This is just a mid-life crisis.  I understand hon, I really do, but still.…  We're a family, we belong together.  You and I belong together."

"Go home, Annabeth.  It's gonna rain."

Not knowing what else to do or say, she pulled out into the street, driving toward home almost automatically. Annabeth steered the car, not thinking about where she was driving, not noticing much of the scenery that passed slowly by outside her window. She glanced toward the sky, noting the storm clouds, but still she drove, turning onto the highway.  There was a K-Mart, and some fast food places, a bowling alley, and Fatty's Burgerama, the place where she had met R.J. so long ago.

She pulled into Fatty's, stopping her car at one of the many car hop stations.

For some reason, Fatty's was closed and it was eerily quiet there now, no other cars, no high school girls in red shorts carrying trays to attach to rolled down car windows.  Annabeth looked toward the highway, which was not busy, although it was not deserted.  None of the people going by noticed her at all.  She was in the parking lot, but she may as well have been on a raft in a deserted sea.

"Men do this all the time," she whispered to the empty car, "He'll probably get it all out of his system and come home."  There was some comfort in saying those words aloud and Annabeth felt better.  Of course R.J. would come home.  She would find a way to get him to come back and everything would be just the same as it always was, maybe even better.  Their family would be fine, their marriage would be fine, they'd stay together and someday they'd laugh about this.  They'd call it his mid-life crisis and they'd laugh together over it.

Annabeth pulled the car out then, this time steering it toward home.  Nothing in Gull's Perch was more than ten minutes away from anything else, and therefore she found herself turning almost immediately onto her street, Old Magnolia Bayou.  She looked out the window, felt the warm air blowing across her neck, smelled the scent of pine trees.  The road was winding and she drove slowly as she always did when approaching her home, allowing herself to enjoy the peace and quiet of her street, the reflection of the trees in the water.

Annabeth looked at her house, an old Victorian cottage that she had restored slowly over the last two decades.  She never failed to smile when she saw it, sitting like her little treasure at the end of the road.  It should have been painted white, but she had chosen the palest of yellows, a soft, muted, washed out banana yellow that was soothing.  The trim and shutters were white, but they were not plain.  Each piece of molding, each bit of gingerbread, each post and rail had been adorned with delicate tendrils of flowers and leaves, painted in soft shades by Annabeth herself.  Likewise were the two porch rockers decorated, and in each seat was painted a bird's nest, its tiny occupants peeping their heads up for a meal which the mother birds, painted elsewhere on the chairs, were in the process of conveying to their young.  To the side of the house, where a garden belonged, was R.J.'s collection of heaps.

Annabeth walked up the four front steps to her porch, the soft creaking sounds a welcome home that she never failed to enjoy.  The front door, stippled the usual white, was painted with masses of flowers, birds of several colors, small frogs in many shades of the local brown and green, and a large tromp l'oeil ribbon from which hung a cluster of delicate brass bells.  The door at this moment stood open.  Annabeth had seen Sally's car parked at the side of the house and therefore knew whom to expect.

She walked through the hallway, passing the living room on the left and dining room on the right, toward the back of the house, where Sally sat eating a slice of chocolate cake at the kitchen table, a throw-away that Annabeth had bought at a yard sale and had painted as she had most of the other wood in the house, including the cabinets and all of the kitchen chairs, which in their adornments seemed to fit together although they were of differing designs.  Annabeth touched Sally's shoulder.  "Hi, kiddo."

Sally smiled.  "Thanks for trying to rein Daddy in yesterday.  Big jerk!  How does he do that stuff!"

"He knows he was wrong.  Nobody expects you to get married until you're ready."

"I wish Daddy would think before he goes nuts like that."  Sally paused then continued, "Well, it's not like we're not already living together.  I've already spent my whole life with Jackson, so really it's not such a bad thing.  We're actually starting to get excited about this wedding."

Annabeth squeezed Sally's hand and smiled, "Okay honey, that's great."

Her voice wavered only slightly, but Sally looked closely into Annabeth's eyes then asked, "What's wrong?"

Annabeth said in a low voice, "Your father's gone.  We're separated."

Sally's eyes opened wide, then she jumped up and wrapped her arms around Annabeth, the tears falling down her cheeks.  "Oh, Mom!  You had a big fight because of me--because of Daddy acting like a jerk?  Oh no!"

Annabeth hugged Sally tightly to her, saying still softly, "No, of course not! We'll work it out, don't you worry."

"So you're not getting divorced?"

"No, we're not."

"Thank goodness for Jackson.  He's not wild and unpredictable like Daddy." Sally sat back in her seat, tightly grasping Annabeth's hand.

"Wild and unpredictable, huh?  That's pretty dramatic!"

"It's not like he's been around here for the last twelve years, not since he got those vending machines and went on the road."

"He was working."

Sally shook her head.  "Where is Daddy living?  I have to tell him about our plans.  We just want a simple wedding, nothing too expensive for him to pay for."

"I'm sure your father will be thrilled to pay for your wedding."

"I doubt that.  You know how he is about money."

"He's at the apartment at your grandmother's."

Sally laughed, "You're kidding!"

"I know, it's weird.  He's just very stressed now, so let's be a little understanding, okay?"

"Mom, you're one in a million."

Annabeth smiled.  "So when did you want to have the wedding?"

"Maggie's idea about Valentine's Day was sweet, so what about then?  That's long enough away for you and Daddy to work out your problems."

Annabeth nodded.

"And Maggie said maybe in the meanwhile we could have an engagement party.  She said that the two of you could do it, I mean the food and all."

"That does sound like fun, doesn't it?"

"I know it's a lot of work.  Maybe you don't feel like it now, what with Daddy gone and all?"

"Sure I do.  I love to cook, you know that."

"I thought maybe we could have the wedding here, outside in the back."

Annabeth smiled, picturing the guests, the white tent, her little Sally a bride in a wedding gown, still playing dressup, only this time it would be for real.  She stood up then and so did Sally, moving silently into her arms, still a child in need of a hug, but also a woman at the beginning of her own life.

After a long moment, they pulled apart, Annabeth's arm still around Sally's shoulder, and they walked out onto the porch, embracing once again, then Annabeth watched her daughter drive away.  There were chores to do, the business of running a house to attend to, and Annabeth was glad to have those diversions for the rest of the day, glad she could work around the house while she thought of her marriage and how to set things to rights once again.

Eventually night fell, and Annabeth stepped outside. She sat on one of the two rockers, alone in the still night, listening to the sound of a cricket here and there.  Now and every evening, there was a hum in the air.  It was a chorus of frogs, their electric sound ever-present night music that became the backdrop for every conversation, every thought, every outdoor activity.  The few lights on inside the house cast a faint glow outside, but the sky lay dark and starless, the moon obliterated by the storm clouds overhead.

Annabeth let her mind wander.  Now and then a thought about the upcoming engagement party would float to the surface of her consciousness, or a recipe for a favored treat, an image of one of her daughters as a child, memories of small insignificant moments in her past, and an occasional reminder of a chore to be done or a promise made to someone else mingled together.  She sighed and watched the sky, looking out into the night for an answer which was not forthcoming.

Soon the first thunder began and then the rain fell, fast, hard, torrential from the heavy clouds above.  The lightning, thrilling and swift, shimmered in the night, bisecting the sky over and over again, briefly illuminating the dark trees and bayou beyond Annabeth's door, casting eerie shadows that were more warm and welcome than threatening.  How many times had she sat on this safe porch, sheltered from a sudden storm, yet part of it, enjoying the driving rain and the pounding thunder, thrilling to the lightening, unpredictable and just dangerous enough to make her heart pound a little faster.

Annabeth rose then and entered the house she had loved from the first moment she'd seen it, now empty but for herself and a silent cat.  The floor creaked here and there, the stairs squeaked in certain well-loved places, occasional patches on the walls were uneven.  It was an old dwelling, but it contained her heart and soul, the sum total of her life as an adult and a married woman.  There was always a sense of comfort, of sinking into sheltering arms each time she walked through the door into this place, her home.

Thinking she would go to bed, Annabeth walked toward the stairs, but unable to make herself climb them, she sank down onto the third step, her elbows resting on her knees, head cradled in her hands, and she wept.

2

"So what's the problem at the bank?"  R.J. sounded irritated and impatient.

"There's no problem at the bank--this is just where the office is."  Annabeth held her breath, hoping her plan would work.  "It's in this building, right here.  Come on."  She walked in the building, hoping he'd follow her and was relieved when he did.

"First thing in the morning you call me to meet you here at the bank, so I think there's some money problem."

Annabeth reached for the door, hoping R.J. wouldn't balk when he noticed the gold lettering, Bruce Bigley, Family Counseling.

"What the fuck?" asked R.J.

"I just wanted to try talking to someone professional.  It won't hurt either of us to have some help."

"Are you nuts?  Totally fucking nuts?"

"I don't know anything any more, hon, but I do know this.  I know we were happy for a long time, so it seems to me it's worth it to give this a shot."

"This is bullshit, total bullshit and you know it."

"So are you so sure you're right?  Absolutely positive?  Do you know for sure that there's nothing left, that everything we had should be thrown away?  You have to have some doubts.  Why not just give it a try?  I booked the appointment and if we don't go, we'll still have to pay…."

"Fifteen minutes."

Dr. Bigley ushered them into an office furnished with several rocking chairs, and one settee-sized double rocker, which was clearly where they were supposed to sit.  He was a small man, quite fat, with many chins and he had a stubbly orange beard that didn't hide the bad skin underneath.  His eyes were rather large and bulging behind his unattractive glasses.  "I'm not one of those traditional therapists.  We know what the story is here--you've left your wife and she's upset over it.  Clearly you still care, or you wouldn't be here, so there's no need for me to turn to each of you and ask how you feel."  Bigley scratched one of his chins.  "So just go with me on this.  R.J., you start rocking while Annabeth, you sit still.

"Gimme a break," said R.J., setting the rocker in motion.

"Now you rock, Annabeth."

As she rocked in the opposite direction from R.J., they stopped moving.

Bigley twitched convulsively, dug inside his collar at his neck, then said, "See, this is where you are now, rocking in opposite directions.  Now I want you to rock together.

Annabeth and R.J. glanced at each other then rocked in unison.

"That's better, isn't it?  You might want to get one of these for home and practice in it.

"Oh, yeah," said R.J.

Bigley sucked loudly on his cheek and said, "Ok, stand up, back to back.  Now press against each other, lean back.  Quick--step to the left.  What do you notice?  As Annabeth moved to her left and R.J. to his, Bigley crowed excitedly, "You're not back to back any more are you?  Even though you both moved in the same direction."

"I got no time for this," said R.J.  "Her left isn't my left."

"Exactly!  See how even though you can be going in the same direction, you're still not going in the same direction?" asked Bigley, blowing his nose loudly on a tissue.  "Now, try this."  They followed him to an alcove in the corner of the office and watched as he removed a cover from what turned out to be a bicycle for two which had been propped up on a stand so it could be pedaled without moving forward.  "Okay now R.J., I want you to climb on the front seat, while Annabeth you climb on the back."

After they were settled, Bigley said, "Excellent.  Now--R.J., you start pedaling and Annabeth you sit still.  What do you notice?"

"The wheels are movin' but we goin' nowhere," said R.J. sarcastically.

"Keep pedaling, R.J., and Annabeth you pedal--now!  The wheels go a lot faster when you pedal together, don't they?  This is another excellent tool you might want to have at home."

"What does any of this have to do with anything," asked R.J.

"Let's go back to the rocker."  Bigley sat in his own rocker, placidly going back and forth as Annabeth and R.J. returned to the double rocker.  "You're doing an excellent job rocking together.  Some couples can't get the hang of it so quickly.  I think that it won't take more than two or three sessions a week to get you back on track.  We'll probably be able to add verbal sharing to the rocking in a few weeks.  That will be really exciting and very insightful.  Of course if you have the rocker and the bike at home, you'll progress more quickly."  Bigley handed Annabeth a flyer with photos of rockers, tandem bikes, surreys, and other gadgets.  "Take some time to look this over before your next visit.  I can explain anything you don't understand.  The canoe is a great tool here in this area, but of course you're not ready for that yet.  But don't worry, before you know it you will be."

R.J. rose and Annabeth followed him.

"How are you feeling now," asked Bigley, scratching under the waistband of his slacks.

"I'm feelin' like I'm not off my rocker any more, doc.  You cured me and my wife too.  See ya!"

When they were safely out the door Annabeth dissolved in laughter until R.J.'s scowl forced her to stop.

"And what did that bullshit cost me?"

"I'm sorry hon, I didn't know.  We could try another therapist.  Someone with maybe a couch."  She smiled again.

"I can tell you what a real therapist would say to you.  He'd say 'You're not listening to your husband.  Bad communication,' that's what he'd say."

"Oh hon.  I just want to try everything possible to fix things.  I don't want to lose you."

"So give me some respect and give me what I need, what I asked for.  Stop all this crap and just leave me alone, okay?"  R.J. strode away, as fast as he could, leaving her to drive home alone and then to pace the floor of her bedroom.

She tried to sew, but it was impossible to concentrate.   Annabeth thought over and over about the events with R.J..  What was he trying to do, to revisit, going back to their old apartment like that? What was he searching for?  Was there something from the early days of their marriage that he yearned for, something that was now missing?  If only she could figure this out, she could fix everything, get things back to normal. The phone rang then, startling her.

"He's a bastard."

"Laurel!"

"He is."

"Sally called me this morning.  Are you okay?"

"It's just temporary hon, don't worry."

"Come here and stay with me for a while.  Let the bastard wonder where you are."

"Stop it.  How's New Orleans and your job?"

"Everything is great here, Mom.  That bastard.  Doesn't surprise me one bit.  Everything I ever wanted I had to fight him for, fight against everything he ever said, fight to be me."

"I wish you and your dad got along better.  He means well, really.  Oops, another call, wait, can you?"

"I'll call you in a day or two."

"All right, sweetie, don't think so badly of your dad.  He loves you, you know that.  He's just having a mid-life crisis."

"All my life he's been having some sort of crisis.  Bye Mom."

Annabeth clicked the phone and heard Maggie's voice, "Hi.  Meet me at Ernie's at twelve-thirty, okay?  My treat."

When, less than two hours later, Annabeth sat facing Maggie across one of the eight small tables in Ernie's Seafood and Gumbo Shop, the first thing she heard was "I can't believe you didn't call me right away!  So you found out about that tramp and you kicked his sorry ass out of the house?"

Before Annabeth fully realized what Maggie had said, their waitress came over.  The menu was limited, and in fact, they didn't need to review it.  Ernie's was essentially a fish market, and on the side they sold fried fish, bowls of gumbo, and a salad made primarily of iceberg lettuce and topped with shrimp, crabmeat, and cherry tomatoes.  There were French fries available as well as hush puppies, and usually some kind of cake or pie.

"I'll have the fish platter," said Maggie.  "And some iced tea."

"I'm not hungry.  I'll just keep you company."  Annabeth's stomach was churning.

Maggie squinted at Annabeth.  "Eat something, will you? I hate eating alone.  Makes me look like a pig."

"Okay a bowl of gumbo and some ice water, please."

"You should have the fish platter."

When the waitress was out of earshot, Annabeth spoke in a voice that was so low it was almost inaudible, "There's nobody else-- he's having a mid-life crisis.  I'm sure that's what it is."

"I saw him with a little tramp two months ago."

Annabeth's eyes opened wide.  "What?"

The restaurant, being occupied by only one other pair of luncheon companions wasn't busy, and Carol was hardly overtaxed by her job, but when she arrived with the food, only moments after it was ordered, she carried two fish platters and two iced teas, which she set in front of Annabeth and Maggie.  Annabeth opened her mouth to speak, but then shrugged and let Carol go back into the kitchen.

"What did you see?  I mean R.J."

"I saw him walking into the Rusty Lantern at lunchtime with some little tramp.  Didn't think it would do you any good to know, so I kept silent.  Practically killed me.  At least now it's out in the open and you're well rid of him.  About time too."

"You saw him eating with a woman right here in town?  Oh come on, Maggie, it must be innocent.  No man would be that stupid."  Saything that out loud made her feel a bit better.

"Since when did R.J. ever do what makes sense?  It's not like he cares what anybody thinks of him or his antics.  You're well rid of him.  You should have ditched him long ago, and I'm going to make it my business to find you someone else, a decent guy like Hugh."

"I love R.J., and he has a lot of good in him, even if he does do the occasional screwy thing. I can't imagine my life without him."  Annabeth sighed.  "What did this woman look like?  Did you recognize her?"

"Oh please, hardly someone who'd travel in my circles.  She's some bleached blond, tall, with boobs--you know the type.  Nobody's daughter, nobody's wife.  Nobody we'd ever meet--nobody."

"Tell me what you actually saw--tell me everything."

"I told you--they were walking into the Rusty Lantern."

"Were they touching or anything like that?"

"Well, no…."

"See--it could be a business lunch.  How old was she?"

"I don't know.  Younger than us, that's for sure.  Probably a hooker."

"Oh come on.  Men don't take hookers out to lunch."

"R.J. is capable of anything, if you ask me.  Now listen to me.  Reverend Whitehead lost his wife, well a decent amount of time back.  I'm going to have him to dinner and you too.  When you have someone better in your life it will be easy enough to imagine your life without that jerk."

Annabeth pictured the reverend, a large, shapeless man, with limp thinning hair, sloping shoulders, a belly that jiggled when he walked and jowls that twitched when he spoke.  "I don't think religious fanatics are the right type for me."  Humor was her only hope of getting Maggie to change the subject.  Otherwise Maggie would gnaw at Annabeth and she didn't have the strength for that at the moment.

Maggie shook her head.  "Religious fanatic.  He's a minister, not a cult leader."

"Besides," smiled Annabeth, "I don't think I could ever fall for a man named for a pimple."

"You are hopeless.  Let's go for a candy bar."

They strolled along outside, passing the small shops that were always so familiar.  The town itself was small, one main street, set back a block from the minor highway near the water that led from town to town in Northern Florida.  There was Eunice's Dress Shop where Mother Welner had worked for so many years, its windows displaying several of the embellished polyester creations that she thought so stylish and was forever trying to pawn off on Annabeth. Next was Simon's Newsstand, then on the corner, Southway Bank where Sally worked, and perpendicular to it, Gleason's drugstore.  Beyond that were other, well-visited places, like Etta's Knick Knacks and the antique mall with its individually-rented stalls filled with treasures of varying degrees of worth.

Maggie did not even glance beyond Gleason's.  She darted into the door, saying, "Come on, it's too hot out here to waste time browsing."

Annabeth followed her into the drugstore with its soda fountain at one side.  At back was a wide window, behind which Chuck Gleason and his father Charles mixed prescriptions.  There were two rows of shelving perpendicular to his window, and they contained the usual drug store items.  At the front of the store was a candy counter displaying not the old-fashioned boxes of chocolates that were a drug store fixture in earlier times.  Gleason's was modern.  They sold ordinary candy bars, packets of Kleenex, and even boxes of condoms, just as the larger discount chain stores did.

"Hot fudge sundae," said Maggie, "Oh, let's."  She walked to the counter and seated herself on one of the high stools, and Annabeth followed, but there was nobody to wait on them.

Spotting his customers, Chuck came over. "Hello, ladies.  I'm sorry but the ice cream counter is closed."

"Closed!" said Maggie, "Why?"

"My wife is having a baby and I haven't hired anyone to run it yet.  Debbie is usually too busy up front at the cash register.  It's been closed for about a month."

"This is ice cream weather!  How can you be closed now?  Better work harder at finding someone.  Put a sign in the window."

Chuck nodded at Maggie, and walking behind the counter, looked into the freezer.  It was empty.  "We need to reorder supplies too."

"Congratulations about the baby," said Annabeth, "That's wonderful."

Chuck smiled, "Oh, yes, thank you."

"We'll just browse a bit and share a candy bar, if that's okay," said Annabeth.

"Well, sure.  Debbie, give these ladies a candy bar on the house."

"Thanks," said both women, and without consulting her, Maggie selected a Baby Ruth, neatly removed the wrapper, broke it almost evenly and handed Annabeth the smaller of the two halves.

"Oh my goodness!" exclaimed Maggie, "Lindsey and Peter."  She reached over and hugged Annabeth and raced out the door toward her car so she could drive home in time to babysit her grandchildren as she did most afternoons.

Annabeth walked along, trying to make sense of Maggie's revelation.  Unfocused, she bumped into a cabinet sitting outside of Etta's Knick Knack Shop, and then walked through the door, hoping to see Etta's husband Rum, her carpenter-handyman.  "Doesn't your shop look lovely," Annabeth commented sincerely, looking around at the various cabinets filled with little figurines.  There was also a good selection of simple furniture built by Rum.

Etta, a solid and motherly looking woman, smiled, pleased at all the compliments.  "Rum's been busy making lots of pieces for the sidewalk sale Labor Day weekend.  I was going to call you.  I want you to paint some things to sell like you did that child's rocker you made for Frannie.  The kids just love that little rocker."

Annabeth smiled in return.  "I'm happy they enjoy it.  I do love painting on furniture but I could never paint anything to sell.  I'm not a professional, not a real artist.  I just do it for fun."

"Well, you think about it."

"Is Rum around?  I spotted some termites."

After discussing the problem with Rum, Annabeth walked to her car and turned the key, but the engine ground noisily without catching.  She turned it again and again, although her mind was on her husband.  R.J. needed more excitement, needed to feel more alive.  Maybe he was bored by her after all these years.  They'd been together since they were kids.  Maybe he needed her to look prettier or sexier.  On an impulse, Annabeth removed the keys from the ignition and climbed out of the car.  Not far from Gleason's was The Beauty Nook, and it wasn't busy at all.

In a matter of moments Annabeth sat in a chair, her hair freshly washed and she tried not to act self-conscious as Velma, the owner-operator, stared at her image.

"Don't see many women around here with such long hair."  Velma wore her hair quite short and it had been permed and highlighted.  She was stylish looking, in a hard, modern way, but she seemed to be competent.

"No, I've had hair down to my waist since high school.  Time I had a change, don't you think?  I'd like a soft look, something feminine and natural, not a 'do.'"

Velma dragged the comb smoothly through Annabeth's hair, then walked around her, viewing her from each side.  "Well, since you ask, I think yes, you need to cut it.  It's time.  And why don't we do a rinse to get rid of the gray?  It'll lighten your appearance."

Annabeth laughed.  "I wouldn't mind being a little lighter, that's for sure."  Of medium height and a bit overweight, Annabeth usually thought little of her physical appearance.  She wore on most days, skirts that she had sewn in pale cotton prints, soft knit tops, simple sandals or comfortable shoes. Her features were pretty, although she was no great beauty.  Her eyes, the best part of her face, were a vivid, sparkling blue.  Now she was forced to look at herself and she conceded that what she saw was pretty dull, a middle aged woman with long hair that was usually pulled back, no makeup, ordinary clothes.  "Okay," she said, "Let's do it."

It was amazing how little time it took, and as Annabeth walked down the street away from the salon, she glanced at her reflection in the windows of the shops she passed.  Velma had layered her hair and now it swirled around her face as she walked.  Although Annabeth protested it was too much, Velma had insisted she buy as a headband a slender scarf that was stiffened with a wire so a small rosette could be twisted into it.  It did look pretty, and it was nice to have her hair pulled off her neck.  And now when R.J. saw her again….

This time the car started, Annabeth drove toward home, and pulled into her driveway. Her sister Julie was waiting on the porch, and she waved her arms frantically as the car came to a halt.

"I've been waiting forever," complained Julie.  "I'm busy, you know and I have a lot to do.  I can't just sit on porches."

"Did I know you were coming?  I don't remember…"

"Well no, but I like you to be here when I come over.  I count on you."

"I'll give you a key if you want it," offered Annabeth, placing a motherly hand on Julie's shoulder.  "When did you get here?"  Annabeth glanced down at her watch.  It was two-fifteen.

"Oh I don't know, maybe two o'clock."

Annabeth shook her head at Julie's impatience as she opened the door.  "You poor thing, marooned on my porch for fifteen whole minutes.  Let me make you a cool drink."  Julie hadn't even noticed her hair.

"Would you make me some lemonade?  With fresh lemons?"

"Sure."  Annabeth led the way to the kitchen, and before long they were seated at the small table, drinking lemonade and eating homemade cookies out of an ancient Aunt Jemima cookie jar.

"I always loved to come home from school when you were baking these and I could have some warm from the oven.  Before Dad married Ginger and you ran off with R.J.."

"I know."  Annabeth smiled at Julie, observing the woman she was today, but seeing more clearly the little girl who had idolized her as the best big sister ever.

Julie sat quietly for a moment, eating cookies and drinking homemade lemonade.  "I heard about R.J..  And the divorce."

"We're only separated.  He told me he needed time alone but today Maggie said she'd seen him with some girl.  I hope I'm not upsetting you talking like this.""So what if you do divorce him.  You can spend more time with me.  Volunteer more.  Join clubs.  Be part of things.  Why don't you volunteer at the hospital or the nursing home?  You're so good with taking care of people."

"I love R.J., hon.  I don't want to divorce him.  I just hope he snaps out of this and decides he doesn't want to divorce me."

"Do you think that could happen?  I would hate to have Bobby leave me."

"I'm sure that will never happen.  Umm, hon?  Have you ever seen anything or heard anything about R.J.?  You know a lot of people…."

"There's always gossip about R.J.  People like to talk and he's always doing something stupid or trying to fleece someone.  But this isn't exactly news.  Oh, my goodness!  I'm almost forgetting why I'm here."

"What have you heard?"

"Oh gee, I don't know.  Nothing new I guess.  I have too much on my mind to pay attention to stupid gossip.  You know the Art and Craft Show? I'm co-chairperson, this year.  And I need your help!"

"If you hear anything from now on, will you please tell me?"

"Okay, sure.  Why don't you just throw yourself into helping me and maybe this mess will blow over."

"What do you need?"

"Oh you know, be a gopher, make calls, help sell shirts."

"Sure."

"Hey--did you finish my dress yet?"

"It's almost finished.  Want to come upstairs and try it on?"

They walked up the stairs and into Annabeth's bedroom where the sewing machine was always open and from an old trunk, painted with the usual embellishments, Annabeth pulled out a black linen sheath she was sewing for Julie, holding it up for inspection.

"Gee it looks great.  Let me try it on."  Julie tossed off her sundress and pulled the sheath over her head.  "Mmm, fits perfectly," she commented with pleasure, walking toward the mirror.

"Yes, you look wonderful.  Very sophisticated."

Julie walked back toward Annabeth, twirling once in a circle like a runway model, then she stopped to peer into Annabeth's sewing trunk.  She pulled out lengths of fabric, some pastel, some print.  Toward the very bottom she found a piece of soft rayon floral print, brightened here and there with gold thread.  "Oh I love this."

"Yes, isn't it pretty?  Laurel sent it to me from New Orleans.  I thought I might sew something to wear to Sally's..."

Before she could finish her comment, Julie had interrupted.  "Oh wouldn't I love some palazzo pants from this.  You could get more from Laurel, couldn't you?"

"I guess so."

"Oh, please!"

"All right, Julie, palazzo pants."

"Did I tell you that Ginger said to come to supper?"

"No you did not!  Tonight?"

"Yeah, tonight.  I told her you probably could make it."

"Well, thanks a lot."  Annabeth glanced at her watch.  Three-thirty.  There would be time.  "If I'm going to supper there, I'd better get into the kitchen and bake some of those orange-pecan muffins Dad likes so much."

"Oh, I love those too."

"Want to stay and help me?"

"I wish I could but I have to pick up little Bobby from his friend's.  But you could make an extra batch and bring them over tomorrow when you come to house sit for the cable man."

"Okay, sure."

By five-thirty, Annabeth was at her father's house, setting the supper table for her stepmother, Ginger, the basket of still-warm muffins on the sideboard.  At six, they sat down to eat, three adults at a table that was designed to seat eight people.

Will Copeland had consumed two of the muffins along with his baked chicken, canned asparagus and mashed potatoes made from a mix.

"Don't eat too many of those muffins, honey-pie.  Think of cholesterol.  I've got your father on a little diet," confided Ginger to Annabeth as though Will were not in the room.  "Since he retired, he's been gaining weight.  Despite all the extra golf."

"Mmm" assented Will, reaching for a third muffin before his wife could remove the basket to the kitchen.

"So you're getting divorced, we hear?" asked Ginger.

"What?" asked Will.

"Yes, Annabeth is divorcing R.J.."

"Was probably inevitable.  Surprised you didn't do it sooner," said Will, in between bites of food.

Annabeth blushed and looked down at her plate like a child caught in a misdeed.  She knew her father's views on R.J.  "No, we're just temporarily separated.  I'm sure it will all work out."

"Seems like misplaced optimism to me.  Nothing ever works out right with R.J..  I should look around at work and find you another guy.  Of course I already tried that once and you gave him away."

"Honey-pie!" said Ginger in her exaggerated way, "Women nowadays don't look for a new man when they get divorced.  They get a career first.  Annabeth will go back to school.  Or get a job.  She can go work in the law office with you."

"What?" said Will, clearly alarmed.

"You type, don't you honey?"

"No, not really."  No wonder her father was so appalled about the idea of her working at his firm.  She was without skills and he knew it.

"Typing isn't everything.  You can start a business of your own.  Remember that business you and Maggie talked about?  I bet there's lots that you can do."

"Maggie wanted that, not me.  All I've ever done is be a wife and mother."

"Nothing wrong with that, if you have the right guy," said Will.

"Honey-pie!  That's our generation, not Annabeth's.  She should already have a career.  Women her age need independence and fulfillment."

"People start planning for retirement at her age, they don't go to school or begin a career."

"Yes, I'm really not qualified for anything," said Annabeth, her voice trailing off.  "I'd expected grandchildren and traveling now…."

"Grandchildren are a blessing, but hardly a career.  Maybe you could start a travel agency since you like travel."

"She's never been anywhere, Ginger.  Good lord!  You're giving me a headache with all this nonsense," said Will, sounding gruffer and making Annabeth feel even smaller and more useless.

"Divorce isn't such a bad thing, you know.  It's how I met your father."

"I know."

As Ginger launched once again into the story about how she'd met Will Copeland, Annabeth chewed her food miserably, pretended to listen, and nodded at the appropriate places.  They hadn't noticed her hair either.  Was it so little a difference?  Maybe she needed to make more changes, buy some new clothes.

"Dessert?" interrupted Will.

"How about some nice, non-fat frozen yogurt?" replied Ginger.

"I hate that stuff.  Think I'll go play with my computer, leave you gals to your girl talk."

"Come on in the bedroom and let me show you the new clothes that need hems."

Annabeth followed her stepmother into the bedroom.  How strange it was, after all these years, after the room had been redone, the furniture replaced, the walls repainted, that Annabeth could feel her mother still there in that room.  This was a sensation that came over her each of the many times she entered this bedroom, despite the fact that Anne Copeland had been dead nearly thirty years.  Over by the window had been an easy chair covered in a nubby avocado fabric with a matching ottoman, and it was on that ottoman that Annabeth sat, while Anne explained about getting her period, something that happened to Annabeth a year after that conversation.  "Don't slouch, dear, it makes you look heavier.  Stand up straight," commanded her mother as they peered into the big mirror on the far wall, Annabeth modeling one of many party dresses worn during junior high.  "It's a bit tight, isn't it."  Anne clucked her tongue, "Too bad you're built like Grandma, not me."  "The seam isn't straight, dear," Anne had said, sitting at the desk placed catty corner to the bed, holding a skirt Annabeth was sewing for a Girl Scout merit badge.  "Pull it out and do it like I do."  They lay casually sometimes, on the big bed, careful not to rumple the striped avocado and purple bedspread, Anne turning the pages of Annabeth's sketch book.  "Oh yes, that looks sort of like a rabbit, but do their eyes slant quite like that or is it more like a cat's eyes?"  Anne often laughed when spotting this creature or that, the usual subjects for Annabeth's art, "Oh, what a funny frog!  We don't have any around here that look like that."  Annabeth listened, usually quietly, to her mother's comments, and then to, "We could sign you up for some art lessons at the school downtown."  The institution to which she referred was merely a former high school teacher, long since retired, who'd begun giving classes in drawing in an empty room above Samuel's Hardware Store, classes Annabeth attended for two years until Markie's, a big chain home improvement outlet, opened on the highway outside of town, driving the smaller family-owned store out of business.  Anne had been sitting on the avocado chair, her feet propped up on the ottoman, an album of family pictures on her lap, her face a bit red, when Annabeth came in and her mother asked her, "If anything should happen to me, you'll take care of Julie and Chip, won't you?"  At barely more than fifteen, Annabeth thought little of the promise she made then, but at sixteen her mother was dead, and Annabeth kept her word.

Those reveries and others, thoughts of exchanges shared a lifetime ago took seconds to unfurl in her consciousness.  Annabeth sighed, refocused her mind to the task of pinning up the hems for Ginger, which took only minutes and then she was able to leave.

When she pulled up to her door and spotted R.J.'s van, her heart leapt.  He was home!

He glared at her as she walked into the house, then said, "Aren't you a little old for ribbons in your hair?"

She winced, removed the scarf, then asked, "You don't like my hair?"

"It's okay."

There were two suitcases by the door. "Oh," she said softly, "You're still leaving."

He nodded silently.

"Can we sit and talk?"  Annabeth walked toward the living room.

R.J. followed stiffly, saying, "I gotta be somewhere."

"Maggie mentioned that she'd seen you with a woman.  Is there someone else?"  Annabeth held her breath, waiting for his answer.

"That bitch been bad-mouthin' me for years.  I told you what the story is, so why listen to her and her crap?  She just gotta be the queen bee all the time and you let her."

Relieved at his denial, she spoke softly, "I don't understand this R.J.  Why've you gone back to our old apartment?  Is it something we had then you want to recapture?  Something you miss from the old days?"  She was open and sincere, interested in what he would say, willing and ready to hear the answer so that she could help him with this crisis.  "Do you miss your mother, being close to her I mean.  You see her all the time don't you?"

R.J. glanced at his watch, squirmed uncomfortably, and remained silent.

"There isn't even any furniture there any more.  How can you possibly stay there?  It doesn't make sense to buy stuff for a short…."

"What are you so worried about?  I'm on the road jus'bout all the time, not here.  You won't even notice I'm gone since I'm always gone."

"Oh, sweetie!"  Annabeth leaned toward R.J., touching his shoulder.  She was flooded with tenderness and the desire to reach out and to help her husband.  He was obviously in deep trouble.  He sounded so angry and resentful.  "Of course I'll notice.  What do you think I do here all alone?  I wait for you to come home."  Seeing R.J. blush on hearing this, Annabeth continued, "Just tell me what you need, what I can do to help you."  She leaned in closer, kissing his cheek, hoping she could persuade him to stay the night.  "Stay here with me hon, we haven't made love in such a long time.  Maybe…."

As she was kissing his neck, R.J. rose abruptly, his voice gruff, and said, "You can't do anythin', okay?  I gotta do this myself, so just lemme go, will you?"

Annabeth watched R.J. drive away then walked into the kitchen to think.  Seating herself at the table, she opened the cookie jar and began nibbling her homemade cookies.  What could she do about this?  Maybe stop by the bookstore for something on men and their mid-life crises?  If they were religious, she could go talk to a minister, but no, they didn't even have a minister.  Could that be the problem?  No, R.J. couldn't abide religion, and it didn't much interest Annabeth either.  R.J. was such a loner.  It's not like he had a male friend she could ask; the only people he ever talked to that she knew of were his mother and herself.  Mother Welner.  She would have to talk to Mother Welner.  That would be hard, very hard.  She would have to do it, to put aside her feelings about Richard and his death, talk to her mother-in-law, pretend nothing was wrong as they always did, ask about R.J. and what Mother Welner knew about this crisis.

It was a long night, and Annabeth slept poorly, dreaming repeatedly that she was pushing her stalled car up a monstrous hill.  The next morning, when she was actually in the car with the engine grinding but not running, there was a sense of exhausted deja-vue, but ultimately the engine caught and she was able to drive to see her mother-in-law, who led her into the living room where she seated herself on the couch.  "I'm worried about R.J.," she said simply.

"Men…" said Mother Welner, her voice trailing off.  She regarded Annabeth with eyes that were veiled, the usual gruffness and dislike in her voice,  but tension as well, but wasn't that normal too?  Yes, there was always tension between them, always would be.

"I just don't see how he can stay in that empty apartment, even if he's only in town one or two nights a week," said Annabeth after explaining in as few words as possible what had happened with her husband.

There seemed to be a glint of regret in Mother Welner's eyes, but it was so quickly replaced with the usual contempt that Annabeth was certain she'd misread her mother-in-law.  "Here's where he's staying, you'd find out sooner or later, I guess."  Mother Welner reached for a pad of paper on the table next to her chair and handed it to Annabeth, who copied the address and phone number.

"I just can't stand to see him so unhappy," said Annabeth.

Clutching the piece of paper in her hand, Annabeth drove the few miles to Wayburn, a town small and indistinct from all the many others surrounding it.  First there were the inevitable gas stations, then a fast food place, a supermarket, a small and insignificant restaurant.  Then there was a laundromat, a stand-alone brick building with a separate door to one side, leading to an apartment upstairs.  Without hesitation, Annabeth pulled the car into the lot, which contained three vehicles, none of them familiar to her.

The parking lot had been paved long ago, but it wasn't very well maintained, thus the cement had cracked and the sand from the unplanted curbside area and a number of pebbles, both small and large, were strewn about.  It was a rocky walk in her delicate sandals and it hurt her feet, but Annabeth didn't notice.  She glanced into the laundromat, which was empty, and then opened the side door, walking up the stairs to the apartment above.  Just before she reached the inner door, she paused, sighing and catching her breath.  There was a glass panel in the door, covered by some lace curtains, and she could see into the living room beyond.  Inside was a young woman, probably in her late twenties, and a toddler who played here and there, returning occasionally to the ugly plaid couch where his mother sat.

Annabeth held her hand to her throat, her heart pounding.  R.J. was living here?  With this young girl?  And a child of one or two?  He wasn't just having a crisis; he was having an affair, with a girl barely older than his daughters.  Maggie was right!  It wasn't innocent.  Could this have been going on for a long time?  The girl--was she the one from the Quick Mart?  Annabeth looked more closely, but it was too hard to tell.  She was rather tall and very slender, her hair bleached blonde, but clearly originally a dark brown.  She sat curled on the couch as the child played, and although the boy paid no attention to the cartoons on the television, his mother was clearly enthralled or she might have noticed Annabeth peering at her through the glass pane in her door.  She held a cigarette nonchalantly in her hand, a gesture of sophistication that made her look like a child playing movie star.  On a table beside her were several coffee cups, emptied glasses, two ashtrays overflowing with smoked butts, a set of electric hair rollers and some casual pieces of costume jewelry.  There were garments on the floor, stray pillows here and there, and in general chaos everywhere to which she was oblivious.

Shaking her head in amazement, Annabeth drew another deep breath then reached up to knock on the door.  Her hand hesitated briefly but then she rapped quietly, and the girl inside jumped up immediately and walked over.  "Yes?" she asked through the door.

"I'd like to speak to R.J." said Annabeth.

"Who?" asked the girl.

"R.J. Welner," repeated Annabeth.

The girl's features clouded over then and she squinted through the glass.  "Oh," she said, standing up a little straighter, but still keeping the door shut, "You mean Buzz.  He's not here."

Annabeth laughed silently to herself first at hearing her husband referred to as Buzz, then realizing that there was no point in grilling the girl, she said, "All right, thanks," and turned and walked down the stairs.  It was true!  It was true!  Buzz!  Annabeth stumbled down the stairs and back to her car, but as usual it wouldn't start.  She turned the key repeatedly, wishing for nothing more than to be a million miles away from this place, from that girl upstairs, from this dismal scene, from this reality that had shattered her own life.  "Start, damn it!" she said, knowing that at any moment her eyes would flood with tears.

Just as the engine finally caught, Annabeth looked up to see R.J. standing beside her car.  Apparently he'd pulled into the lot in his van and she hadn't noticed.  "What're you doin' here?" he asked.

"What do you think?  I was up all night worrying about you, went to your mother's and she sent me here."  Her eyes blazed with anger although her voice was quiet.

R.J. gulped then said, "Look, I didn't wanna tell you, didn't wanna hurt you, but it's probably just as well you found out. I'm--um--sorry."

"Whose baby is that R.J.--that's not your child is it?"  Annabeth held her breath and when he shook his head she exhaled deeply.  "Well, thank God for that."  What was she supposed to say next to this man who was her husband?  She looked into his eyes, then looked away.  Who was he?

"I don't wanna be mean," he said improbably, "But don't come back here.  It's--um--unappropriate.  You need me for anythin', get me on the road on my cell phone.  Okay?"

What would she do now?  Would she go through the rest of her life all alone, no one to care for?What was it R.J. wanted that she had not provided?  Annabeth wondered but could not imagine, because she had worked hard to give him everything she thought he might have wanted, everything he had ever requested.  She had never thought of what he gave her, of what she needed, and whether or not he was offering it to her, and she did not think of that now.

She wished that she could back up the car then drive it right over her husband, flatten him like a cartoon character.  Instead, her heart still pounding, hands clammy, stomach upset, Annabeth drove forward, out of the parking lot and back toward her house.  What would she do?  Now she was really alone and maybe he'd never come back.  Even if he snapped out of it, could she ever want him back?  Maybe it wouldn't ever work out.  Maybe she'd be alone from now on.  It was too horrible a possibility to consider.

3

What she really wanted was to go home and crawl into the bed, to hide her head under a pillow and stay there forever, not to go over to Julie's to house sit and wait for the cable man while her sister went to a club meeting, but Annabeth had promised so she pushed her own feelings to the back of her mind and drove to her sister's house.

"Hi," said Julie, "The cable man's already been here, but I promised little Bobby you'd take him to lunch--his play date was canceled.  You forgot my muffins?"

"Oh, gosh!  They're still at the house."

"You can get them and bring them by later."

After strapping the child in securely, Annabeth drove to Fatty's Burgerama, but what had been Fatty's was now a pile of rubble.  Half the parking lot had been fenced off to allow the giant machines to move the debris into manageable piles so it could be hauled away.

"Wow," exclaimed little Bobby, "Awesome!  I have one of those," he added, pointing toward a big yellow bulldozer.

For a moment she was transported to the night she met R.J., a vision of herself in borrowed red shorts, allowed to work for just one night so she could help Maggie out, and excited to be a carhop, even if just temporarily.  There was R.J., looking neat and glamorous in his Air Force uniform and inexplicably flirting with her, probably the first time anyone had ever done so.  And for the first time she had felt so pretty, so desirable, so girly, as he repeatedly ordered additional items so she would have to return to his car.  He'd eaten eight burgers that night and their romance had begun.  And now, Fatty's was gone, and to her it seemed like a disastrous omen.

Annabeth was silent, her hands tightly gripping the steering wheel.  Her breath came in short gasps and her heart raced, the pounding echoing in her ears so loudly that she pressed her right hand to her chest as she tried to catch her breath.  She was being ridiculous, but her heart continued to thunder, and before she could gain control she found herself weeping, then pressing her hands to her eyes. She had to get hold of herself, but somehow the tears would not stop.

Because he was so enthralled by the giant machines at work outside the window, little Bobby at first was unaware of Annabeth's tears, but shortly he turned toward her and noticed her, the soft sounds still unmistakable though muffled by the pressure of her hands.  He reached a small hand toward her, "Don't worry, Aunt Annabeth, we can go to Burger King."  He patted her arm as he spoke.

The sound of his voice so close to her caused her to snap out of it, and she lowered her hands and smiled toward little Bobby, not wanting him to worry about her.  Reaching in the pocket of her skirt, she removed a tissue and blotted her eyes, still smiling.  "I'm pretty silly, huh?"

"No--I get upset too if I have to wait for long when I'm real hungry."

Annabeth laughed and squeezed little Bobby's hand.  "You know, you're such a nice boy."

Little Bobby nodded sagely, replying "I know."

She wouldn't be completely alone, no matter what.  There would be children in her future, grandchildren and others like little Bobby.  That was a thought of some comfort as Annabeth walked along downtown after dropping her nephew at home.  Feeling a bit silly and very nervous, she walked down a small side street and into a shop that sold candles, incense, and had a hand-drawn sign in the window offering readings by Shauna, tarot card master.

She walked to the back of the store and spoke to a girl of about eleven who was sitting at a card table.  "Excuse me, I'm looking for Shauna."

The girl smiled sweetly, despite a mouth full of braces.  She twirled one of her braids around her finger and replied, "I'm Shauna.  Sit down right here."

Annabeth sat in the seat across from the girl, saying, "You're the tarot master?"

"Oh yes, don't worry.  I've been doing this for a really, really long time and I'm very good at it.  Everyone says so.  My dad owns this store."

"How long?" asked Annabeth, smiling.

"Almost a year.  Really long, you'll see, I'm good.  Now just shuffle these cards and then cut them.  And don't worry."

Shauna took the shuffled cards from Annabeth and laid them out on the table in what appeared to be a specific pattern because she was mumbling under her breath as she did it.  "So you're having some big, terrible problem now, right?"

Annabeth nodded.  How could she confide in a girl barely old enough to be a babysitter?

"It's okay, don't worry, I've heard a lot of stuff about life from people.  You won't scare me."

"Well, okay, it's my marriage."

"That's what I thought.  But everyone gets divorced nowadays.  It's hard on the kids but we get by.  But you must have pretty old kids, right?"

Annabeth laughed.  "Yes my girls are grown up."

Shauna nodded.  "I was only three.  That was real hard on me but look how good I turned out.  And I even help people."

"So you think my husband will divorce me?  He has someone else now."

"Here, let's see."  Shauna pulled a card from the deck.  "Wow!  Look at that!  You're definitely going to be married.  Hey!  How about that!"

Annabeth smiled.  "And you think he will be coming home soon?"

Once more Shauna pulled a card from the deck.  "Oh no, not too soon.  It could be a long time before he begs to come home.  I'm talking a really, really long time."

"How long?"

"Really long, like not 'till next semester."

"Oh you mean after Christmas, well that's only a few months away."

"I told you--really long.  Let me ask what you should do about this."  Shauna pulled out another card and squinted at it, then said, "Wait one second."  She reached for a book, flipped a few pages then said, "This doesn't make sense.  I'm getting another card."  After looking at both cards a moment, she said, "You should be concentrating on yourself now.  Don't worry about your husband.  Do your work."

Annabeth smiled.  "That's good advice.  And you're sure he will be coming home to me?"

"Oh yeah, begging to come back."

"How accurate are you, anyway, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh really, really accurate.  I predicted Jenny making cheerleader and nobody saw that coming.  And I said these two friends of mine would go steady and he said he didn't even like her but they're together now.  So you see?"

Annabeth nodded.  "Thank you very much.  What do I owe you?"

"You're welcome, Ma'am.  Would a dollar be okay?"

Annabeth smiled and handed the girl two dollars from her purse.  "You did a great job."

Annabeth felt good again.  Of course he wouldn't stay with that girl, and everything would all work out.  Shauna had made her feel better, and it was such a relief, she walked to a pay phone and dialed R.J..  Filled with plans for a reconciliation, she said "Hello, sweetheart," when he answered.

"Who is this?" he asked gruffly.

"Honey!  It's me."

"Oh, Annabeth.  What's up?"  His voice was cold and disinterested.

Putting the thought of that girl out of her mind, she said softly, "I'd like to see you, and it would be so nice to have dinner and just talk, don't you think?"  If only he were ready now to come home.  Perhaps….  "I could bake that chocolate pudding cake you like so much."

"Annabeth, for God's sake.  Are you gonna hound me to death?  We're separated.  We don't need dinner, we don't need talk, we don't need phone calls on my cell phone.  We need space.  I need space. I told you that like what--five times already."

"I just want to see you, to spend time with you."

"Look--I'm busy--I'm workin' and I don't need to be drove nuts.  Why'n't you just pretend I'm on the road like always.  You never drove me nuts with phone calls before so don't start now, okay?  I gotta go."  R.J. hung up without even saying goodbye.

Her heart aching and feeling like a fool, Annabeth replaced the receiver and walked away.  She was so silly to get all worked up over predictions made by a pre-teen psychic.  Suddenly craving a treat, she walked into Ed and Betty's Bakery, her favorite spot to think since she was a girl, a blueberry muffin or brownie in front of her as she sat at one of the three small tables.

When no one came to greet her, Annabeth stepped behind the counter and into the doorway, looking beyond it into the kitchen.  Betty stood close to Ed, whispering something into his ear, while he smiled and reached his arm around her back, his hand, covered in flour and bits of dough, stuck outward in order to avoid dirtying her dress.  One of her hands rested lightly against his side and the other tenderly stroked Ed's cheek.  What had been a whisper turned into a slow soft kiss, not on his lips but on his neck. Annabeth began backing away slowly, her eyes still on the couple in front of her.  It was only a few steps back to the front of the store and then a few more outside to the street, where her car lay parked a block away.

What had Betty been whispering to Ed, Annabeth wondered as she passed all the places she had seen before.  She quivered a bit in thinking of it, of Betty and Ed, two ordinary people, long married and obviously well suited.  She got in her car, and after a couple of sputters, the engine turned over and she was able to drive it toward home, another new sound beneath the hood, something she thought of as a clanking noise, but it was not loud enough to distract her from her thoughts.

The summer heat raged outside, but her house was cool.  R.J. had insisted on air conditioning and they had installed a central unit long ago.  It was a relief to be inside, to be able to relax in the coolness, to remove her sweat dampened clothes and to toss them into the hamper in her closet.  She would shower, wrap up in a robe and watch some terrible rerun on television.  Annabeth undressed, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror on her closet door.  She stood back then looking at her reflection.

There was a middle aged woman in the mirror, someone she had suddenly turned into while her attention was focused elsewhere.  No longer was there a girl with long hair, or a firm body.  Now there was a rounded woman, not too tall, yet not short, since her teens too heavy, in fact heavier than she realized.  "Oh my," she sighed, turning one way and then the other.  "I'm so fat."  Her breasts were large, and although they did not sag, at least not at some angles, they were far from the perky movie star breasts one saw in magazines and films.  Her thighs and buttocks were dimpled, her belly round and soft, and striped like corrugated board with stretch marks.  She touched her waist, sighing.  Annabeth turned this way and that, surveying herself from every angle, sighing often.  She reached closer toward the mirror then, noting the slight crow's feet at her eyes, the downward lines forming at the sides of her mouth, more laugh lines than signs of aging, yet still unappealing to her. She touched her cheek, stretching the skin back toward her ears, giving herself an imaginary face lift.  She noted the slight puffiness of her face, swelling that would disappear should she lose a few pounds.  She shook her head then, saying, "No wonder he left.  I look God-awful."  Her heart ached, the way it would if someone she loved had died, but under the surface was a tiny thought, almost too vague for her to capture quite clearly.  R.J. looked no better than she did and she would never have left him.

Soon she stood under the shower, the water warm and comforting.  Her youth was gone, and that wasn't so terrible. She had done with her life what she had always envisioned.  The only problem was that she had no clue about what to envision next.  She was supposed to be with her husband; they were supposed to grow old together, be grandparents together.  Now what?

Annabeth sighed, thinking of Ed, his arms around Betty.  Her own husband was the only man ever to have touched her, the only man who'd ever held her in his arms.  She closed her eyes, remembering R.J. and his winning smile the night they met.  She thought of the nights she'd spent in his arms, so many they were beyond recalling, and some were just as tender as the moment she'd witnessed.  And now he was spending nights with….  Her eyes opened, and she turned off the water, stepping out of the tub and reaching for one of her large pink towels.

She had been downstairs for just a few moments when Annabeth heard a key turning in the lock.  Her heart skipped for an instant.  Could it be R.J.?  It was Laurel, looking like a grown woman, which amazingly was what she was.  Annabeth held her daughter in a long hug, then said, "How wonderful to have you home!"

"I'm not home, I'm here to drag you back to New Orleans.  I need help with my apartment--and Sally'll feed the cat.  It's already decided!"

"Oh?"  Annabeth smiled at her daughter.  She had always been this bossy but now it didn't look out of place.  She was no longer the pipsqueak looking up at Annabeth and saying in a scratchy voice, "You think you know more than me?"

"That new place I told you about--I signed the lease today.  And I need you to come back with me and help me paint it.  I want to do the kitchen cabinets like you did these.  And there are other places where you could paint some of your sweet little motifs."

"You can draw and paint a lot better than I can.  You don't need me."

"Mom, what you paint is you and it's completely unique.  I'm a display artist, not a painter and besides, I thought we'd paint the walls too--you know--with rollers.  You have to come and help me and I'll pay you!"

Annabeth laughed.  "How much?"

"I'll treat you to a shopping spree.  A new dress, whatever you want.  You could get something really pretty for Sally's party."

New Orleans was such a big city, so scary and huge, so filled with crime and well-meaning people warning you to guard your purse.  Annabeth had visited only once when Laurel first moved there.  It was funny in a way, because she had wanted to go there herself, when she was young, to go to art school, but it was Laurel who had actually done it, not Annabeth.  She had stayed at home in Gull's Perch, had made a life as a wife and mother.  Now that life was in serious jeopardy.  Could it be that this was her chance, a chance to pick up loose threads of her life, to reweave a little and see what she might have been?  Could it be that there would be a life for her in New Orleans, with Laurel?

"All right, sweetie, I'd love to come home with you.  Let me just call your dad and tell him where I'll be."  Annabeth reached for the phone then thought better of it.  Why bother?

"Where is he?"

Annabeth wanted to confide in someone, but she didn't want her daughter to be hurt, so she said only, "Oh, somewhere else," but it was obvious by Laurel's face that she read the situation only too clearly.

Laurel's eyes turned hard and she said, "Another one of his messes.  Remember that time he told my teacher he was a pilot?  Probably the only teacher conference he ever managed to attend.  And then the whole class went to the air base and I had to stand there while Dad's boss straightened the teacher out.  Jesus.  And of course that was a day he didn't even show up to work.  And the softball league he was going to form?  Supposedly getting the money for the uniforms and no show again."

"I know.  Just that your dad sometimes goes overboard wishing things were true.  He means well, really.  He loved going to those games--and felt sad each time he did because Hugh ended up coaching you girls.  He'd never hurt you on purpose."

"Oh yeah, right.  Like when he refused to pay for my braces and you had to sew hems and do mending, and I had that paper route and we got up at dawn to deliver them.  I got my braces--same week he got what--a thousand bucks worth of gym equipment he never even used."

Annabeth had heard these complaints forever, and she was used to her role as a mediator, although the last thing she felt like doing at the moment was praising her husband.  How tempting it was to agree, to say yes, he is a jerk, but Annabeth couldn't let herself think that or say it.  He was her husband and despite everything, she loved him still, and in her heart there were more good feelings about him than bad.  She knew that it was sometimes hard for people to understand R.J..  He had too much spirit.  "Oh hon, you're so hard on him.  Try to say something good about him.  You can think of good things about your dad, can't you?"  Annabeth waited for Laurel to answer and she thought of the good things about her husband.  He was exciting and full of plans.  He loved to dream.  He was….

"Sure I can.  He can really hold his liquor." Laurel continued, "And he can speak fluently with both his feet in his mouth."  Laurel's eyes narrowed as she thought of more things to say about her father, but instead she asked, "So what are you going to do now Mom?"

Annabeth swallowed hard.  The question she'd been asking herself since this whole mess began sounded so much worse when posed by her daughter.  She shook her head.  "I don't know.  I expected we'd travel, you know be grandparents."

Laurel patted her mother's shoulder, "You know Mom, you need to get in touch.  Nobody can be a career wife any more.  It's not a safe occupation.  The guy walks and you lose your love, your life, your job."

The terror that was mounting increased.  She could lose everything she'd built over a lifetime; it would all be over and there would be nothing left.  Her life would be like an empty cup, all drunk up and gone.  And where would she be in all this?  Just a ghost, a shadow, a former somebody.

Laurel's voice was calm.  "You need something of your own.  I'm not saying don't be married.  That'd be silly.  Just that we all need something of our own."

"Yes, I guess.  Something of my own…."  What could that be?  Annabeth wished that she could ask her daughter, but how could Laurel tell her that?  The something of her own that she'd always counted on was taking care of everyone else.  What other option did she want or have?  Annabeth didn't know, but she hoped that she would discover something in New Orleans.

It was a long, beautiful drive along the glistening Gulf of Mexico, through wooded lands of vibrant green, and then Annabeth was being led through Laurel's new apartment.  "It's big.  So spacious.  So bright," she commented.  Laurel had rented the second floor of an elegant old townhouse that was typical of many buildings in that area.  There were charmingly ornate iron gates out front, and upstairs was a large verandah that was bordered with the traditional New Orleans wrought iron balustrades.

"I told you," said Laurel.  "See, look at these old cabinets in the kitchen.  I want you to turn them into a beautiful garden scene with greens and pinks and some blue."

"I don't know," said Annabeth, flooded with doubt.  "You have a landlord.  What if he doesn't like it, or worse, gets angry at you?  Maybe we should just lacquer them plain white."

"I live here and it's going to be the way I want it."  Laurel was so strong, so definite and Annabeth regarded her with pride.  Nobody would walk all over Laurel.  They wouldn't dare!  Annabeth had never told anyone off, had never fought for anything, and she couldn't imagine having to, but she knew that Laurel could do so without blinking.  It was satisfying to be the mother of such a strong and successful person.  Something she had done must have been right.  It couldn't all be just a reaction against R.J..

"I thought some wisps of lace here over the window seat, just kind of floating over the windows on rods, not really curtains."

"Yes that would be pretty."

"And see--wouldn't you just love to paint something around this window?  We'll start tomorrow, but first let's go out and get something really nice for supper."

So Annabeth followed Laurel, a girl who was far more a woman of the world than her mother, and they strolled along the streets near Laurel's apartment.  They had left early and there was still plenty of light, still open shops to visit.  They passed dress shops with elegant fashions, antique stores featuring treasures of the costliest variety, jewelry shops showcasing the most elegant gems.

"There's so much to see here," marveled Annabeth, clutching her purse tightly to her side while glancing suspiciously in every direction.

"Yes, whatever you want can be found here.  Look, Mom, I always wanted to show you this place.  Remember I told you about it?"  Laurel pulled on Annabeth's arm, leading her into a crafts boutique.

"The Heart in Hand Gallery," said Annabeth, "Yes, I do remember you telling me about it."

They walked through the shop, stopping to appreciate each item.  The store was a collection of hand made things, each one a work of art.  There were beautiful silk scarves, hand screened with elaborate, vividly colored designs, one of a kind pieces of jewelry in gold and silver, hand carved wooden treasures such as bowls, chess sets, jewelry boxes.

"Look at this," enthused Laurel.  She opened the doors of a tall cabinet which had drawers below and doors above and had been painted yellow and then stenciled with images of Japanese gardens, bridges and ponds.  Here and there a demure obi-clad maiden strolled.

The salesgirl came over then, smiling in a friendly way, and asked, "Can I help you?"

"We were just admiring your things," answered Laurel.  "I love this cabinet.  My mother paints furniture like this."

"Oh no," answered Annabeth, "I could never do anything as good as this."

"Your things are just as good as this.  And you paint inside the cabinet as well as on the outside."

"Yes," agreed the salesgirl, "That's a nice touch."

"Look at this," said Laurel, holding the price tag up for Annabeth to see.

"Wow!  Expensive."

"We have more pieces from this artist over there," said the salesgirl, pointing toward the corner of the store.

Laurel and Annabeth smiled at her and then continued browsing.  Each treasure deserved a comment, a sigh of admiration, and then they resumed their stroll outside, where there were more windows to view, more shops to investigate, the wonderful aroma of haute cuisine beginning to fill the streets.

"This is the best lobster bisque I've ever tasted," said Annabeth, once they'd selected from among the many restaurants offering tantalizing menus in their windows.  "The food here is so much better than at home."

"Yes, the food here is fantastic," agreed Laurel.  "See--aren't you glad you came?"

"Yes.  It's wonderful to be here with you."

Laurel worked long hours, and after the first couple of days she resumed her social life, leaving Annabeth to the painting job she had come to do.  Each morning she rose early, and after making breakfast for them both and seeing Laurel off to work, Annabeth set about her task.  With each brush stroke she agonized; this wasn't some flea market junk she could just toss if it didn't turn out, and the worry that she could mess up Laurel's apartment stayed in the back of her mind.  Each day after she'd painted part of what she envisioned, she would take the plain white paint and blank it out.

By the fourth day, Laurel spoke up.  "What's the story here, Mom?  Every day I come home and smell paint but there's nothing been painted."

Annabeth blushed, swallowed hard, then confessed.  "I'm just not good enough.  I get started and then look at it and I can see it's crap and know your landlord will sue you so every afternoon I paint over what I have and start from scratch then next day."

"Mom!  I may have to throttle you.  From now on, leave what you paint until I come home and look at it, okay?  And then if it's crap, I'll help you paint over it.  Promise!"

The next day Annabeth was tempted once again to white out her paintings, but because of her promise to Laurel, she kept on working, kept pushing through the fear that her paintings were horrible until she reached the point where she could stand back and view them in a stage of relative completion. They weren't bad, not bad at all, and Annabeth could finally see that she hadn't messed up.

On the old wooden kitchen cabinets she painted vivid scenes from nature, Sweet Peas in three delicate pinks clustered on stone paths, violet Morning Glories entwined around gnarled trees, serpentine brooks bubbling through overgrown emerald meadows as tiny children chased jays and cardinals swooping up from the earth.  In the window seat, Annabeth painted something simple, vines starting at the floor and twisting subtly, their tendrils curving in toward the window, clustered with faintly colored blooms. At the base of the window seat below the glass were masses of Jasmine bushes, their tiny blossoms an echo of the actual plants blooming outside on the terrace.

In the bedroom, Laurel asked for a mural on the wall behind the bed, and so Annabeth created a scene of mountains giving way to a waterfall which coursed down a rocky ledge.  Above the hills, the sun rose, radiating reds toward the sky and creating glints of pink reflecting in the pool that lay at the base of the waterfall.

It was a more ambitious project than Annabeth had undertaken before, but her confidence was building and each day it grew easier to work without worry. Each morning she painted for hours, feeling herself being pulled into the scenes she was creating and in their creation being healed of her worries.  In the afternoons for a few hours she would change out of her paint dappled clothes and roam the streets near Laurel's place, absorbing the city air and the atmosphere that was so different from Gull's Perch, her lifelong home.

The French Quarter was absolutely off limits as far as Annabeth was concerned.  The ancient buildings, so charming and picturesque compared to most of the rest of the city, had a strange lure, but all around the Quarter lurked a sense of imminent danger, abetted by the constant warnings of those working there to be cautious, to go in this direction rather than that, to watch out for strangers.  The rest of the city seemed safer, although Annabeth never quite felt comfortable there.

One afternoon, she strolled past the New Orleans Art Institute.  She recognized it immediately; this was the school she'd wanted to attend. Annabeth entered and followed a sign toward a gallery of student exhibitions.  She wandered through the big hall, slowly taking in each entry, stopping to read the small white cards posted beside them, noting students' names, and then moving forward toward the next.  These were real artists, kids with real talent.  They would finish school and go out into the world, be painters, movie directors, who knew what?  It was thrilling and the possibilities were endless.  Maybe she should have pushed harder to come here, should have made more of a commitment to it.  Back on the street, Annabeth walked along, deep in thought.  Yes, she could envision herself back at school, and even if she were much older than the others, so what--she could stay with Laurel and become an artist.

Still imagining this scene, she stopped to gaze into a store window for just a moment, and when she turned to walk away there was man, slick and seedy looking, whose nearness she hadn't even sensed, his hand reaching for the zipper of her purse.  "Hey!" she said involuntarily and jumped back, causing him to dart away.  "Oh my!" she pressed her hand to her throat, her heart pounding.  This was a scary city. It was wonderful to visit Laurel and to see her every day, but there was no way she could stay in New Orleans; it was just too scary.  She must have been crazy to consider it.

Annabeth had hoped during this trip she would see her future, that maybe there was something for her, something as Laurel had said, of her own.  But as much as she loved being with her daughter, she missed her home and missed her husband.  That was where she belonged, not here in this scary place.  It was odd.  R.J. traveled most of the time, but she was used to expecting him back, used to planning her time around his arrivals and departures, and Annabeth missed that, missed her own life, and even though she didn't know what she'd find when she got to Gull's Perch, Annabeth was relieved that soon she could return to the safety of her home.

When the painting was completed, they sewed the curtains and made a moss green velvet slipcover for Laurel's old couch.  At a flea market they found an antique iron bed, which was ornate, but peeling and rusted, something they repaired easily.  What was old or discolored they lacquered white or sometimes a robin's egg blue.  And on top of the old tables and squat bookcases, they draped lengths of fabric, sometimes sheer scarves and sometimes lace, trimmed with ribbon.

"Oh Mom, it's so beautiful," Laurel enthused.  "These are the best paintings you've ever done."

Annabeth blushed at the praise.  The paintings were good, and the apartment did look beautiful.  She hadn't messed it up at all.

4

There was such a comfort in coming home, being in her house once again, feeling it all around her and herself safely inside it.  The two weeks she'd spent at Laurel's were the longest she'd been away from the house since they'd moved in.  Now there was such a sense of joy in her at being back, even though the house was much too silent and she was lonely.  She yearned for R.J. and wished each day that her life was back the way it used to be, that her husband would be coming home to her as he used to do.  He had done something awful, had hurt her terribly, but she loved him still and missed the only life she'd ever known.  She could forgive him, forget the hurt, move forward with him, if only he'd come back.  Was it so terrible that she felt this way, that she wanted to preserve the status quo?  Didn't most people want that?

Sally's party was coming up and Annabeth threw herself into the work of planning for it.  R.J. loved parties, and he would be there.  She'd lost a little weight while in New Orleans and she had two new outfits--a pink party dress and some gray silk palazzo pants with a matching knitted top.  This would be her opportunity with R.J.

When Maggie, Sally and Annabeth sat down to discuss the menu, she began offering suggestions in as confident a manner as she could, thinking all the while of Laurel and how she would handle the situation.

"Jambalaya?" asked Maggie, flashing a look that said Annabeth must have lost her mind.

"And what is that again?"  asked Sally.

"It's this Creole rice, you know, New Orleans rice.  It has tomatoes and lots of spices plus shrimp and chicken and sausages.  It's elegant yet simple, and it's easy to make in big batches," answered Annabeth.

"Oh yes, I love that," remembered Sally.

"I planned to do the sort of party food we always make," said Maggie, "Ham and a turkey.  There are lots of people coming."

"That sounds good.  I just thought some Jambalaya would go with it.  I brought back all the spices with me," said Annabeth in what she hoped was a firm manner, without being too pushy.  "It's just really important to me that we make this party special, that the food is interesting and that it all looks good."

"I know what you're doing," said Sally, "You're trying to impress Daddy and win him back by making this extra special stuff.  I get it…."

"When did R.J. ever notice anything but the beer," asked Maggie.

"I have to try, don't I," said Annabeth, "So just please go along with me on this."

"Okay, sure," conceded Maggie.

"Look at this recipe for chocolate mousse cake--fantastic--huh?" continued Annabeth, hoping the enthusiasm in her voice would be catching.

"I was going to make my chocolate sheet cake," said Maggie, scowling slightly.

"You can never have too much cake," interjected Sally.

"I thought you'd make a platter of cookies," continued Maggie, looking at Annabeth.  She had never sounded so indefinite before.  Annabeth should have stood up to her more often.  No wonder R.J. found her so dull; she never pushed for her own ideas and she was more creative than Maggie.

"Well I could do that, but wouldn't it be fun to try some new things?"

"Are we going to have my stuffed mushrooms for appetizers?" asked Maggie.

"Oh!" enthused Annabeth, "We could stuff them with crawfish étouffée, or spinach soufflé.  Or we don't have to do that.  We could use the stuffing you usually make."

It had gone well.  Annabeth had done most of the planning and they had come up with a very good menu that promised to be much more interesting than the usual party fare they prepared.  Annabeth began shopping and cooking right away, tucking into the freezer whatever could be prepared in advance.  Her trip to New Orleans had been expensive and now with all the shopping for the party, the money in the checking account seemed quite low; R.J. hadn't made a deposit in a long while.  She could make a withdrawal from the savings account, but they'd both agreed not to touch that money.  It wasn't a very romantic reason to call her husband, but at least it was something important.

She reached him on his cellular phone.  "What's up," he said on hearing her voice.

"How are you hon?  It's been a while."

"Great.  What's up?"

"I hate to bother you with this, but I need some money.  I'm doing the party for Sally you know and the checking account is very low."

"What, already?"

"I went to New Orleans to help Laurel with her apartment.  That was expensive and party food is too."

"Yeah I saw charges on the credit card bill.  She's gotta job, you know.  Why are you buyin' her stuff?"

"I tried not to spend too much."

"Okay, look I can put some money in for you, just not a lot."  He stammered a bit then continued, "I have more expenses now--um--a friend--needs some very expensive dental work."

Once again, Annabeth thought of Laurel, her remarks about her father, and of her strength.  She took a deep breath, then said, "Remember when you refused to pay for Laurel's braces?  She had a paper route and babysat and I did all that mending work to raise the money.  Don't you think…."

He cut her off, saying, "That's the spirit.  Raise that money yourself."

Her jaw dropped, but Annabeth forced herself to reply, "Stop it R.J.  It's for Sally's party and I need the money."

"Okay, I'll make a deposit.  Now I gotta go."

He clicked off on her before she could say anything pleasant.  What a depressing conversation.  He could be awfully insensitive at times.  It was such a shame to miss someone so much and then to have an awful conversation like that, to feel annoyed, angry even, and not to feel any better after it.  All she could really do now was concentrate on the party preparations.  When the party actually happened and she and R.J. were face to face, hopefully things would improve.

She worked for hours in the kitchen, and then in the evenings Annabeth would undress and scrutinize herself in the mirror.  Was she any thinner?  Did she look any better at all?  At night she lay alone in bed, thinking of her marriage and what she yearned for.

The day of the party, almost before sunrise, Annabeth was up and hard at work in the kitchen. She assembled the mousse cakes and an assortment of other foods.  Her feet aching from hours of standing, Annabeth peeled and deveined five pounds of shrimp, sautéed chunks of chicken and spicy sausage, peeled and chopped two dozen tomatoes, assorted peppers and onions and then set about preparing the Jambalaya, which was hot and fragrant, kept warm in her oven while she dressed for the party.

Annabeth examined her reflection carefully.   She looked quite lovely in her pink dress.  This had to work.  The party would be wonderful and R.J. would see that he belonged at home with her, not with some young girl.  For all she knew the girl was already history.  Mid-life crises didn't last forever and the men always came home.  Then they could have a new beginning.  Annabeth glanced at the clock.  It was just a bit past four.  She was expected to arrive at Maggie's by five to help with all the hostessing chores.  There was plenty of time. All she needed to do was pack the car and take off.  Carefully she filled two Styrofoam coolers with ice, then Annabeth lowered the cakes gently into them and placed them in the back seat of her car.  The breads and hot Jambalaya fit neatly on the floor of her trunk.

The car started on the first try.  She put the car in gear and pulled smoothly out of the driveway onto the road beyond.  Maybe the old clunker was learning to behave.  Where was that annoying clanking noise?  The car was running much better; it must be a positive omen.  The August heat was unbearable, and it had been years since the air conditioning in her car worked properly.  The cakes were on ice, though and should be fine for the short drive to Maggie's.  Annabeth glanced in the rearview mirror; she really did look good.  Her plan was working perfectly.

She drove another few blocks until she was maybe two miles from the center of town, then the car stopped.  The engine died, and Annabeth used the ongoing momentum to steer it toward the curb, cursing softly under her breath.  She twisted the key in the ignition, but the motor refused to turn over.  She tried again.  Nothing.

There were no houses for at least a mile.  She got out of the car and walked toward the front, releasing the hood and peering in at the engine, somehow hoping that something she'd seen R.J. do over the years would come back to her, inspiring her about how to get the car moving again.  All she remembered clearly was to check inside the radiator.  She removed an old rag from the trunk and twisted off the cap, making sure to stand well back.  There was a hissing sound she had never heard before, and then an eruption of fluid, a spattering of color as Annabeth screamed and jumped back, although not quickly enough.  A stain of iridescent greenish yellow streaked across the front of her dress, soaking into her skin and burning her.  "Ouch," she screamed, pulling the dress away from her body.  She looked down, noting that she wasn't really hurt, although the dress was ruined.  She put the radiator cap back on and tried again to start the car.  Nothing.

Annabeth got out of the car, slammed the door, then weighed her options.  How long would it take to reach a house at which she could use a telephone to call Maggie?  She shook her head.  It was far.  It made more sense to go back to Billy's Garage and maybe the mechanic would still be there.  It was four long blocks, which Annabeth walked as quickly as she possibly could, thinking of the food in her car and glancing often at her watch.  No luck; the station was deserted, so she inserted two dimes in the pay phone and dialed Maggie's number.  The phone rang and rang. She hung up, reached for her money in the change shoot, but it was not returned to her.  She inserted two more dimes and dialed again.  This time she heard a click and knew the phone was being answered.  "Thank goodness" she said aloud, but there was no familiar voice at the end of the line.  Instead she heard a recording imploring her to dial a one and the area code; the phone was out of order.

Annabeth walked on, expecting to reach the Ford dealer whose showroom was just outside town. She could see the tall blue sign in the distance and was certain they would be open, and someone there would have a jumper cable or whatever quick fix the car needed this time.  It was a bit farther than six blocks, and Annabeth walked quickly, her new shoes rubbing blisters on her ankles and little toes.  Entering the dealership, she heard two male voices and walked in that direction.

"You think you're just so smart, don't you?"

"Look, we're on the same side here. We're both trying to save this business."

"The business was just fine until you swooped down like some damn crusader rabbit.  Dad and I were doing just fine."

"Dad asked me to come back.  You know that."

"Yeah, Mr. Big Shot Financier.  Reorganize the whole business so I don't have a clue.  Set new hours.  Act like the boss around here."

"Grady, what is it you want anyway?"

"I want a life, the life I had, when we were doing just fine.  I don't want to be a slave to this place."

"If we don't make some changes the business will go under in a year.  You know that."

"I damn well don't know that.  And besides...."

Annabeth walked up to the door where all the shouting was, but she didn't want to barge in, so she waited outside a bit, hoping the voices would calm.  She looked down at her watch.  It was a few minutes after five.  Maggie would soon start to wonder where she was.  She coughed, hoping she would be heard and the men inside would stop arguing.

"Oh, go to hell!" said the first man, pushing out the door and past Annabeth without even seeing her.

Annabeth took a deep swallow and walked toward the door.  She hated angry scenes like this and didn't want to appear an eavesdropper.  "Excuse me," she said softly.

The man behind the desk looked up from his computer.  In one glance he took in Annabeth's situation and rose to greet her.  He was quite tall, and his white shirt was crisply starched.  His hair, formerly dark, but now shadowed with silver, was neat, as was the nicely trimmed beard he wore.  He smiled at Annabeth in a way that made her relax.  His eyes, black and sparkling, were confident yet kind, honest but also shrewd.  "Annabeth Copeland," he said.  "You cut your hair."

"Yes," she said, startled, touching her hair, "But it's Welner now."  He was familiar looking….Her eyes opened wide, "Doug Hawkins!  My goodness!  Look at you--you have a beard! I thought you left town years ago."  She smiled at him then.  "It's so nice to see you again."  He remembered her long hair.  How amazing.

He smiled back.  "How are those math skills?"

She laughed.  "Probably no better than when you were my tutor.  Luckily I don't need them very often."

"You were always an artist anyway, not a mathematician."

Annabeth smiled at him again, thinking him sweet to remember her silly hobby.  "And you were always good at noticing the details about people."

"Yes," he smiled, "And you look like a damsel in distress to me right now."

"My car broke down a few blocks from here.  It needs jumper cables or something.  It breaks down all the time.  And I have food melting inside."

"The mechanics are gone for the day, but let me see if I can help you."

"Thank you so much.  The car's parked a few blocks from here toward town."

Annabeth looked down at her dress as Doug peered under the hood of her car.  He attached the jumper cables, but the engine wouldn't turn over.  She walked to the trunk and opened it.  The Jambalaya was fine, still pleasantly warm.  She lifted the lid of one of the coolers in the back seat.  The cake was sweating and looked ominously soft.  Carefully she lowered the cooler lid.

Doug sighed as he raised his head from the hood, "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can get this vehicle going again.  I think the fuel pump is gone, and there are a lot of other problems as well.  I'd be glad to have our mechanics look at it on Monday, to give you an estimate.  Then you can decide if it's worth fixing or not."

"Oh my.  I should have called Maggie from your office.  They're waiting for me and this food."

"Let me take you where you need to go.  Then I'll come back and have your car towed to the garage."

"Oh thank you so much," she said, relieved.

He walked to the car, carefully lifting the coolers into his back seat.  Annabeth opened her trunk, removed the breads in their bags and Doug placed the Jambalaya on the floor of his trunk.  "Smells wonderful," he commented.

"Thank you.  I hope it isn't spoiled."

In a few moments they arrived at Maggie's and Doug helped her in with the food.  "Annabeth!" exclaimed Maggie as she spotted them, "What happened to you?"

"Damn car," said Annabeth.  "Maggie, do you remember Doug Hawkins?"

"Yes, of course, Grady's brother."  Maggie said.  "How are you?"

Doug glanced at Maggie.  "Always the brother of the football hero.  My claim to fame."  Then returning his focus to Annabeth, he continued, "All right, we'll have your car.  Come around on Monday and we'll give you that estimate."

"It was so nice to see you again."  Annabeth smiled.  "I'm sorry we didn't have more time to talk.  Why don't you stay and have some food with us?"

Doug looked around at the party preparations.  "No, I can see it's a family affair.  I don't want to intrude."

Maggie, not wanting to be topped in courtesy by Annabeth, insisted, "Please, stay.  You're welcome to stay."

"Another time," he said, backing out of the room.

Annabeth followed him, saying, "Thank you so much."

"My pleasure."  He smiled at her then, an open and friendly smile, one which caused his dark eyes to flash.

Annabeth smiled back, and watched him walk down the driveway and pull off in his car.  Then she turned back toward Maggie.  "I need to go home and change my clothes.  But first let's get these cakes into the fridge."  They walked back toward the kitchen, and Annabeth carefully lifted the lid of the cooler.  She gently pulled the cake up and out, slowly turning toward the refrigerator which Maggie held open.  It was the slight turn that did it. The mousse, already melting, separated from the cake, causing the top layer to spin off, landing on the floor.  On seeing it swirl off, Annabeth jumped, and that movement caused the final layer to fly off the plate.

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Annabeth and Maggie simultaneously.  Annabeth scraped the soggy cake and puddling mousse off the floor and into the trash can,  walked to the sink, rinsing her hands and drying them, then opened the other cooler.  The second cake was collapsed, the mousse puddled around its sides.  There was no way to remove it from the cooler in one piece, and it wasn't fit to eat anyway.

"Now what?" asked Maggie.  "I didn't make my sheet cake.  We do have some cookies."

"Oh God!" sighed Annabeth, "I'm really sorry, Maggie.  I have to go home anyway.  I'll stop at Ed and Betty's and get a cake."

"Fancy food just doesn't work in this climate," complained Maggie, her face a mask of aggravation.  "I'll give them a call while you go.  Take my car."

"Thanks, hon."  Annabeth touched Maggie's arm gently.

Annabeth pressed her hand to her head.  It was pounding.  She looked down at her party dress, now utterly ruined.  Could the cleaners remove that stain?  It was doubtful.  At least she still had her other new outfit.  She pulled into the open spot in front of Ed and Betty's Bakery and walked the few steps to the door.

Betty smiled warmly at Annabeth.  "Hi.  Your friend already called me.  I wish we had more cakes left."  Betty pointed to the nearly empty display case.  There were two small cakes, one frosted in pink, one chocolate.

"These will be great," said Annabeth, smiling courteously.

Betty went about boxing the cakes while Annabeth fished in her purse.  She retrieved her credit card and handed it to Betty, who ran it through the machine.  "That's odd," murmured Betty, who then swiped the card again.  She picked up the phone and started speaking, then turned toward Annabeth, "They say this card has been canceled.  Did you bring the wrong one?"

Annabeth blanched.  "My goodness," she exclaimed, "There must be some mistake."  She looked in her purse for her checkbook, but she had left it at home.  In her wallet were two five dollar bills, which she pulled out.  "This is all the cash I have with me."

"Listen I understand about these credit card mix ups.  Why don't you stop by on Monday with the cash."

Annabeth smiled at Betty.  "Oh thank you.  I'm already late now."

"No problem."  Betty handed the two boxes to Annabeth and followed her to the door, placing the closed sign on it and locking it behind Annabeth.

Not wanting to take any chances with these cakes, Annabeth walked to the kitchen to deposit them in her refrigerator, despite the fact that she knew there was no cream in them to melt.  "What's this?" she said softly to herself, removing a note held to the door with a magnet.

Sorry I missed you, it read in Julie's handwriting.  I needed you to take a seam in that black dress you made for me, but I guess it can wait.  I borrowed those gray palazzo pants from your closet for tonight.  See you at the party.

Julie had borrowed her new silk slacks.  Annabeth dashed up the stairs, wondering what she would wear to the party.  She flipped through the clothes in her closet.  There was nothing special enough.  Annabeth shook her head, which was still pounding, and she slumped down onto the bed.  She sat there silently, trying to banish from her mind the thousand thoughts that were overwhelming her.  Finally she rose, walked into the bathroom, downed two aspirins with some water and then reached into the closet for one of her cotton skirts.  She thought of wearing the gray silk top that belonged with the pants that Julie had borrowed, but she knew it would look odd, so instead she settled on one of her soft knit tops.  She looked in the mirror and sighed, shaking her head.  There lay her pretty dress on the sewing machine.  She held it up briefly.  No, it was unlikely it could be cleaned.  All her plans for this party….  At least now nothing else could go wrong.

Mother Welner was the first one to spot her as she walked in Maggie's door.  "Do you ever take off that uniform, Annabeth?" she asked.

Laurel, having arrived late and gone directly to Maggie's, walked over to her  rescue, steering Annabeth away from R.J.'s mother.  "Mom!  What happened to your pink dress?"

"The car exploded all over it.  I'm ready to lose my mind."

"Why did you let Julie borrow your new slacks then?"

"She took them while I was out.  She didn't know I needed them. Is your father here yet?"

"Nope."

Annabeth looked at her daughter.  "Don't you look beautiful."  She stopped to give Laurel a hug, an act that calmed her.  They walked about the room together, stopping to talk to family members and old school chums that Laurel hadn't seen in a while, then Annabeth went to help Maggie with the food.  The party continued for a couple of hours, people laughing and chatting, balancing plates of excellent food on their knees, while others rose and offered toasts to the smiling couple.

It was nearly eleven when R.J. Welner entered the room, his arm around a young girl who was easily a head taller than himself.  She wore a tight-fitting, low-cut black vinyl dress that would not have been suitable for any event held in Gull's Perch, let alone an engagement party.  Her hair, bleached an even brassier shade of blonde than it had been when Annabeth first saw her, was piled high on her head, and adorned on each side with rhinestone clips.  She wore heels so high that each step required careful concentration, and because the skirt was so tight, she could move only a few millimeters at a time.  Sally took one look at her father's companion, held her hand to her mouth and raced for the downstairs bathroom.

"Where's my little girl?" asked R.J. loudly, first shaking Jackson's hand.  "Jackson, this is Linna--isn't that cute--short for Linda."

"Hello," said Jackson politely.

"Nice to meet you," said Linna in a soft, little girl voice.  She looked around appraisingly, "Nice house you have here.  I love these old houses."

"Thanks," said Jackson, peering down her neckline.

"You look familiar to me.  Do I know you?  I used to tend bar at the Rusty Lantern."

"Don't think so."

Linna continued her conversation with Jackson as Sally approached, prompting R.J. to walk toward his daughter, reaching his arms out for a hug, which Sally granted stiffly.  "You brought a--" and here Sally paused for a long time before continuing her thought "a--a--date--to my engagement party.  How could you!"  Sally once again held her hand to her mouth and dashed toward the bathroom.

Linna was enjoying herself immensely as she regaled several of the men with barroom jokes.  One by one, their wives came over, standing by their men in a protective manner that was quite clear in its intent.  "Buzz, could you get me a drink," she called to R.J., who was walking back toward her.

Annabeth watched this scene from the corner of the room, her stomach churning.  R.J. hadn't said a word to her and had brought this girl to the party.  All the hopes she'd had about a reconciliation, about wooing him back, and then he pulls a stunt like this.  How could she ever forgive him now?

"Are you feeling all right?" asked Maggie.  "My stomach is upset."  She rushed off then, up the stairs toward her private bathroom.

"You know, I feel odd too," commented Julie, holding her hand over her mouth and walking swiftly toward the bathroom where Sally was once again throwing up.

Annabeth walked toward her husband.  She wanted to shout at him, to eject him and his companion from the party, but instead controlled the anger that was rising from her knotted stomach and said,  "There's something wrong with my credit card, and the car broke down today.  It needs major repairs."

"I'll stop by tomorrow and we'll go over it all," he said calmly, then filled a glass with some wine and walked back toward Linna.

Annabeth looked around the room.  Everyone would be thinking the worst about R.J. and about her.  It was humiliating.   She spotted her father and walked over to where he and Ginger were standing.  They both looked a bit green.

"Are you all right?" she asked, momentarily forgetting her own problems.

"No, I feel awful," answered Ginger.  "Something I ate," she continued, pressing her hand to her stomach and cringing.

"I think we'd better head on home," said Will. "Thank Maggie for us."

In a matter of minutes the room was cleared, the weary and nauseated guests praying they would arrive at their homes in time to lock themselves in the privacy of their own bathrooms.

Annabeth remained, along with Laurel, Sally, who was now recovered, although looking quite pale, Jackson, Maggie and Hugh.

"That damn Jambalaya nearly killed us all," said Maggie sharply. "The shrimp must have turned.  Or the sausage.  Did it taste odd to you?"

"I didn't eat at all," commented Annabeth.  "Gosh, Maggie, I'm really sorry."

Maggie looked at her with annoyance.

"Um, I have something to say," interjected Sally.  Jackson reached his hand to cover hers, as she continued, but she removed her hand from beneath his.  "Maybe we are too young.  I'm sorry Jackson, but I don't think we should get married now.  I think I should go back home to Mom for a while."

All eyes turned toward her.

"What?" said Jackson.

"You're kidding, right?" said Maggie, glaring at Annabeth.

"My goodness!" exclaimed Annabeth.

"What's the hurry?" said Laurel as Jackson scowled at her.

"Why don't we go in the other room to let the kids work this through on their own," said Hugh.

"Jackson and I can talk alone tomorrow.  Tonight I just want to go home to my own room and get some sleep," said Sally.

"Let me help Maggie clean up a bit first," said Annabeth.

"No need to bother," answered Maggie coldly.  Annabeth reached to hug her friend, who was wooden and unyielding, and then glared at Annabeth as she walked through the door behind her daughters.

5

On Sunday morning Annabeth sat with her daughters at the kitchen table, all three of them gloomy in the aftermath of the party.  R.J. had said he'd drop by sometime and Annabeth was nervous.

"Oh, Mom," Sally wailed.  "Daddy with that trampy girl last night.  What was he thinking?"

"When does the bastard ever think about anything," said Laurel.

There was a pounding at the door, and Annabeth let Jackson in.  He was carrying a large bundle of mismatched flowers, which he presented to Sally.  "I stole these all over town."

Annabeth placed a glass of juice in front of Jackson, asking "Have you had your breakfast yet?"

His expression was guarded as he replied, "No, but I'm not hungry."

Annabeth looked toward Laurel.  "Come on, let's go in the other room."

"No, Mom, I need you right here."

"I know you're upset about your dad," said Jackson in a voice that was calm and quiet.  He reached a strong hand toward Sally, enveloping her smaller hand in his.

"Daddy's a big jerk."

"I'm not your dad, you know."

Sally dissolved in tears.  "Oh, God," she mumbled, "I don't know.  I just want to stay here with Mom for a while.  Then maybe we can talk?  Okay?"

"No, it's not okay, but what choice do I have?"  Jackson sighed and rose to leave.

Annabeth walked him to the door, then spoke softly, "I wanted you to wait a bit, but I didn't want you to be hurt."

Jackson shook his head and walked through the door.

Annabeth returned to the kitchen where she sat next to her daughter, "Listen to me, Sally.  You can stay here as long as you want.  But I just want to make sure you know what you want."

"Yeah, kid what's the hurry?  Trouble with living in a small town like this is that there's nothing to do but get married.  In the real world there are other choices, you know," said Laurel, trying to be kind but sounding gruff.

"I want to stay here.  I need to think about Jackson and this whole wedding thing.  I'll go by our apartment and pick up a few outfits.  Not everything, just some clothes."

"All right, sweetie."  Annabeth patted Sally's hand.  "You come home and I'll take care of you."

At that moment, R.J. let himself in the front door, walked back to the kitchen, tossed a manila envelope on the table and smiled nonchalantly at his family.  "Hi, girls."  He was obviously none the worse for wear after the evening's debacle, because he casually reached into the refrigerator, located a beer, popped the top, then took a long swig.

Laurel got up from the table and said, "Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?"  Without waiting for his reply, she left the room.

"We're all really upset with you, Daddy, I hope you know that," said Sally, following her sister out of the room.

Annabeth scrutinized R.J.'s face.  There was no sign of guilt or remorse.  Apparently he had no intention of apologizing.  She shook her head, took a deep breath, then said quietly, "You did a terrible thing last night.  The girls and I were humiliated and everyone was embarrassed for us."

"Seemed like they were too busy pukin' up that food you served to take no notice of me."

"How could you do that, R.J.?"

He took a deep breath, then another and said "I wanna divorce."

Annabeth swallowed hard, attempting to maintain her composure.  The tears welled up in her eyes, and she couldn't stop them from running down her cheeks.

R.J. opened the envelope in front of him, removed the documents and placed them in front of Annabeth.  "I seen a lawyer and it's all took care of.  All you gotta do is sign these papers."

Her heart thudded in her chest.  She should want a divorce, should be the one flinging papers in front of him, but in spite of everything, she didn't want to let go. "I don't want a divorce."

"I'm in love with someone else.  That's all there is to it."

Annabeth wept, lifting an unused napkin now and then to her eyes to blot away the tears.  "That girl is what--Laurel's age?  This is crazy."

"Look, we haven't had no life together for a long time.  I gotta life with someone else.  Things I wanna do."

"But I love you."

His voice grew just a bit softer, just a bit more yielding.  "We were together for a long time and I love you too Annabeth.  But I'm in love with her.  What we had is more like a memory--a good memory--but not hardly part of today."

She shook her head.  "What will I do without you?"

He coughed.  "You gonna move to town.  Get a nice little apartment closer to people, closer to Sally.  You can live in Ma's apartment if you want.  And I'll take care of the rent--say for five, no ten years.  You'll find someone else.  Sure you will.  A great cook like you."

He thought she was a great cook, or was that a snide remark in light of the previous night's disaster?  Either way it didn't matter.  She had loved him all her adult life and all he could say about her was that she was a great cook.  "Move?  Why would I move?"  Annabeth cringed at the idea of moving back to her mother-in-law's garage apartment.

"I'm gonna sell this place, of course."

"Sell our home?"

"And when I sell it, don't worry, I'll give you a nice settlement.  Five, no ten thousand dollars."

"This is my house.  My home.  I spent twenty years fixing it up."

"Yeah and you did a great job.  It was a piece of shit when we got it.  A miracle it was still standing.  But it isn't your house.  It's my house."

"It's our house, R.J..  We're married."

"How did I get this house?"

She grimaced, looking at him through tears.  "You won it in a poker game."

"Exactly.  I won it.  It's not marital assets--it's poker winnings."

Annabeth thought for a moment, wiping her eyes.  No, he couldn't be right.  "It doesn't matter, R.J..  Everything we own is joint assets.  Doesn't matter how you got it.  And I don't want to leave my house."

"You got no choice," he replied, angrily leaping up.

She was about to touch his arm gently, hoping to calm his wrath, but he stormed past her, saying, "See how good you do without me to foot all your bills.  I don't gotta pay your rent for ten years, you know.  And now I'll be damned if I will."  He shoved her aside and pushed past her, striding toward the door and slamming it behind him.

Annabeth slumped down in a chair, her head buried in her hands.  She faced for the first time the fact that her marriage was over, something she had known all along but hadn't wanted to admit.  R.J. was gone.  They weren't getting back together.  He could divorce her, but could he take her home?  And what would she do without him to support her?  She had about ten dollars in her wallet.  How long could that last?  The thoughts swirled through her head like light shimmering off the overheated pavement.

The girls raced into the room then and sat down with her.  "What happened?  I hope you told him off,"  said Laurel.

For a moment she thought it would be impossible to speak, but her voice did work and Annabeth said, "We're getting a divorce.  He says he's selling the house."

Sally burst into tears and clung to Annabeth's hand, but Laurel was cool as ice.  "You're better off without the bastard.  But why sell the house?"  Annabeth shook her head miserably as Laurel continued, her voice seething with anger, "You love this house."

"This is our home," said Sally.

"Pops is a lawyer.  Hugh is a lawyer.  We're surrounded by lawyers in this family."

Laurel was right.  Why should she give up so easily?  R.J. always said he was going to do things that he never managed to do.  She could talk to her father, could fight back.  This was her home.  "You're right, of course.  I'll call your grandfather."  Annabeth squeezed her daughters' hands.  "We'll fight back."

Annabeth walked upstairs so she could talk privately.  On a hunch, she dialed the bank's number, where an electronic voice revealed to her that there was a three-dollar balance in the checking account she shared with R.J. and that the savings account had been closed.  Annabeth held her hands to her head.  She didn't have a cent.

She dialed her father's number.  "Dad!  I need your help."  She told her father the whole story, glancing at the clock now and then, hoping she wasn't taking up too much of his time.

"All right, dear, calm down.  Everything you own is joint assets, including poker winnings."  His voice was so strained, so scornful, that Annabeth hated to continue, but she had to know.

"So R.J. can't make me move out of my house?"

"Can you afford to buy his half from him?"

"Of course not.  You know I don't have any money of my own.  And R.J. won't give me any; he expected me to sign those papers just like that."

"If you sell the house, you'll split the proceeds.  That should give you a nice nest egg.  And there's his business.  You're entitled to half its worth as well."

"So I might really have to move?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves just yet, okay? Come into the office tomorrow.  Quentin will file a petition for temporary support and begin process of disclosure.  R.J.'s lawyer will have to hand in a financial affidavit."

"Quentin?"

"Yes, I'm retired you know.  Quentin is good though, so don't worry.  You come on over here and I'll give you some cash."

The tears streamed from Annabeth's eyes.  "Oh, Dad," was all she could say.

"And you ought to change the lock on your front door, just in case.  You have that handyman, right?"

"Yes, I could get him to do it."

"Okay, dear, the cash'll be waiting.  I need to run now, but I'll brief Quentin.  You just do what he says."  Will spoke worriedly into the phone.  "And dear?  Will you be needing to come home to live, you think?"

"Oh, Dad, no, of course not."

The following day, in Sally's car, Annabeth dropped off her daughter at work, then she met with Quentin at her father's office.  After attending to the legal matters that the young attorney deemed necessary, she drove toward the Ford dealer.

Doug Hawkins smiled as she looked in the door of his office.  "Annabeth.  Come on in."  He rose and walked around his desk, touching her shoulder, then indicating that she should be seated.  "I have your estimate right here."

Annabeth glanced at the sheet of paper detailing the various things wrong with her car and the dollar amounts it would take to repair them.  While she reviewed the list, she noticed Doug looking at her.  His eyes narrowed, and he seemed to be deep in thought, as though he were remembering something painful from the past.  He looked off into the distance, out the window of his office, toward where his brother stood talking to a customer, then back toward Annabeth, then outside yet again.  He cocked his head ever so slightly to one side, started to speak, but remained silent.

Annabeth replaced the estimate on the desk.  It was a huge amount of money.  She had been hoping that the money she'd borrowed from her father would cover the repairs, but it wasn't nearly enough.  She shook her head.  What was she going to do?

"It's a lot of money, I know," volunteered Doug.  "I would suggest you think about replacing that vehicle rather than repairing it."

Annabeth bit her lip nervously, looking first down at the repair estimate then into Doug's eyes.  There was something in his gaze that relaxed her, and she spoke unselfconsciously, "I don't think I can afford to do either one.  I'm in the process of getting a divorce.  Everything is very complicated right now."

His voice grew soft and sympathetic.  "I'm sorry.  I was divorced myself a couple of years ago.  Hardest thing I ever went through."

She shook her head in agreement.  "I bet.  Have kids?"

"They're grown, a girl and a boy.  Back in Atlanta with their mother."

"Must be strange to come back here after life in the big city."

"I was ready for a change.  It's actually been relaxing to be back here, working with my dad.  I was a financial analyst for years.  Now I'm just a car salesman."  He smiled at her in a pleasantly self-effacing way.

"You were always good at getting people to do what you wanted them to."  He had a nice face, warm sparkly eyes, and she felt comfortable with him.

"I was?"

"Remember when you organized that whole rally and we thought we'd get in trouble but you got the teachers to join in?"

"And you drew all the signs."

"That's right," they said simultaneously.

"Remember," he started, but was interrupted by the parts' manager who had a question.

Annabeth rose then, saying. "I better let you get back to work."

"We can hold onto the car for a few days while you think about your options," he said kindly.

"Thanks so much.  That would be a great help."

He rose and walked around his desk to where she stood, saying "I hope everything works out the way you want it to."

Annabeth looked into Doug's eyes and smiled at him, "Thanks.  That's so nice of you to say."

She glanced at her watch as she drove away from the dealership.  There was plenty of time before she needed to pick up Sally.  She had tried to call Maggie for the past two mornings, but she had been out.  Surely by now she would be at home--babysitting little Peter.

"Yes?" asked Maggie coldly.

Annabeth scrutinized Maggie's face.  "Hi, I'm glad you're here."

"What's up?" Maggie did not move away from the door or invite Annabeth in.

"I'm sorry about the whole Jambalaya mess.  Everyone recovered?"

"You had to have your way about the menu.  Nobody is still sick as far as I know.  Assuming any of them are still talking to me."

"Is Jackson all right?"

"He's heartbroken as a matter of fact.  You sure got your way about everything didn't you?"

"What?" Annabeth was incredulous.

"You went to a lot of trouble to break those kids up.  Are you happy now?  Look, I have to go in.  Peter needs me."  Maggie backed up a few steps and then closed the door as Annabeth stood there amazed.  Maggie somehow believed that she had deliberately sabotaged the party.  Annabeth shook her head.  What next?

She drove back toward the bank.  In an hour or so Sally would be off for the day.  After parking the car, she stopped into the bakery and paid the balance owed on the cakes.  She had the money her father had loaned her, but that was it.  Annabeth glanced at her watch.  It was still half an hour until Sally got off.  She couldn't just sit around waiting.  She had bills to pay.  It was time she did something on her own.  Taking a deep breath, Annabeth entered Etta's Knick Knack Shop.  "Do you still need me to paint some things for you?"

"You've changed your mind?"

Annabeth nodded.

"Great!  Now let's see." Etta walked through the shop, pulling items her husband had made and stacking them together by the cash register.  "Can you get all that done in time?"

"Yes, I paint pretty quickly.  Do you have any idea how much money they will bring in?"  Annabeth took a big gulp and then continued, "I'm getting divorced and I need to make some money."  There.  She had said it.  It was getting easier and easier to admit the truth.

"Let's see," said Etta, pulling a sheet of paper from the file drawer in her desk and scribbling on it.  She gave an estimate of Annabeth's possible earnings then said, "Maybe a little more if they sell right away and I don't have to reduce them."

Annabeth nodded again.  "That's great."  It was money all right, but not very much.  There was no way she could make a living painting on furniture.

"Did you want a small advance on them?"

"No, that's not necessary.  You pay me when you sell them.  But Etta--what if nobody wants them?"

"I'll pay you no matter what, but somebody will want them, I'm sure.  And then maybe you can paint more for me."

"Okay," agreed Annabeth, still worried that Etta would lose money on her work.

She walked toward Gleason's Drug Store, which was perpendicular to the bank.  The Help Wanted sign was still in the window.  Thinking about her father and the concern in his voice when he asked her would she be returning home to live, Annabeth steeled her nerve and decided to take a risk.  They probably wouldn't want to hire her, but she was going to ask anyway.

"Hello," she said to Chuck Gleason.  "I was wondering about the job."

"Oh. Yes, we need help at the soda fountain.  And sometimes at the cash register.  The job only pays four..." Chuck looked at Annabeth, and he continued, "Well, all right, five dollars an hour.  Interested?"

"Yes I am."

"Would Wednesday be too soon?  I can't get a delivery of supplies before then."

"Wednesday will be just perfect."  He wanted her!  Just like that!  Annabeth couldn't believe it; somebody gave her a job!

Sally was waiting with Jackson at the car when Annabeth returned.  "Hi, Mom."

Annabeth smiled at the kids, saying, "Guess what?  I just got a job!"

"Doing what?" asked Sally.

Annabeth laughed.  "I'm Gleason's new soda jerk!"

"Oh, Mom, you shouldn't have to do that all day long.  That's a job for a kid."

"Congratulations," said Jackson.

"I think I'm lucky they wanted me.  So what are you kids up to?"

"Jackson wants me to go to dinner with him.  You don't mind do you?"

"Of course not.  You go on.  I'll see you later."

Annabeth drove back toward home, thinking about all the events of the day.  She would have to sit down with Maggie and work through the whole misunder-standing.  For the first time since her mother died, Annabeth really needed Maggie, and the thought of anger between them was really too much to bear.  She pulled up at the side of the house where she usually parked--in front of R.J.'s collection of heaps. R.J. himself was on a ladder in front of the house, painting the trim, covering over all the designs she had painted.

"What are you doing?" Annabeth spoke to R.J., who was balancing himself on the tall ladder which had been propped against the front of the house.

"I'm gettin' this place ready to sell.  Can't have all these tacky gee-gaws plastered all over the place."

Annabeth thought about the events of the last few weeks.  She remembered the humiliation of the party.  She thought about her car and the trouble it had caused her for months.  What was the point of being married to an ex-mechanic if you had to drive a car that wouldn't run?  Instead of tears rising up into her eyes, anger flooded her heart.  It was an unusual sensation for Annabeth, but one which felt appropriate at last.  She reached out toward the ladder where her husband perched and gave it a tentative shake.

"Now this is the way it's going to be," she said.  "You get down off that ladder, and you better make it quick or I'll help you down.  You get in your van and drive out of here.  This is my home and you're not taking it from me.  You want a divorce.  Fine.  Call my lawyer.  In the meantime, I don't expect you to show your face around here.  I'm finished with you, R.J. Welner."

R.J. looked astonished.  These were the first angry words she had ever spoken to him.  He grasped the ladder more tightly as she gave it another tentative shake.  The can of paint fell from his hand, spattering the grass below.  Annabeth shook the ladder a bit harder then watched her husband scramble down.  When he was three steps from the ground she had the urge to topple it completely.  In her mind she could see him sprawled on the ground, and she laughed at the vision.

By then R.J. had stepped down and was staring at her.  "What are you laughin' at?"

"Get out of here."  Annabeth watched as her husband drove away, then she let herself into the house, using the shiny new key which came with the lock Rum had installed.  She went into the kitchen, flipped open the phone book, and dialed Sam's Junk Yard, R.J.'s favorite auto salvage place.

"Hello?  I have a dozen cars to sell."

6

Instead of letting her shoulder bag swing at her hip as she usually did, Annabeth carried it with the strap twisted around her hand.  The most cash she'd ever had in her wallet at one time was a hundred dollars.  Now she carried nearly four thousand.  How strange the house looked without R.J.'s collection of heaps.  No, it looked better.  There was room for a bigger garden if she wanted.  If only she were able to keep the house instead of having to move out of it.  What would R.J. say when he found out she sold his cars?  There was little doubt there--he'd be livid.

She walked into Hawkins Ford, toward Doug's office, but he wasn't there.  Stepping back into the showroom, she admired the new cars.  She had never had a new car of her own.  Imagine being able to walk right in here and buy one of these shiny new vehicles.  R.J.'s van was only a couple of years old--he had bought it new.  Her car had once been his--the one he drove to work before he started his vending machine business.  Annabeth ran her fingers along the fender of a shiny red Mustang.  Gosh!  It was adorable.  Imagine speeding along the highway in that.  She wouldn't think a thing about visiting Laurel if she had a nice safe car like that to drive.  She glanced at the sticker then sighed, the numbers on it banishing her fantasy.

She walked toward the door, a bit intimidated.  Outside was the lot of used cars.  Surely one of those would be better than her old clunker.

"Hi, there!"  His voice was deep and smooth.  His intonations confident and friendly.

Annabeth turned and looked up into the smiling face of the man who'd just addressed her.  He was the one Doug had been arguing with the day of the party.

He offered her his hand.  "I'm Grady."

"Hello," she said quietly, observing him.  He hadn't changed much from his days as a football star.  He still had that predatory quality, that take-charge self-confidence.

"How can I help you?"

"I was expecting to see Doug."

"He's not here just now.  Let me help you."  He walked over to the Mustang she had just been admiring, opened the door and helped her inside.

"Very comfortable seats," she said, climbing out.

"Did you want to test drive it?"

"Actually I wanted to look at used cars."

Grady nodded his head, looking into her eyes in a way that implied that he knew her although Annabeth was certain he did not remember her at all.  "Let's go outside then, ma'am, um?"

"Annabeth Welner."

"You know, Ms. Welner, you'd look awfully good in that Mustang.  It seems a shame not to at least test drive it."

"I could test drive it.  I just couldn't pay for it.  Let's look outside."  Annabeth was amazed to hear herself speaking so frankly.

Grady led her toward the door, mentioning as they walked, "We offer excellent financing, you know."

They walked through the lot of cars.  There were so many, but some of them were priced relatively cheaply.  Annabeth wondered how she'd choose the right one.  She took a deep breath and tried to get a sense of focus.

"You know, I think I have the perfect car for you. Come on back here."

Annabeth followed Grady to the car he recommended, but before she could climb into it, Doug appeared.  Grady scowled almost imperceptibly as Doug scrutinized him and then looked her and back to Grady.  What was going on between these two men?  There was definitely something below the surface, but she couldn't imagine what.  "I looked for you when I came in," said Annabeth.

Doug watched Annabeth and his brother closely for a reaction then said, "Why don't you let me take over."

"Okay, sure," answered Grady without emotion.

"Thank you for all your help," said Annabeth to Grady.

"No problem."

Doug touched Annabeth's arm as Grady walked off.  "It's nice to see you again," he said smiling, his eyes flashing at her.

"I did something terrible," she laughed.

"Oh?" he asked playfully.

"My husband had a dozen old cars parked at the side of our house.  I sold them all to Sam's Junk Yard.  I'm tired of driving a clunker."

Doug laughed.  "His body's not in one of the trunks, is it?"

"No."

"Then you're not so bad.  Not an amicable divorce?"

"Oh, I don't know.  We just started it.  He canceled my credit card and cleaned out the bank accounts."

Doug shook his head.  "I'm sorry.  Your dad's a lawyer, isn't he?"

"You have such an amazing memory."

Doug looked deeply into her eyes then, as though he were searching for something.  "I'm surprised you didn't want Grady to help you," he said improbably.

"Why would you think that?"

"Because he was your first--uh--boyfriend--uh--in high school."

"What?"

"You did--uh--date him, didn't you?"

"No!  I don't think we ever even had a conversation."

"Are you sure?"

Annabeth grew more perplexed by this line of questioning.  She thought back to high school, remembering a dance and began to speak.  "There was the spring dance.  Where you there?"

Doug watched her intently as she spoke, shaking his head briefly to respond and indicating that she should continue.

"I was standing with Maggie and Janice, and we were talking.  Grady started to walk toward us, to ask Janice to dance.  She was very popular there for a while."

Doug laughed, remembering the time, on a dare, Janice had left off the bottoms of her cheerleader's costume and then revealed quite a bit too much when she made a leap and her skirt twirled up.  "Bottomless cheerleaders usually are."

Noting the intensity of his gaze without making sense of it, Annabeth continued, "Maggie squealed, in a whisper, if you can whisper and squeal at the same time, 'Ooh it's the Hawk!'"

"His football name."

"Yes.  And before he could ask Janice to dance, Maggie grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the dance floor."

"Maybe he was coming to ask you to dance."

Annabeth blushed.  "Go on.  Of course not.  I'm sure not."

"That's an interesting story."  Doug's eyes were flashing.

Annabeth was certain she saw anger there but couldn't imagine why.  Not knowing what to say next, she touched the car Grady wanted to sell her and said, "Your brother seems to think this is the car for me."

"He probably doesn't know that you have a trade in and can afford something a little better.  You do want to trade in your old car, right?"

"I figured it wasn't worth anything."

"Sure it is.  Now come over here.  This is the car I want you to have.  It's in perfect condition.  Low miles.  New tires and battery.  You know the little old lady who only drove to church?"

Annabeth laughed.  "She gave up religion and decided to sell this car?"  Then she spotted the price painted neatly on the windshield.  "This is over seven thousand dollars."

"With your car as trade in.  And your ill-gotten gains from fleecing your husband."

"It's red.  I love red."

"Take it for a test spin, why don't you.  Just to be sure you like the way it handles."

She was in love!  She had bought a car!  Annabeth held her hand up to the vent.  Cold!  Perfect air conditioning.  She reached down and turned up the radio.  It sounded great.  And if she wanted to, she could play a cassette.  She looked down at the passenger seat, where all the papers lay.  It was her car and she had papers to prove it!  Her foot pressed down on the gas pedal and the car sped forward, silently obeying her commands.  There was no sound coming from under the hood but the smooth purring of the motor, perfectly doing its job.  Annabeth pulled out onto the local highway, where she could accelerate and enjoy driving her car.  It seemed a shame to go right home.

She drove for a bit, but there was no point in wasting gas driving along aimlessly, so she reversed the car and headed back into Gull's Perch.  Maggie, she thought, and glanced at the clock on the dash, which kept perfect time.  It wasn't much past two.  Maggie would be home, so Annabeth resolved once again to stop by and speak to her friend.  It was a matter of minutes before she was pulling up in Maggie's driveway, stopping the car and walking toward the door.  She glanced back once, thinking, I love that car!

Maggie pulled the door open, her face a mask of disinterest.  "Yes?" she said without emotion.

Annabeth bit her lip, looking deeply into her friend's eyes.  "Maggie, come on, stop this.  Let's talk."

"I'm busy right now."

Annabeth winced.  "Listen to me.  I did nothing to break up those kids.  They aren't even broken up.  They're still together every night.  You know that, don't you?"

Maggie stared silently at her.

"And I surely didn't try to ruin the party.  You can't really believe that.  My God.  You know how much trouble I had with that car.  For months.  In fact I just bought a new one.  Sold all R.J.'s heaps--without him even knowing it."

Maggie looked toward Annabeth's car parked in her driveway and her brow furrowed.  She opened her mouth to speak, but then her grandson's voice came from the kitchen.  "Oops, I need to go now."  And before Annabeth could reply she had shut the door.

Annabeth walked toward her car, the thrill at seeing it dampened only slightly.  What sense did it make for Maggie to be so angry?  She couldn't imagine.  Didn't it seem as though Maggie was just about to laugh when she heard about the sale of R.J.'s junker cars?  Sure it did.  Why was Maggie clinging to this anger?  And was she crazy or did Maggie look resentful when she saw that Annabeth's car was as nice as her own?

She turned the key in the ignition, and realizing that she was holding her breath, Annabeth consciously relaxed.   The motor started.  Of course it did!  She pulled out onto the street and drove the few miles to Old Magnolia Bayou.  Maggie would relent, Annabeth was certain of it.  The car drove smoothly along the curving lane and she pulled up beside her house, spotting Julie's car.

Julie sat waiting on the porch.  "You changed the lock!" she exclaimed.

"Dad told me to."

"I've been stuck here waiting for like twenty minutes.  Whose car were you driving?"

"My car.  Isn't it great?  I got fed up with that old clunker."

"Sure, it's nice.  Ready to help me with the art show?"

Annabeth sat beside her sister on the porch, enjoying the afternoon breeze.  "Sure.  Only I don't know if I can help the day of the show.  I got a job."

"A job?  You're kidding.  Doing what?"

"Soda fountain at Gleason's Drug Store."

Julie laughed.  "Whatever for?"

"For money, what do you think?"

"So you won't be able to help me then?"

"I can help some, sure.  Tomorrow is my first day and I guess I will find out my schedule then."

"Who'll take little Bobby when I need help with him?"

"Well, I don't know.  I'm pretty sure I'll be working most weekdays.  Gee, maybe even some weekends.  I don't know yet."

"I count on you, Annabeth.  You know I do."

"I know.  And I want to be there for you but I need to make money.  I'm getting divorced.  R.J. canceled my credit card and cleaned out the bank accounts.  I might even lose this house."

Julie was clearly distressed.  "That's terrible."  She stood and reached over to hug her sister.  "I don't know what I'll do without you."

"You won't be without me.  I'll help you as much as I can.  And of course, even if I do have to move, I'll still be here in town."

"Okay. I guess."

"Oh--did you bring back my gray slacks?"

"No, but I didn't forget them. They're at the cleaners.  I got something on them at the party, but I'm pretty sure they can get it out."

Annabeth sighed.  "Okay.  Now what did you want me to do tonight?"

Julie reached into her bag and retrieved a list and began to speak.  Annabeth listened, nodding, and some time passed as they discussed the art show.

Annabeth watched Julie drive away after having agreed to do as much as she could of the tasks her sister assigned.  She sat for a while, feeling the silence of the afternoon all around her, and she was bothered by a sense of uneasiness.  So many things had changed in such a short time.  Annabeth sighed at those changes, and at those to come, but there was more than that on her mind.  She felt guilty.  It was rare for her to behave in a selfish manner, and often when she got what she wanted there was a sense of guilt along with the pleasure.  What was it today?  Was it the sale of her husband's cars?  The wrath that he would no doubt visit on her?  She had betrayed his trust by selling his cars, yes she knew that, but somehow that was not the source of the guilt that plagued her now.  Her husband had abandoned her.  Her best friend was furious at her.  And her sister felt insecure and abandoned by her.  Surely some of this was her fault?  Annabeth pondered her life and the feelings of the people she loved. How was she to blame for these problems?  She didn't know, and once again she sighed.  This would probably be her last free afternoon for a while.  She looked at the sky, noting the position of the sun.  It would not set for a bit.  She could sit here now and think, but tomorrow she would be at work.

The next morning, Annabeth checked her watch half a dozen times while she made breakfast.  She didn't have to be there until eleven.  But being early was important.  At quarter to eleven, she walked into the drug store, but the person behind the prescription counter wasn't Chuck.  It was his father, Charles, a man in his late fifties.  His hair, formerly sandy, was now sparse, and he wore gold-rimmed glasses that veiled his watery blue eyes.  He was smaller than his son, perhaps only an inch or two taller than Annabeth herself.

She smiled at him as he looked up from his work to greet her.  "I'm Annabeth.  Chuck hired me to work here."

"Yes, hello.  He told me you'd be coming.  We got a shipment of ice cream just this morning.  And there are other supplies in the big refrigerator in back.  You'll need to straighten up the counter, wash the glasses, set up the freezer in front.  And then, once that's done, maybe you could straighten the shelves a little, dust a bit.  Do you know how to work a cash register?"

Annabeth shook her head.

"Let me show you that first thing."

Annabeth followed Charles around, trying to remember every detail he said and she learned to work the cash register.  "How about that!" she laughed, "It's not that hard at all."

Charles smiled at her, "No, I'm sure you'll do just fine."

Annabeth worked silently for several hours, and eventually the ice cream counter gleamed, the glasses were sparkling and neatly stacked on their shelves behind the counter, the supplies were in perfect order, and even the stools were polished.  She stood back for a moment and admired her work.  Looking into every storage area behind the cabinet, Annabeth made sure that everything was in order and that she knew where each item was.  She pulled out a bag of waffle mix and studied the directions.  It seemed pretty simple.  She turned on the pizzelle machine and started producing hand made waffle cones and waffle cups, which she placed in the small dispenser on top of the counter.

Charles, who had been observing her from time to time, came out from his pharmacist's window and sat on one of the stools.  "That's a wonderful smell," he said.

"Want to be my first customer?"

"Think you could make me a hot fudge sundae in one of those waffle cups?"

"I sure hope so!" she laughed.  "Vanilla ice cream?"

Charles thought for a bit about his options.  "Coffee?" he mused.

"Oh!  A sophisticate!"

"Pistachio?"

"A rebel!"

"Strawberry?"

"A naturalist!"

Charles smiled at Annabeth in a friendly way.  It was probably a lot more congenial for him to have her working there than some teenager.  Annabeth smiled back; he was a nice man and working wasn't so hard.  "You know," she confided, "In fancy ice cream places in New Orleans they have exotic flavors like mango and kiwi."

"No kidding.  I've never even tasted a kiwi."

"Kind of sweet and tangy.  Now, for your sundae--what about a scoop of strawberry and a scoop of something else.  Pistachio.  That would be pretty."  Charles nodded in agreement and watched happily as she created his sundae in the waffle cup that was by now cool.

Although she was not overly busy, Annabeth found things to do, and the hours passed.  Before long it was eight o'clock, and time for her to leave.

"Hope we didn't work you too hard on your first day," said Charles.

"No, not at all."

"How will you manage supper for your family working so late here each night?"

"My daughter is off with her fiancé.  Nobody else to worry about."

"Oh, I see.  Normally Chuck and I take turns working late here.  Have to compete with the discount drugs on the highway."

Annabeth nodded.

"Usually I go right home, but tonight my wife is at her sister's house in Apalachicola.  I figured on grabbing a burger at the Rusty Lantern before going home.  Why don't you come along?  I mean don't get the wrong idea.  I just hate to eat alone."

"The Rusty Lantern?" she asked.

"They have better burgers than the fast food places.  Oh, you're worried because it's a bar.  Actually it's kind of fun on Wednesday nights. They have karaoke--you know--sing along.  It can be pretty funny to hear some of those crooners."

Annabeth hesitated.  "I've never been in a bar."

Charles smiled at her, saying, "You'll be safe with me."

It was a long, typically dimly lit room with the bar on one wall and a few brown vinyl booths on the opposite one.  In the middle of the room were maybe half a dozen tables.  On the back wall was a juke box, and to one side of it sat a cigarette machine with a small sticker proclaiming Welner Vending.  There was a small, high window at the front by the door, and in it was a neon sign with a picture of a lantern.  Below that were more tables, the ones chosen by people wanting only to eat.

"It's not so bad, is it?" asked Charles as he helped Annabeth to a seat.

The one waitress came over and took their burger orders almost instantly.

"Two burger plates with fries.  Is that okay with you?" he asked Annabeth, who nodded.  "I like mine well done."  Once again he looked toward her.

"Medium rare, please, but I like the fries well done."

"I'm going to have a beer.  Do you want one?"

"Just water for me," answered Annabeth.  "I'm not really a drinker."

The waitress went toward the kitchen to order their food as Charles continued, "There's nothing much else to do around here in the evening.  I mean if you want to socialize."

"And you said you usually go right home."

"I do.  Really.  I hope I'm not making a bad impression on you."

Annabeth looked down shyly, "No, of course not."

"I don't enjoy television as much as Sara does--that's my wife.  And she's not much of a night owl."

"My husband was on the road most of the time in the last few years."

"And now?"

"Now he's on the road permanently, so to speak."

"You're a widow?  I'm sorry."

"Oh gosh, no.  I'm getting divorced.  Just not used to telling people I guess."

"There's no harm in starting over.  Could be kind of exciting, I'd imagine."

"I haven't gotten to that part yet."  Annabeth continued the conversation with this pleasant man, surprised that she could do so.  It had been years since she had anything but the most casual of conversations with people other than those closest to her.

In a short span of time, the waitress returned, setting the food down in front of them.  Two plates of well-done burgers with pale golden fries and two bottles of beer.

Charles picked up his beer and took a long swig, then said, "You know Sara always wants me to be more sophisticated.  Drink wine.  I never got the hang of it.  Usually we drink iced tea."

Annabeth glanced down at her food and lifted her own bottle of beer.  "I drink water usually.  But this is fine."

They took their time eating, sharing bits of conversation, mostly of the insignificant variety, and eventually people started filtering into the bar.  They politely kept their voices down when commenting on the quality of the singers, most of whom were only slightly worse than the echoes coming out of a neighbor's shower.

"Why don't you sing a tune?" asked Charles.

Annabeth blushed.  "Oh no.  You go ahead."

He laughed.  "I don't think so."

Doug Hawkins walked into the bar then, and approached their table.  Charles rose and shook Doug's hand and Annabeth smiled.

"How's the Taurus?" asked Doug, clearly puzzled over why Annabeth was dining with the druggist.

"Sara never lets me drive it," laughed Charles.  "Why don't you join us?"  Doug sat down at the table, but before he could reply, the cellular phone in Charles' pocket rang, and he flipped it open and began speaking.  "Oh, hello dear.  Oh!  Really?  Are you absolutely certain?"

While this conversation continued Doug spoke to Annabeth.  "I tried to call you twice today, but there was no answer."

"I was working at the drug store.  Is something wrong?"

"I know this is crazy so soon after you bought the car, but we got a notice about the seat belts.  You'll need to bring it in and let us check them out.  Actually a whole lot of cars need belt checks."

Annabeth sighed, relieved.  "I thought you were going to tell me it was something serious.  I love that car."

"I'm so glad," said Doug, smiling into her eyes.

Charles said, "I'll go right away.  Don't worry," then flipped the phone shut, and turning toward the others said, "My wife thinks she left the iron on.  She's terrified the house will burn to the ground."

Neither Annabeth nor Doug remarked beyond the sympathetic looks they offered.

"You can get to your car without me?" he asked Annabeth.  "Okay then, see you tomorrow."  She nodded and smiled goodbye as he exited, stopping first at the bar to pay the check.

"I didn't know you worked at Gleason's," said Doug.

"This was my first day.  In fact, I should probably be leaving now.  I only came along because Charles asked me to have a burger with him.  He hates to eat alone."

"Oh," said Doug, clearly disappointed.

"Is anything else wrong?"

He looked into her eyes, took a deep breath and said softly, "My ex-wife is getting remarried this weekend."

"I guess you're depressed," said Annabeth, wondering if she ought to make such a personal remark.

He sighed, "No, I'm happy for her."

She hesitated once again, but then continued, sensing that he needed to talk, "Why do you seem so sad then?"

The waitress came over then, interrupting their conversation.  "Hi," she said to Doug.

"Hey, Wanda.  How are you?"

She nodded.  "Good.  You?"

"Good."

"What can I get for you tonight?"

"I'll have a burger plate, please.  And a Tanqueray and tonic.  How about another beer?" he asked Annabeth.  "Unless I can persuade you to eat another burger?"

She shook her head.  "I would really love a glass of water."

Wanda walked toward the kitchen and Doug resumed the conversation with Annabeth.  "I am sad, I guess."

"It's normal, isn't it--to feel left out when someone you're close to moves on without you."

Wanda returned with his drink, placing it in front of him, then said, "The burger will be right out."

"Thanks, and a glass of ice water please."

"Be right back," said the errant waitress.

Doug once again returned his focus to Annabeth.  With genuine interest and sympathy, he asked, "And how are things going with your divorce?"

"Nothing new yet.  I have to go to a meeting in a couple of weeks to look over papers and discuss details.  I can't quite believe it yet, in fact.  It's all kind of a blur."

"Being in shock is normal."

"I guess."

"I think you're doing very well.  You got a job, a new car.  You seem to be very strong, to be taking charge of your life.  I admire that."

"Me?  Gosh, I don't know."  She wondered how he could have such a good impression of her from so little, and then confessed, "I usually feel terrified."

"Starting over can feel so hard, once you've made a mistake.  Nobody wants to screw up at all, let alone more than once."

"It must have taken a lot of courage for you to come back here, to leave everything you were used to for so long."

Doug's voice lowered so that no one could overhear, "My dad asked me to come and help him with the business.  I felt it was the right thing to do.  Besides, there was nothing holding me in Atlanta on a daily basis any longer.  I can drive up and see my kids anytime I want to, but they're busy with their own lives now."

"Are they both married?"

"Betsy is--she's the oldest--a teacher.  Philip is in law school.  His last year."

Annabeth smiled.  "Oh, how nice.  My oldest--Laurel--is a display person at Saks in New Orleans.  Sally works at the bank up the street, but all she wants is to be married.  Actually it was her engagement party that you saw at Maggie's.  Of course now those plans are up in the air, but I'm sure it will all work out."

Doug shook his head.  "Who would have thought that we'd be parents of grown children, sitting here talking about adults who used to be our little kids?"

"Feel old?"

"I don't know, kind of, not old exactly, just incomplete.  But I don't want to depress you.  After all, it's you going through the divorce, not me.  Tell me, how are you doing with your art?"

"I don't really do all that much."

"You're kidding."

"Well, I paint on furniture sometimes.  Flea market junk that I decorate.  Just for fun. Though I just finished painting some pieces for Etta's Knick Knack Shop around the corner."

"You know I always thought you were so talented.  I expected you to do great things."

"Me?  Nah!"

Annabeth thought about the evening as she drove home.  She'd had a good time.  It was pleasant to spend time talking to people she didn't know well, pleasant to get to know new people better.  She glanced at the dashboard clock.  Gracious!  It was after midnight.  She had been talking with Doug for more than three hours.  How quiet Gull's Perch was this late in the evening.  So few cars were out and most of the houses were darkened.  She turned into Old Magnolia Bayou, and she rounded the corner to pull up in front of her house, which oddly was brightly lit.  Sally's car was out in front as was Jackson's.  Annabeth parked and walked toward her front door, but even before she could reach it, Sally came racing out.

"Mom!  Where in the world have you been?  I've been frantic.  I just called Jackson to come over and start looking for you.  I was an inch away from calling the police."

Annabeth reached her arm out and encircled Sally's shoulders in a calming gesture.  "I went for a burger with Charles Gleason.  Then I ran into Doug Hawkins--you know the one who sold me my car--my old high school friend.  We got to talking and the time just passed.  I'm sorry you were worried."

"What were you thinking staying out so late without calling?"

Annabeth laughed.  "The tables have turned is that it?  Am I grounded?"

Sally scowled at her mother.  "I never stayed out late and you know it.  That was always Laurel."

"I'm sorry, honey, really.  It all just kind of happened.  I'm sure it won't happen again, so don't worry."

"All right, but if you do stay out late, be sure to call."

"I promise.  Now, aren't you kids tired?  You have to be at work early tomorrow, don't you?"  Annabeth let herself in the door, leaving Sally outside to say goodnight to her fiancé.

7

Annabeth lay in bed, the cat snuggled against her side.  There was plenty of time before she had to leave for work.  She glanced at the clock.  Julie!  She still had some telephone calls to make for her sister, reminding people of various commitments for today's art show.  Fluffing up the pillows and piling them behind her, Annabeth sat up in the bed and reached for the list she'd left on the nightstand before retiring.  She placed the phone beside her in the bed and lifted the receiver to her ear.  There was no dial tone.  "Hello?" she said.

"Boy that was quick," said Laurel, "It didn't even ring."

"Hi, sweetie, how are you?  I was just going to make some calls for your aunt about today's art show."

"Guess what?" asked Laurel.

"What?"

"Southern Style."

"The magazine?" asked Annabeth.

"Well, yes."

"And?"

"And they're putting my apartment in it.  The November or December issue, I think.  They were here yesterday to photograph it for a section on New Orleans."

"You're kidding!  What did they photograph?"

"Pretty much the whole place.  Especially your paintings.  And all the furniture you painted."

"Well, gee, how about that."

"I thought it was exciting.  I mean it's not Architectural Digest or anything like that, but still it's kind of fun."

"I can't wait to see it."

"We did a great job.  I'm surprised Design isn't knocking at the door."

"I'm glad you're so happy, dear.  How are things otherwise?"

"Oh, the same.  How's the job?"

"You know, chocolate, vanilla, strawberry."  Annabeth paused before continuing, "I shouldn't joke.  It's fine really.  Charles and Chuck Gleason are both nice men.  I sell ice cream, do little displays, sometimes draw a sign for them."

"And I hear one of them is in love with you."

"What?"

"Sally says you've been out late twice since you started."

"Well, gee, a hamburger and an hour's conversation with my married boss. That's not exactly violins.  And how is your love life--now that's a real question."

"I've been dating this guy, Zach, if you must know."

"Yes, I must.  Tell me everything."  Annabeth listened as Laurel offered a few details describing her most recent boyfriend, then continued, "And how is your career?"

"It's great, really."

"I'm glad."

After completing Julie's errands, there was plenty of time before she was due at work, so Annabeth took some time to stroll along downtown at the sidewalk sale and arts and crafts show.  There were tables with hand made dolls, which Annabeth admired and a variety of pottery and leather exhibits.  One woman had taken some key racks and painted flowers on them, and Annabeth stopped to look at them more closely, smiling at the artist.  "I paint on furniture too," she volunteered.

"Oh, do you?  I've mainly stuck to these key racks and these little boxes."

"They're pretty."  Annabeth examined the boxes more closely, stacking a couple smaller ones on top of a bigger on.  "That makes a pretty display."

"Yes, it does look better that way.  Where's your table?"

"Oh, I don't have a table here.  I've never exhibited anything, though Etta has some of my things--the first I've ever done to sell."

"I saw those things at Etta's.  They're beautiful.  I love the birds.  Your things are full of life.  You could sell them at shows like I do."

"Well, thanks.  I never really thought of that."

"I don't make a lot of money, but I make some, and I get to do what I love."

"Excuse me," said a customer, "How much are these boxes?  The whole set, I mean?"

"I should let you go," said Annabeth.

"Take my card," offered the woman.  "Call me and I'll give you some pointers."

Annabeth took the card and walked off, ready to view the rest of the show.  There were a number of watercolor artists, specializing in seaside scenes, as was typical of any art show in that area, plus there were oils of families and children, paintings of oversized flowers, and a general assortment of drawings and paintings of a multitude of subjects.  Annabeth stopped to look at each artist's work, enjoying being part of it, and when she had covered half the displays spread over the grassy center area of town, she walked along the sidewalk, noting the bargains available.

There were tables filled with glassware in front of the antique mall, a bargain rack of clothing in front of Eunice's Dress Shop, and a display of furniture and cabinets in front of Etta's.  Etta herself was standing outside, helping a customer who was buying one of Annabeth's cabinets.

When the woman walked away, Etta called out to Annabeth.  "Hello! Having fun at the sale?"

"Yes, it's nice isn't it?  Fun to combine a sidewalk sale with the art show."

"I sold quite a few of your pieces, you know."

"No, did you?"

"All but the child's table and one cabinet.  Come on in with me."

Annabeth followed Etta into the shop and looked around.  "You've sold quite a bit of everything, haven't you?"

"Yes, we've been having a busy few days."  Etta reached under the counter and extracted a notebook, which listed the various items she'd sold of Annabeth's, and then she opened the cash register and counted out some money, which she handed over.  "Here you go.  I think you should plan on painting a couple more rockers for us right away.  Okay?"

Annabeth looked down at the cash. "This is more than you estimated.  Is this right?"

"I decided to price them a little high for the sale."

"That's great," replied Annabeth, clearly pleased.  "Somebody actually wanted them."

"Of course they did.  Now how about those rockers?"

"Okay, sure."

"I'll have Rum drop some pieces off at your house."

There were more artists displaying their work on the other side of the Pavilion, so Annabeth stepped out onto the grass once again and strolled some more, stopping to view each artist's work until she heard her name being called.  She turned and saw Doug Hawkins.

"We just bump into each other everywhere in town, don't we?" she asked, smiling.

"It's the best thing about living in a town this small."

"Doug, look at this."  A woman turned from an exhibit of watercolors and seeing him talking to Annabeth she walked closer, taking hold of Doug's arm.  She was rather slender and tall, although not nearly so tall as Doug himself, and her coloring was vivid--dark hair and alabaster skin, with bright crimson lipstick.

"Annabeth, do you know Patsy Clark?"

"Hello," Annabeth smiled.

Patsy tightened her hold on Doug's arm as she smiled back.  "Are you one of Doug's million happy customers?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I am."

"Annabeth and I went to high school together," interjected Doug.

"How nice.  I wanted to show you this painting.  So nice to meet you, Annabelle."

"It's Annabeth," corrected Doug.

"Nice to meet you too," replied Annabeth.

"Be sure to bring the car in for that seat belt check," said Doug.

"Oh, I keep forgetting.  I'll try to do it soon."

"Great."  Doug smiled at Annabeth then allowed himself to be pulled away by Patsy toward the watercolor exhibit she liked.

Annabeth continued her walk, and she enjoyed seeing the rest of the art on display.  Noting some people walking along eating ice cream cones, she decided to go on to the drug store, even though she was half an hour early.

"Annabeth!  I'm so glad you're here," said Debbie, the girl who usually covered the front register.  "We've been swamped."

Annabeth noted three people sitting on stools at the counter eating ice cream.  She took her place behind the counter and began waiting on people as they entered in search of something cool in the still warm weather of early September.  Close to a dozen people filed in and out, cones in their hands, and Annabeth enjoyed the busiest day she'd had since beginning her job.

A woman carrying one of Annabeth's small cabinets walked in and sat at one of the stools.  After fixing a hot fudge sundae for the woman, Annabeth listened as someone on a nearby stool struck up a conversation with her customer.

"What a cute little shelf."

"Thanks.  I know, here look inside.  There's a tiny bird hiding in the corner."

"Oh, how adorable.  Where did you get it?"

"Etta's Knick Knack Shop up the street.  It was a real bargain.  Maybe half of what it would cost back home."

"I'll have to check them out."

"I think this was the last one, but they have other, undecorated cabinets."

"It's the painting on it that makes it so cute."

Annabeth placed the ice cream in front of the woman with a smile.  She was tempted to reveal that it was her painting, but she remained silent.  Instead she said, "Enjoy your sundae."

Julie raced into the store at that moment, little Bobby in tow.  "Thank goodness," she said out of breath.  "I really need to leave him with you for a few minutes.  He dumped a whole box of T-shirts onto the ground."

"Gosh, Julie, I don't know.  We're pretty busy now."

"You'll be good for Aunt Annabeth, won't you, honey?"

Little Bobby nodded.

"Just give him an ice cream, will you?  I'll be back in a few minutes."

Before Annabeth could say another word, Julie dashed away, still breathless.

"You're going to have to be a really good boy, all right?  How about a dish of ice cream?"

Little Bobby nodded and sat quietly eating his dish of chocolate ice cream.  It didn't take him long to finish it and then he spoke up, "I'm ready to leave now."

Annabeth laughed, "Oh honey, I can't leave now.  I work here."  She looked under the counter, found a few sheets of paper, pulled a pen from her purse and set them in front of him.  "How about making me a drawing?"  Little Bobby drew a couple of dinosaurs, a house, two cars, and by then he was quite bored and began twirling on his stool.

Annabeth handed the last waffle cone to a woman who wanted a double scoop.

"Excuse me," said the next customer, "I'll have one of those."

The pizzelle machine was already heated up, and Annabeth was in the process of making more cones, but she couldn't make them as fast as she could sell them.  "I'm sorry--it will be a few minutes for a hand made cone.  We've been very busy."

The man nodded and Annabeth dashed back to the end of the counter where little Bobby was twirling madly.  "Bobby!  Don't do that.  You're making me dizzy."

Little Bobby stopped for a moment then twirled around again.

Annabeth reached out her hand and caught him by the arm, halting his spin.  "Stop it.  I mean it.  Draw another picture."  She turned, removed the waffle, and folded the flat shape into a cone, placing it into the holder on the counter, then poured some more batter on the machine.  "I just want to let it cool a bit so your ice cream doesn't melt," she said to the man who was waiting.

Three high school girls came in chattering and laughing and asked for regular cones, which Annabeth prepared, sending them on their way.  "You've been awfully patient," she said to the man who was tapping his foot.  She reached for the cone, but at the same moment, little Bobby lunged for it as well, causing the stand to topple onto the floor, shattering the cone.

A Southern gentleman, the man refused to be rude, and instead said, "Maybe I better just have a sugar cone."

Annabeth sighed in relief, "Oh thank you."  She gave him extra large scoops on his double dip and offered him the cone, saying, "There's no charge."

"Why thank you," he replied and left.

Annabeth opened her purse, removed some money to pay for the man's and little Bobby's ice cream and placed it in the cash register.  She then leaned over toward little Bobby, saying "I want you to calm down this minute."

"I'm bored," he whined.  "I want to come back there with you."

There was a small stool where Annabeth sometimes sat during the deadest part of the day, and she placed her nephew on this seat and admonished him to stay there while she washed and dried the stand and replaced it on the counter.  She formed another cone, placed it inside and poured some more batter.

A couple of women came in then, taking seats at the far side of the counter, and Annabeth prepared their banana splits quickly. One of them looked toward little Bobby, who began to scream.  "Oh!" she exclaimed.

Annabeth turned to see her nephew with his hand on the pizzelle machine, which he quickly removed, then began to cry.

"Bobby!" she exclaimed, racing toward him.  His hand was badly burned, and she held it under a stream of cold water.  "Oh Bobby."

The child continued to wail as she held his hand under the water.

Her voice grew soothing, "Come on now, calm down.  I know it hurts, but you'll be all right."

Charles came out from behind his pharmacist's window and he walked over to where Annabeth was tending little Bobby.  He took the child's hand in his own and examined it.  "Come with me, young man."

Annabeth watched as Charles applied a dressing and a bandage to her nephew's hand, and eventually the boy's howls subsided into whimpers.  Charles led him back to the stool, poured a soda from the fountain and gave it to the child.  He looked all around.  "Where's his mother?" he asked Annabeth.

Her stomach knotted in embarrassment and worry.  "He's my nephew.  My sister asked me to watch him for a few minutes.  She's running the art show outside.  I'm sorry...."

"Pretty inconsiderate of her to dump the boy on you like that when you're so busy isn't it?"

He wasn't angry at her even though little Bobby had caused a disturbance! Annabeth smiled gratefully at Charles.  "Well, she counts on me.  After our mother died I kind of raised her."

Chuck called from the rear of the store then, "Dad, could you help me with this?" and Charles went back as requested.

Little Bobby, now calmed, finished his soda with a giant slurp, gave himself another push, twirled around a few more times, and then leaned over and threw up.

"My God!" exclaimed Annabeth.  She raced to clean up the mess, washed little Bobby's face, her own hands, and was in the process of trying to catch her breath when Julie walked back in.

"Mommy!" exclaimed the boy, "I burned my hand!"  He thrust out the bandaged paw for her to examine, then continued, "And I threw up!"

"Annabeth!" Julie turned the hand this way and that, then touched her son's damp forehead.  "You let him burn himself and gave him so much ice cream he threw up?  What were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry, I was busy."

"Too busy to pay attention to a child?  How is that possible?  To let him burn his hand like that!"  Julie took hold of her son's uninjured hand and tugged him away.

Annabeth, feeling guilty and upset, followed her sister to the door.  "Julie, wait."

Julie stopped, and Annabeth reached out to touch her shoulder.  "I'm sorry.  It's just been a very busy day.  I'm not used to working yet.  I didn't mean to take my eyes off him."

Julie scowled,  "It's okay.  You'll be fine, won't you?"  She looked down at her son who was listening to the argument with fascination.

Annabeth feeling miserable, reached out and hugged her sister, who was wooden, yet still hugged back.  She turned back toward the ice cream counter to see Charles watching her with a strange, sentimental look on his face.

It had been a long, exhausting day, and Annabeth was glad when she could leave for home.  Sally sat on one of the porch rockers, waiting for her.  The nights were still warm, the water that everywhere seeped up from the ground in ponds and puddles and flowed in from the Gulf in bayous that were like twining tendrils on the ragged coastline, also rose into the air, creating a heaviness that lay upon the skin and soaked into the fibers of every garment.  It was warm but not unpleasant, and Annabeth waved to Sally as she pulled into her usual spot, slowly exiting the car.  Everything hurt.  How hard it was to work all day, to stand all day, to bend over that freezer and try to scoop the hard ice cream.  Her feet ached whether she stood or sat; the muscles in her back and arms had clenched, and she doubted whether she could make a fist because her hands were so sore.

"Mom," said Sally, "You look so tired."

Annabeth dropped into the rocker beside her daughter.  "I'm beat."

"Want to go inside where it's cooler?"

"In a minute.  Listen to all the frogs."

Sally nodded, having heard this so many times before.  "Let me get you something to eat at least.  How about a sandwich?"

"That would be great."

Sally was gone only a short time, and she returned with a ham sandwich, some lemonade, and a plate of cookies.

"Thanks," said Annabeth, biting into the sandwich.

"Mom, I need to talk."

"Yes, dear?"

"I'm going home to Jackson.  I just miss him so much."

"Of course you do.  Even though you are together every evening," Annabeth laughed.

"I miss living with him.  I miss waking up with him and falling asleep with him.  Jackson is the best snuggler."

"Sure."

"I know you need me here."

"Sweetheart!  I love having you here, but you have your own life and you should lead it.  I understand that."

"You do?"

"Of course I do."

"I just got so upset about the divorce.  About you being all alone.  About me being just like you."

"I know."  Annabeth put her hand gently on Sally's arm.

"But I don't want to break up with Jackson."

"Jackson is wonderful."

"I want to marry him."

Annabeth nodded.

"But I was thinking, it wouldn't hurt me to take a class or two.  I was thinking about bookkeeping.  I'm pretty good with math.  Then I'd have a profession, not just a job."

Annabeth smiled, "That's an excellent idea."

"I thought it would make you happy."

"It does make me happy, but what matters is that you're happy."

"Oh, Mom."  Sally's voice grew soft as she spoke these last words, then they sat there for a long moment, comfortable in silence, both rocking until Sally was ready to continue, "So is it all right if I go back tonight?"

"Of course it is."

Annabeth sat, watching the tail lights of Sally's car grow fainter as she drove off until she rounded a curve and could no longer be seen.  She smiled, thinking of her daughter, so in love.  The night, like warm vapor all around her, drew her into a reverie and from that mist rose up memories of her own past, and she sighed softly, full of sweet longing, yearning for those days again.  R.J. was such a wonderful lover. She recalled the nights in his arms, the mornings they would wake up together and then slide closer, her head resting comfortably for a long time on his shoulder, his arm around her back, her hand a tender weight on his rough cheek.  She remembered the nights he would get in late, find her asleep, and how he would begin touching her and she would awaken all afire, ready to be smothered by R.J. and his need for her. Alone there on her porch, she blushed, envisioning all the things they'd done together, and all she wished to do yet.  She thought of the nights most recently when he was absent and she lay alone in that big soft bed, a sense of longing like a rage in her heart that could never be quenched, and sighing, she grew more melancholy, weary from the day and for the long night ahead.

8

Annabeth drove toward town, toward her father's law office, a knot in her stomach. Going over financial things was just a formality, nothing to worry about.  It wouldn't be that bad.   She rode past Hawkins Auto, speaking aloud, "Oh, my!" She'd been meaning to get that seat belt check for two or three weeks and kept forgetting.  She was just so busy with work, yet she made so little money.  She thought briefly of her finances.  There was enough for food and to pay the electric bill, the water bill, but just barely.  And when she had a few dollars saved something needed fixing, as was usual in the upkeep of an older house.  Annabeth sighed, then pulled into a parking spot outside Will Copeland's office.

Although the rest of the world was sliding into fall, in the Florida panhandle the summer heat still raged.  Annabeth touched her cheek with hands still cool from the car's air conditioning.  She was flushed, but that was probably worry.  She walked toward the three story brick building, wishing she could turn around and go in some other direction.

"Annabeth."

She turned toward the voice, knowing whose it was.  The knot in her stomach tightened.  "R.J."  She looked into her husband's eyes.

"Sam called me, you know.  He got some laugh on me."

She wanted to say, Oh you look so tired and to reach out and touch his cheek, but she did not.

"He was pretty damn happy to steal my collection of classic cars. Brought up that whole card game thing."

"He accused you of cheating again?  How silly."

"Yeah well, he paid you like five hundred bucks less than the cars were worth.  I hope you're proud of yourself."

"I'm sorry about Sam, R.J., but what choice did I have?  My car wouldn't run anymore."

"Probably just needed plugs."

"No, it needed thousands in repair."

"So you go out and buy yourself a new car?  Why didn't you buy a Mercedes?"

Annabeth's eyes narrowed.  She had never participated in a scene in public, and in fact had rarely even argued with R.J. in the past.  She lowered her voice, but spoke with an intensity that was uncharacteristic for her, "I don't see you driving a car that breaks down every two blocks."

"Hey, babe, I work for a living."

Annabeth was about to reply so do I, but thinking it was pointless, she turned and walked away from her husband.

Annabeth exited the elevator and walked into her father's offices, bumping into Hugh McGraw, who had stopped at the front desk to speak to the receptionist.

"Annabeth" he said warmly, opening his arms and offering her a hug.

"Hugh!  It feels like ages since I've seen you.  How are you?"

"Fine."

"You?"

"I'm here for this legal meeting, you know, the divorce."

Hugh nodded.  "Don't worry.  Quentin will take good care of you.  Kyle Sennet is no match for him at all."

"How's Maggie?"

"She's fine."

"I'm just so upset about this whole thing with her.  I've been by the house a bunch of times and I've called.  She won't speak to me.  It's crazy.  Sally and Jackson got back together last week."

"I know.  Doesn't make any sense to me either.  I'm sure she'll come around.  She's been spending time with Louise Watkins.  That sure can't last."

Annabeth laughed then became serious.  "I just don't know what else to do.  We've been friends for nearly forty years.  My God.  Forty years."

"Now I feel old."

Quentin Asprey appeared in the hallway, and walked over to introduce himself.  "Mrs. Welner, I'm Quentin Asprey."  He was a slender man of about six feet, his hair sandy and streaked with highlights caused by all the sun he got on the weekends.  He had the typically freckled complexion of people in the sunbelt and a large beaky nose that curved toward his mouth.  A mustache would have done wonders for his looks, but his upper lip was bare.

"I'll talk to Maggie," said Hugh, smiling sympathetically, then turning toward the younger attorney, added, "If you need any help with this divorce, I'm available."

Annabeth followed Quentin into his office where they sat down at a round table in the corner.  This small firm was successful by local standards, but they had no need of a meeting room or a big conference table that could seat twenty.  Business was usually handled in a more informal manner.

"How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," answered Annabeth.

Quentin nodded, "Good, I'm glad there are no immediate problems.  Today we're going to go over financial statements.  It's probably very routine, so don't worry."  Reaching for a document already on the table, Quentin continued, handing it to Annabeth, "Sennet sent over this statement.  Take a look.  This is your husband's version of your assets.  Eventually we'll come to an agreement on what everything's worth and then we'll decide how to divide it all up."

"I didn't know our house was worth this much."

"Is R.J.'s income accurately represented?"

"Yes, that seems right."

"Are the business assets listed accurately?"

"Gosh, I guess so.  How much can those old vending machines be worth?"

"Do you know how many he has now?"

"No, not really.  He was gone for days at a time on his route," her voice lowered and she spoke with sadness, "But who knows how much of that travel was business."

"It says here he's partners with his mother."

"She loaned him some money to buy the first couple of machines.  Oh--Mr. Asprey--"

"Call me Quentin.  Yes?"

"There was some money in our bank accounts--the ones he closed.  That's not listed here."

Quentin nodded.  "All right."

The buzzer on his desk rang and Quentin stepped over to answer the phone.  "Send them back," he said, and then to Annabeth, "They're here."

Kyle Sennet looked like the sort of lawyer who advertised for business in the classified section of the local paper, the type to work out of a small office outside of town and handle whatever cases that came his way for fees as high as he could wrangle, things like bankruptcies, divorces, an occasional accident case or drinking, drug and misdemeanor charges.  In short, he was the sort of attorney her father scorned.  He was a slight man with too-long hair and an ill-trimmed beard that drooped, giving him the air of a disenchanted elf.  Annabeth wondered if he wore a business suit when he appeared in court, because now he sported jeans and a T-shirt featuring a sports car with Daytona Beach printed over it.  He carried an inexpensive attaché case, which he placed with a thud on the table at which Annabeth sat.  He nodded toward her as though she were nobody indeed then reached out to Quentin, who shook the offered hand in a way which was friendly yet managed to convey the sentiment that the man was no colleague at all and was lucky to be allowed in the office.

R.J., who followed his lawyer in, offered a hand to his wife's attorney, but instead of taking it, Quentin nodded toward a seat at the table.  "We have your little document here," he said, looking down at R.J.'s financial statement as though it were a trashy novel.

Annabeth looked toward her lawyer.  He was totally imperious!

"Good," said Sennet, apparently unaware of Quentin's disdain.  "We all want the same thing here, a fair distribution of marital assets and a speedy divorce.  My client has moved forward with his life and so has yours."

"Why be so hasty?  We're talking about a long marriage here.  Perhaps a legal separation is all that's needed right now."  Quentin's voice was calm.

"What?" interjected R.J., his voice growing louder,  "You jerkin' with me?"

Sennet placed his hand briefly on his client's shoulder, calming him.  "We were thinking an immediate divorce.  We file the papers today or tomorrow and both these people have their freedom in thirty days.  That's the beauty of our system here in Florida."

"I just don't see that happening.  You have incomplete, inaccurate financial records.  No effort has been made to pay maintenance.  It's a complicated, messy, situation."  Quentin shook his head, his voice remaining calm.  "We intend to file a motion for temporary support.  These things take time."

"There are no minor children, and your client is perfectly able to work."

"I am working," interjected Annabeth.

R.J. laughed.  "I heard about your soda jerk job."

"The job she has now is temporary, simply because her husband abandoned her after stealing their joint funds.  You and I both know that in a marriage of this length, the judge is likely to grant support for life."

"For life?"  R.J. grew livid.  "Even convicts get paroled."

"And," continued Quentin, bestowing on his opponents a withering glance that caused R.J. to hold his temper at bay, "The fact that your client is currently living in an adulterous relationship with a woman young enough to be his daughter isn't likely to grant him any favors with the court."

R.J. and his lawyer looked helplessly at Quentin as he continued to speak, "Thus it seems quite likely to me that this case will go to court.  Why should we sign away any of our rights?  This is no simple divorce.  Could take years."

"Years!" exploded R.J., "All right, look, what do you want?"

"First of all, we want the funds stolen from the bank accounts to be restored."

"I don't got that money no more.  I had expenses."

Annabeth glanced at her attorney. What a scary guy he seemed.  So combative.

R.J. swallowed hard.  "Annabeth stole my classic cars and sold them behind my back."

"We have listed her automobile as part of the assets we expect to claim.  Your van is worth more than twice what her car is worth."

"That don't make up for a collection of cars it took years to get."

"As I said before, divorce can be messy.  Can string along for years.  And of course lawyers bill by the hour."

Sennet squirmed in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with this line of reasoning.  "Well, we can surely come to some agreement regarding maintenance.  And your client will be entitled to a lump sum when the house is sold."

"And we will be selling the vending machine business as well?" countered Quentin.

"What?" exclaimed R.J., "No way I'm gonna sell my business.  How else can I provide maintenance?" he asked sardonically.

"My client wishes to remain in her home."

"It's our home, not her home," said R.J., a tinge of desperation in his voice.

"I spent twenty years fixing it up," said Annabeth softly.

"And I paid for all them repairs," countered R.J., turning and looking angrily into her eyes.

"Look," said Sennet, "There is a way out of this.  What's the difference in the value here?"  He ran his finger along the columns, adding figures that Quentin had already totaled. Your client can simply pay the difference and then my client will let her have the house."

"We'll consider that possibility.  What we need to do now is to settle the maintenance issue."

"What about four hundred a month?  There are no children at home and there's no mortgage on the house."

"Don't insult us."

"You know what my client earns."

"I intend to find out."

Annabeth was astonished to hear R.J. say, "Look, I'll pay a thousand a month.  Probably break me, though."  He didn't have that kind of money to spare, did he?

"We're all too well acquainted here.  It's a shame, really."  Quentin's voice was deceptively calm.  "I think we should just let a judge sort all this out.  A judge would be far better able to determine what's fair and for how long.  We'll set a court date, you'll have your hearing by the spring, the divorce sometime later and it'll be lots easier for us all."  He paused for a long moment, then turned toward Annabeth asking, "Do you mind waiting a bit?"

"No," she answered softly, feeling intimidated not only by the proceedings but by her own lawyer.

"Are you outta your mind?" raged R.J., "I want this divorce now, not who knows when down the road."

"Yes, I can see that," conceded Quentin.  "We'll just have to work harder to cooperate then."

R.J., surprised by this comment, nodded.  "That's right.  Okay, look, twelve hundred, but that's really it.  Won't do nobody good if I go bankrupt."

Quentin nodded, his face serene.  "That seems fair, based on your current earnings.  And of course Annabeth keeps the house."

"What!" exclaimed R.J., "Are you out of your mind?"

"You keep your business, she keeps the house.  And you pay maintenance for twenty-five, no twenty years.  Unless of course she remarries."

"This is bullshit," replied R.J., who rose then and stormed out of the office.

Sennet rose afterwards, offering his hand to Asprey.  "We'll be in touch."

Both Quentin and Annabeth watched as he walked from the room.  "I thought that went very well," said the attorney.

Annabeth looked worried, "Now R.J. is mad.  He never cooperates when he's angry."

"That wasn't anger, it was frustration.  He learned that he can't have what he wants so easily."

"It doesn't seem fair to hold him up though.  It is half his house too."  He was so desperate to be rid of her quickly he'd put himself in financial peril.  It seemed so sad.

"So what!  I can only be on one side and that's yours."

"Do you think he will actually give me the house?"

"All I can do is try."

There had to be a way to save her house. As she drove away from her father's office, Annabeth looked at her watch, something that had become a habit since she began working.  She was late! Annabeth tensed then relaxed.  It was her day off.  How odd it was always to have to be somewhere at a certain time.  When would she be used to it?  Maybe they could strike a bargain.  Maybe she could find a better job, a way to make more money.  And then she could get a mortgage for the rest.

She drove for a bit, intending to stop at the auto dealership, but on impulse turned the car back around toward the center of town.  There was a convenient space and she pulled into it and walked into the bank.  Sally looked up in surprise as she saw her mother approach.  "Who do I talk to about mortgages?" Annabeth asked.

"Mortgages?"

"I just want a little information."

Sally gestured toward a woman seated at a desk toward the front of the bank.  "Tell her you're my mom."

"That would give me an unfair advantage, I'm sure."  Annabeth winked at Sally then walked over to the woman, and said, "Excuse me…"

"Hello," she smiled, "Can I help you?"

"I'm Sally Welner's mother.  I wanted some information about mortgages, if you have the time."

"I'm Bridgett Spieler.  It's so nice to meet you.  We all love Sally here.  Have a seat."

"Thanks."  Annabeth sat down opposite Bridgett's desk.

"How can I help you?"

"I'm getting divorced but I was hoping to keep my house.  So I was wondering what it would take to buy my husband out."

"Is there a mortgage on it now?"

"No, we own it."

"And have you had it appraised?"

"Not officially, but I think I'd need quite a bit to pay to my husband, um, well, ex-husband.  I mean, I don't earn very much.  And I've never had a job before, till now, that is."  Annabeth looked down nervously and back toward Bridgett who was scribbling on a pad of paper.

"Let's see what amount you'd qualify for."

"You mean you'd consider loaning me money?  Even at my age and with no real job history?"

"There's something called the Community Reinvestment Act.  We want our neighbors to own their homes.  And you already have your house--it's good collateral."  Bridgett scribbled as Annabeth answered her questions, then handed her the results, which Annabeth regarded with surprise.  "And of course if you have alimony, we could consider that and you'd qualify for a bit more."

"I can't believe it.  I figured you'd just laugh at me.  I hardly earn anything."

Bridgett laughed, "That's not such a bad thing.  At your salary we figure you could easily get another job paying just as much.  It's not like you're an out of work space engineer."

Annabeth shook her head.  "No chance of that.  And my income from painting--that wouldn't count?"

"Sure it would--after two years and with some tax returns to prove your income."

"And I wouldn't need a down payment?"

Bridgett shook her head.  "We could even add the appraisal and the closing costs into the mortgage.  And then all you'd need to do is have your husband sign over the deed."

"I'll keep all this in mind.  You've been so nice and so helpful.  Thank you so much."

"It was nice meeting you.  I hope we see you again soon."

Annabeth waved to Sally and walked outside to her car, this time driving toward Hawkins Ford.  She couldn't believe it.  She could get a mortgage! Amazing.  It felt like a giant brick had been lifted from her heart.  Her home.  Her whole life was there and it felt as though part of her would die if she lost it.  That Quentin was one scary guy. She was lucky to have him on her side.  Now it was just a question of her coming up with the money she'd need--the bank couldn't give her all of what she'd need to buy off R.J.   Of course if she got maintenance from R.J., she could borrow more.  That's what that nice woman at the bank said.  She sure could never earn that much.  But there was hope, lots of hope.  Somehow she would find a way; she would save her home.   She sighed then, relief coursing through her body.

Grady Hawkins sat at his desk, looking out the window at the car lot beyond as Annabeth entered.  "Excuse me?"  Her voice was soft and tentative.

He gave her a beguiling smile, "Hello!"

She smiled back, asking, "Is Doug around?"

"No, I'm sorry.  I hope there's nothing wrong with your car?"  Grady looked at Annabeth in an appraising way that made her feel uncomfortable.  She could imagine his assessment of her: an ordinary middle-aged woman, medium sized, a bit overweight, kind of a dumpling really.

"Doug asked me to bring the car in.  Something about the seat belts."

"Oh yes, of course." He rose from his seat and walked over to where she was standing.  "You know, I remember you from high school."  Annabeth was sure he was lying, but she couldn't imagine why.

"Long time ago, huh?"

"It was the best time of my life."

"You liked being a football star, didn't you?"

Grady moved a little closer. "Yes, I liked it very much.  You know," he said improbably, "I always wanted to ask you out."

Annabeth was perplexed.  What was the purpose of this flirtation?  She had already bought a car after all.  "You had lots of cheerleaders around you then."

"Yes, I married one of them.  Big mistake!"  Grady laughed then.  "You married?"

"Yes, no...oh...um...I'm...um...separated.  Getting a divorce."

Grady gazed deeply into her eyes.  He reached out and placed a hand gently on her shoulder, "Don't worry, this is going to be the most exciting time of your life.  It sure was after I got divorced.  Both times."

Annabeth opened her mouth to say something then closed it without speaking.

"You'll have lots of dates.  A beautiful woman like you."

Annabeth leaned away from Doug's brother.  He was awfully forward and he made her very nervous.

Grady reached out and touched Annabeth's hair, saying, "Your hair is so silky.  Listen, why don't you let me take you to supper tonight?"

Annabeth, feeling awkward and confused, lied "Oh, I promised my sister I'd stop by her house."  She leaned another degree away from Grady, pressing her back against the doorjamb.

He took his hand and drew it across her cheek, trailing it down to her jaw, along her neck to the base of her spine, then Grady leaned down and kissed her deeply on the lips.

Annabeth tensed at the kiss.  Grady was the only man ever to kiss her other than her husband.  How odd it felt.  His hand encircled her neck, his long fingers resting easily on the bare skin above the neckline of her knit top.  The other arm went around her waist, expertly pulling her closer to him, all the while his lips pressed against hers in a way which was insistent and forceful, but not unpleasant.  She wanted to pull back, knew she should stop the kiss, and she reached her hands up against his chest, ready to push him away, but her head began to swirl and amazingly, her arms wound round his neck, the fingers on her right hand twisted into his hair, and she opened her lips, accepting his kiss and returning it.

She moved away then, stepping sideways and backward, so she was no longer pressed against the doorjamb.  "Gracious," she said, blushing.

Grady said again, "Let me buy you supper."

Annabeth, still flushed, looked into his eyes.  What should she do now?  "I can't, really," she replied.

"Tomorrow, then."

"I can't.  Anyway, I work tomorrow."

"After work.  Where do you work?"

Not having the slightest sense of guile, she replied, "Gleason's Drugstore, but still I can't.  Please."

"Annabeth."  His voice was faint, but grew louder as he approached.  "You finally remembered about those seat belts."

Doug.  Thank goodness.  She turned toward him.  "Yes I did.  Will it take very long?"

Doug scrutinized Annabeth and his brother, and seeing his eyes on them, Annabeth blushed.  What had she been thinking?  Annabeth turned to follow Doug toward the lot, but she realized he was holding his hand out for the keys, which she extracted from the pocket in her skirt and handed over.  She hoped he wouldn't leave her there with his brother.

"Grady, would you mind taking the car to Jock?"  Doug handed the keys toward his brother, who scowled briefly then smiled.

"It was so nice to see you, Annabeth," he said, looking triumphantly at Doug for a reason Annabeth couldn't fathom.

"Come and sit with me for a bit," said Doug.  "Jock won't be a minute with your car, I'm sure."

Annabeth followed Doug to his office and took the seat opposite his desk.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

Not knowing what to make of what had just happened and not wanting to mention it, she said, "Oh, I'm fine.  How are you?"

"Good," he said nodding his head.  "You seem a little tense."

Flustered and worried that somehow he knew what had happened, Annabeth changed the subject.  "Could I ask you a personal question?"

He nodded.

"Did you sell your house after you divorced?"

Doug shook his head.  "Robin kept it.  Although it's up for sale now since she's remarried and living in a new house."

"So you just let her keep it?"

"No, she bought me out."

Wanting to ask how his wife had acquired the money, but realizing such a question was impertinent, Annabeth remained silent.

Observant as ever, Doug answered the question that she hadn't phrased.  "Robin had family money.  The social whirl of Atlanta is the only career that ever interested her."  He paused for a long moment, then continued, "Is that what you want to do--buy your husband out--keep your house?"

Annabeth nodded.  "Oh, yes.  I can't bear the thought of losing my home.  Just depends on if I can make enough money.  I spoke with a woman at the bank and it seems quite positive."

"You could work here, in the office I mean.  Entering data into the computer.  We ran an ad in the paper.  It'll be out Friday."

Thinking of Grady, Annabeth replied immediately, "No, I don't think I'm a computer person.  You'd be better off with someone who knows how to use one."

"How's your furniture painting business?"

Annabeth nodded, "Not bad.  I was thinking that maybe I'd check into stores in the area.  See if I could sell to more of them.  I talked to a woman at the art show and she suggested that I could sell at shows like she does.  I keep meaning to call her."

"Ever paint on canvasses?  They'd be a lot easier to transport than chairs and tables."

"Oh no.  I'm not a real artist."

"Sure you are."

"Annabeth," said Grady, leaning into the room, "Car's fine."  He held the keys toward her, then touched her shoulder as she took them from his hand.  "I had the boys wash the car for you, since you had to go to the trouble of coming all the way in for nothing."

"Why, thanks," said Annabeth.

It was just a little white lie, not the truth, and she didn't really have to visit Julie, but she drove in that direction anyway.  Her mind was a jumble.  She touched her lips, then blushed again, alone in her car.  Thrilling, something thrilling about that, there with Grady.

"Mommy!" trilled little Bobby, opening the door, "See!  Aunt Annabeth can come with us.  I thought so."  He nodded sagely, impressed with his own wisdom.

"Where can I go with you?"

"To the mall for the pictures."

Julie walked into the room, accepting a hug.  "You're not working?"

"I do have an occasional day off.  I'm sorry I've had so little time for you lately."

"It's all right.  We're going to the mall now.  Actually I had wanted to ask you to come along to help with little Bobby, but I didn't want to be a burden."

"Oh, honey, you're not a burden.  What help do you need?"

Julie smiled shyly, "I'm getting my picture taken, you know, Glamour Poses." She laughed, embarrassed to admit it.  "For Bobby, for his birthday."

Annabeth smiled.  "Well!  How exciting!"

"So you want to come, watch little Bobby while I pose?"

"Sure I do."

"This is exciting, isn't it," whispered Julie as they walked through the door of Glamour Poses, a little storefront in the mall which offered makeup professionally applied, dress up clothes of all sorts, and photographers trained to help the client imagine she was as beautiful as Cindy Crawford, at least for an hour.  It was as far from a real modeling session as imaginable, but still it was fun.  Even if the makeup artists were just girls barely out of high school who'd taken a short class to turn their natural interest into a marketable ability, it was more help than most of the local housewives got with their appearance.

"What do you think?" asked Julie, turning toward Annabeth, who was reading a book to little Bobby.

"You're gorgeous!" enthused Annabeth.  "You look just like a movie star!"

Julie smiled, pleased with herself.  "I like this makeup.  They're good colors for me."

"Yes, you look great."

"We sell the makeup, if you want to buy any."

"You know, I think I will," enthused Julie.  "We should do you too," she commented to Annabeth, suddenly inspired.

"Me?  Nah!"

"Yes!  We can take some pictures together, for Dad, and some alone.  Come on, let's!  My treat."

"Oh I don't know."

"I've already decided."

The makeup girl walked over to Annabeth, then led her toward the wardrobe room, where she chose a low-cut gold lame top that was little more than a piece of fabric that was designed to drape over the chest of a woman of any size.  "This will look wonderful on you.  You have a lot of gold in your skin and hair."

"Gracious!"  Annabeth reached for something far less dramatic, a simple white blouse, but the girl took it right out of her hand.

"This is it, really.  Trust me."

"You certainly have a lot of confidence," laughed Annabeth.

"I have a good eye.  Now let's get you made up."

Annabeth followed her once again to the makeup bar, where she was seated beside her sister.

"You have excellent skin," proclaimed the girl.  "Nice, small pores."

"Soap and water," laughed Annabeth.

"Put some of the violet on her," commanded Julie.  "We have the same blue eyes."

Annabeth watched silently as the girl made her up, and indeed she did have a good eye.  Instead of the harsh contrasts most of the girls chose for a pseudo-theatrical look, Annabeth was painted with subtle colors, pinks and violets, and some shading in the hollow of her cheeks which accented her cheekbones and had a slimming effect.  In a matter of a few minutes, the girl stood back and admired her work, nodding to herself.

"You ought to wear makeup," insisted Julie.  "You look fantastic.  Ten years younger and twenty pounds thinner."

"I do wear makeup."

"Okay, then, you ought to wear more makeup!" laughed Julie, "Now let's get those pictures taken before we turn into pumpkins."

"I saw that in a movie," mused little Bobby.

The pictures taken and their adventure over, Annabeth drove back to her house, where she sat at the kitchen table for a quick bite as Rogers the cat wolfed down his dinner.  Thinking she'd finally call that woman from the art show, Annabeth rummaged in her purse for the card she'd been given, but instead found the three Polaroids the photographer had taken as preliminary test shots.  She sat for a moment, looking at each shot, then spreading them out on the table in front of her.

How amazing.  It looked like someone else entirely.  She reached in her purse again, this time pulling out the satchel of cosmetics her sister had bought for her as a treat.  Annabeth gathered up the photos and the makeup and she walked toward the hallway, where a mirror hung.  She scrutinized her own face.  The bones weren't bad.  She was pretty, well, not bad.

In search of better illumination, Annabeth climbed the stairs then walked into her bathroom.  She noticed how the slight shading in the hollow of her cheeks gave more definition to her face, how the violet at the corners of her eyes created a deeper twinkle.  "Just like painting a bird on a chair," she mused.  Setting the bag of cosmetics down on the vanity top, she walked into the bedroom and opened the drawer by her side of the bed, and there she deposited the pictures.

Back in the bathroom, Annabeth let the warm water run in the sink.  She repeatedly lathered her hands, then lifted them to her face, the makeup dissolving from her skin and flowing down into the basin, a silken spume of color that lasted for but a moment then disappeared down the drain.

9

"The great thing about all these pieces is that they're one of a kind," said Becky Varnum.  "Of course you wouldn't want to sell these.  They're your treasures.  Nothing like the little boxes and key racks I sell at all these local shows."  Small and lively, with short hair dyed a vivid red and an animated style of communicating,  Becky was obviously pleased with Annabeth's invitation to see her house and have lunch rather than just a telephone conversation in which she could share her information anonymously.

They sat on the sofa in Annabeth's living room, plates of fancy sandwiches with fruit salads and a platter of cookies on the coffee table in front of them.  After having given Becky a tour of her house, Annabeth served lunch, thinking it would be pleasant to sit and talk casually.  Handing Becky a plate, and then taking her own, Annabeth asked, "How long have you actually been selling at craft shows?"

"Only five years or so.  And of course I usually go to shows only right in this area.  Mmm, this is wonderful chicken salad."

"Thanks.  It's the pecans.  Where do you get the things you paint?"

"I just get them at the hobby shop.  I paint them, charge anywhere from double the cost up to ten times or more, plus labor and materials, then sell them."

"But can there be that many shows around here?"

"Well, I've gone as far as to Orlando.  And Birmingham. Pensacola.  Usually no more than a day's drive.  Sometimes I persuade Shep to come with me and then we have a good time, staying in a motel, going out to eat.  Usually I make enough to cover what we spend."  Becky laughed then continued, "In the summer I do a couple a month, usually on weekends.  And of course in November and December there are a number of shows."

"So you and your husband travel together.  How fun."

"Yes, we have a great time.  I was a housewife for a lot of years.  Six kids!"  Becky grimaced good naturedly.  "The last one moved out seven years ago--when I was fifty.  I didn't know what to do with myself."

"They grow up too fast, don't they?"

Becky nodded.  "I loved it when my kids were small.  I was always baking cookies and sewing clothes. Scouts.  School trips.  Birthday parties."

Annabeth smiled, "Yes, all of that."

"Then I just kind of wandered into the hobby shop.  It was next door to the bakery.  I have a weakness for sweets."

Annabeth nodded, "Me too."  She gestured along the length of her body, "And here's the proof."

Becky laughed.  "I'm sitting on mine."

"So go on about the hobby shop."

"Yes, right!  So I bought a couple of wooden boxes, some paint and I was started.  By the time I ran out of people to give them to it seemed like I needed a new hobby or else I should sell them.  And now it's like this is one of the best times of my life.  I love traveling around, talking to people, it's just fun."

"And you get to have romantic weekends with your husband."

"Yep.  That too.  Except after a day doing a show, we're usually too tired for the romance.  But hey--it's still fun."  Becky had an engaging smile and a good-natured way of describing her life and laughing about it.

"I thought that I'd drive around, check out some stores like Etta's, see if I could sell to them.  Maybe buy unpainted furniture or stuff at flea markets."

"I'm sure there are quite a few in every direction."  Becky reached down to brush one of the legs of the coffee table.  "I just love your work.  So full of life.  Darling little frog there among the mushrooms.  So vivid and bright."

Annabeth smiled, "Thanks.  I think I paid about five dollars for that coffee table in nineteen-seventy-three."

"It must have taken you hours and hours to paint it, though."

"I paint pretty quickly.  It took a couple of days, not working full time, of course."

"I'm impressed.  It takes me quite a while to do mine, maybe because I'm always looking at a picture I'm copying.  What would you put on those boxes I paint?"

"You could put anything on them.  Flowers, birds wearing jewelry, children playing at the beach, shells, kittens, puppies, on and on."

"Do you think you'd be interested in drawing some little sketches that I could copy?  Then I wouldn't have to steal my designs from those coloring books.  I would pay you, of course."

Annabeth thought for a bit.  "How many sketches would you want?"

"Oh, I don't know.  A couple dozen?  Would five dollars a sketch be too cheap?  I'm sure they're worth more.  Actually you could keep the originals if you wanted and I could make a color Xerox for me.  And they could be small.  You wouldn't even have to fill in all the colors."

Becky's energy was contagious.  Annabeth could envision the designs Becky wanted so easily that it didn't occur to her to refuse.  "Okay, sure.  And if you don't like them you don't have to pay for them."

"Why wouldn't I like them?  Your art is beautiful."

"That's so sweet of you to say."

"Listen, why don't you come along to the next show--mid-October I think.  We could share a booth.  Of course we'd each keep our stuff separate, but we could take turns at the table, ride together.  It could be fun."

"I don't know how much I'd have ready to sell that quickly."

"Make a lot of small things.  Letter holders.  Only don't make boxes and key racks!  Nobody would buy mine if they had yours."  Becky stretched out her hand and rested it briefly on Annabeth's arm, smiled at her, then reached for few more cookies, which she ate with obvious pleasure.  "It's been so nice meeting you today."

Genuinely touched, Annabeth replied, "It's been nice meeting you too."

"I think we could be good friends."

"You know, I think so too.  And I could use a good friend now."  Sensing a bond with Becky, Annabeth opened up and told her about Maggie, completing the story with, "And it just doesn't make sense.  I could see it if the kids broke up permanently, but they're right back together."

"Oh, I don't think it has anything to do with the kids.  She probably just feels threatened by all the changes in your life."

"It wasn't my idea for my husband to leave me."

"It's been my experience that things happen when it's right, don't you think?  Maybe it wasn't your idea, but it was probably for the best."

Annabeth bit the inside of her cheek, thinking about Becky's comments, but not saying anything.

"And now you'll build a new kind of life with new people.  Maybe Maggie is afraid she won't be one of them."

"Maybe, but that's pretty hard for me to imagine."

"Give it some time.  You'll work it all out."

After Becky left, Annabeth sat quietly, thinking about their conversation.  So many people lately said how talented she was.  Was this the first time anyone said it or the first time she'd heard it?  Could it really be that Maggie thought she'd leave her or their friendship?  She'd never left anyone in her life.  It just didn't make sense.

Carrying the dishes and the platter of leftover cookies, Annabeth walked into the kitchen, set them down on the table, picked up the phone, and dialed Maggie's number, not having a clue what she would say.  On hearing her friend's voice, she began, "Maggie, listen to me.  We've been friends since first grade.  All our lives.  I don't want you to be mad at me and I certainly would never be mad at you.  Can't we stop this feud now?"

"I don't know what you're talking about.  We're not feuding.  Not at all.  I've just been very busy.  You know how busy I am with the kids.  Oops, Peter's calling  me right now.  We'll talk another time, okay?  Gotta go."

Annabeth continued to hold the phone to her ear, long after the connection was severed.  Eventually she replaced the phone in its cradle, reaching for a cookie from the plate on the table.  Relaxing into her thoughts, she sat quietly munching cookies, and soon the leftovers were consumed.  Becky was probably right, and eventually it would all be resolved.  Annabeth  banished from her mind the sorrow over her friend and turned her focus to the sketches she would do for Becky.  She hadn't done that sort of thing in ages.  Where were her watercolors anyway?

Annabeth walked outside to the detached garage where her furniture painting equipment was.  There were paints in many colors, brushes in a variety of sizes, rags, lacquers, sealants, but no watercolors.  Back in the kitchen, she peered under the sink.  No watercolors.  The den was basically R.J.'s domain.  She glanced in the door but was certain there was nothing of hers in there.  The night tables beside her bed were smallish cabinets, two doors at the bottom, a slender drawer above.  Opening the doors wide, Annabeth removed an old sketch book, which she tossed onto the bed.  There was also a folio of colored pencils, but no watercolors.  Pulling the drawer open, she spotted the photographs made at the mall.  Annabeth sat on the bed then, and gazed down at her likeness, staring first at one shot then at the next.  She smiled briefly, then tossed them back in the drawer, sliding it shut quietly.  She hadn't done any watercolors in a long time; they must be up in the attic; that was the only place left.

At the rear of the second floor was a door, and that lead to a narrow stairway, at the top of which lay the attic.  Opening the attic door, she entered, hearing the creaking of the old floor boards beneath her feet.  A lifetime of memories was stored neatly in drawers, trunks, boxes, and even an old armoire.  Not stopping to look closely at anything there, Annabeth walked to a cardboard carton sitting in the rear corner.  Inside were several big pads, one of which contained watercolor paper,  a large set of pastels, a plastic tool box which held her oil paints, and a set of watercolors in tubes which were mostly unopened.  Annabeth removed what she needed along with a plastic palette and a folded piece of old cloth which contained a cluster of brushes.  Pausing for an instant to touch a large table which was pushed to the side wall and partially covered with boxes, Annabeth sighed, briefly remembering the day R.J. and Rum carried it upstairs from the dining room, then she closed the attic door and walked back down the stairs to the kitchen.

Pulling a large plastic tarp from under the sink, Annabeth covered the kitchen table and then spread out her paints.  Stopping only once to walk into the living room and turn on the stereo, Annabeth painted for hours.  When it began to grow dark outside, she switched on the overhead light and continued painting.  Eventually every inch of counter space, the kitchen table, and the dining table were covered with pictures.  Some were in series-- children at the beach; kittens of all types with their mothers; hidden spots in nature which featured the tiniest places like the worlds under toadstools, undersea pictures, a gopher in his burrow.  Some were individual pictures of the sort of quaint scenes Annabeth usually painted on her furniture.  They weren't the dainty watercolors that are the custom, but instead were more like sketches with color, ideas set down on the page but not fully articulated.

After hours of non-stop work, Annabeth's neck and eyes ached, her fingers were tight and cramped, her legs stiff, her back knotted, yet still she painted.  When she could no longer lift her arm, Annabeth glanced at the clock.  It was three in the morning.  "Imagine that," she said aloud to the cat, who was seated placidly at her feet.  She rose then and treated the bewildered feline to another can of food, despite the fact that he had not asked for it.  "Let's see," she said, walking through the room, stopping at each painting to examine her work.  All but the last were dry and she separated them into piles which she mentally labeled: not too bad, all right, and terrible.  Flipping them over so that the cat couldn't mess them up with his foot prints, she left the three piles on the counter and switched off the light, climbing the stairs, walking stiffly into her bedroom then tossing her clothes into the hamper.  She washed her hands and face, pulled on a nightgown and climbed exhausted into the bed.

She slept almost instantly, and in her dreams she walked through grassy meadows, a heavy pack on her back, herself younger and her children small tots clinging to her hand.  Together they moved through the fragrant grasses, the gentle rustling of fruit tree branches overhead.  Off in the distance was her home, but how odd it looked.  It was her house but it wasn't her house.  Annabeth squinted toward the dwelling ahead of her.  Pulling the girls along, they moved faster but the house got no closer.  Momentarily distracted, Annabeth looked up at the sky.  It was a perfect blue, vast and untroubled by clouds.  When she looked back down, Laurel was gone.  Off in a distance was a bus and Annabeth could see her daughter inside waving to her.  "Is today a school day?" she mused to Sally, who was too little to speak.

She walked with Sally for a while longer, and the house seemed a bit closer.  Why had they journeyed so far from home?  Fearing that Sally would tire before they completed the trip, Annabeth stopped to rest, pulling her daughter down beside her.  Dozing in reality, and briefly in her dream, Annabeth looked about, still in the meadow.  Sally!  Where was she?  Off in the distance, she spotted her daughter, waving to her from a tree house where Sally was playing.  She walked up to the tree house, but Sally waved her on, making it clear that Annabeth was to go on without her.

She walked some more, sensing that she was getting closer, knowing she would arrive soon enough.  What is this, she thought, pulling the heavy pack off her back and dropping it to the soft ground.  Reaching down, she tried to unzip the pack, but the zipper stuck.  Tugging harder, she was able to budge it, and inch by inch it opened, revealing the contents inside.  There were framed portraits of the people in her life.  Her parents.  Maggie.  Her husband.  Julie.  Where are the girls' pictures, she wondered, but there were none.  Look at this, all my report cards.  A heavy bundle of paper, fastened by two rubber bands, was much larger than all her accumulated report cards might really have been.  At the very bottom of the bag was a collection of art materials which was tightly sealed.  Leaving all but the art materials lying at the base of a tree, Annabeth rose, thinking, I can come back for these later; they're too heavy now.  The pouch, much lightened, hung easily on her shoulder, and she walked into the distance toward her home.

Remembering nothing of her dream upon awakening, Annabeth glanced at the clock.  Ready to tense, thinking she had to hurry off to the drugstore, she thought for a moment and relaxed again.  It was her day off.  She wished she could snuggle back down for a while, but instead she rose, dressing and brushing her teeth.  The cat, startled by her haste, leapt from the bed and raced down the stairs, although he was probably not hungry.  She fed him immediately and downed a glass of orange juice as she baked a batch of cupcakes for Julie to take into little Bobby's class, and while they were in the oven, she flipped through the work of the previous night.  Next time she would work a little longer on each one.

There was a flea market outside of town, and although it wasn't well stocked on a weekday, Annabeth went there nevertheless.  She found a couple of small, spindly tables, some old recipe boxes, a couple of wooden bowls, one wooden compote dish, and about a dozen other small pieces of the general variety classified as this and that.  The whole lot fit easily into her trunk, and Annabeth drove then to the hobby shop that Becky had recommended.  There she acquired a bit more of this and that.

Back at home, she set up a makeshift work table of plywood on a couple of sawhorses and applied a base coat of white to everything.  Allowing the paint plenty of time to dry, Annabeth walked back into the kitchen where she washed her hands, prepared some lunch and took it into R.J.'s den.  When it had been built, this room was designed as a retreat for the man of the house, and had been paneled with dark wood, which remained.  One could imagine the mahogany desk and heavy drapes at the window, although there was nothing like that in there now.  An old table, of the Formica and metal variety, sat in a corner, next to a dented metal filing cabinet.  The bookcases at the rear of the room contained an outdated set of encyclopedias as well as a collection of atlases, travel books and an assortment of maps R.J. had assembled over the years.  How many trips had he planned and how few had they actually taken?  Once they were even set to move up North, a plan that R.J. was certain offered him every opportunity he had lacked in Gull's Perch.  They had gone so far as accepting a deposit on the house, but before it was time to sign the papers he changed his mind, and so they stayed put.

Most of the room was filled with the infamous and mostly unused gym equipment.  An old couch, covered in ragged, garish plaid, that had once belonged to Mother Welner, was pressed against a wall, and reaching for an atlas, Annabeth sat on the couch eating her lunch and looking over the book.

She had lived in Gull's Perch all her life, but she had driven no farther than an hour beyond its limits.  She knew where the surrounding towns were, of course, and she knew how to reach them, but until now there had never been a reason to devise an itinerary.  Following the spidery lines on the atlas' pages with her finger, she envisioned the trips she would take, the stops in each small town to check for shops that might want to buy some of her things.  Looking down at the map made it real.  She had only to prepare a reasonable number of items over the next couple of weeks, load the treasures, as Becky called them, into her car, and then go traveling.

Highway Ninety-eight lay on the edge of the state, running along the water, and it connected all the coast towns in the panhandle from Pensacola to Panacea, where it turned inland toward Tallahassee.  Considered the scenic route, it provided a spectacular vista in either direction out of Gull's Perch, whether the view was of the pristine Gulf waters or through the forests of pine that once covered the entirety of the state.  Going east, one saw the little beach towns with their insignificant but charming cottages on the seaside, or in the least elevated areas, houses built on stilts so tall their bottom floors were essentially floating at second story level.  To the west lay elegant communities of newly erected Victorian homes that looked more like doll houses than human dwellings, golf resorts with high rise hotels and condominiums, all dotted with charming ponds, little inlets and marked duck crossings.  Each spot was a vacationer's paradise because of the famous white sand beaches that even in the hottest weather remained cool to the touch.

Wisely realizing that all the towns on that route catered to tourists and would therefore have shops like Etta's, Annabeth selected it.  Equipped with R.J.'s atlas, which she would not need, a sports bottle of ice water, a tote containing a sandwich, some fruit, and a bag of cookies, she set out on her exploration, the trunk full of the newly decorated items she had readied.

It was the first time Annabeth had undertaken any such project on her own, and she was petrified.  It was worse than having to perform in a play.  She wanted to turn the car back around and forget the whole thing. Whatever would she say to these people?  They'd think she was just some silly housewife out to pester them.  Over and over as she drove, Annabeth rehearsed a series of opening lines.  Her heart raced each time she imagined having to walk into a store with her work, and only the thought of her house and how she was going to save it gave her the will to keep going.

Thinking intermittently about R.J. and his travels, for the first time she understood the lure of his vending machine business and of being on the road.  Driving like this was liberating; it was exciting to be able to go anywhere she wanted.  How hard it must have been for him to be trapped all those years as a mechanic, penned up inside when he yearned to be free and out in the world.  How hard to work on the planes when what he wanted was to be the glamorous aviator flying them.

The approach to each small town was pretty much the same.  There would be miles of open road, followed by an occasional dwelling, then a business here and there and finally a cluster of houses and shops that defined the town, then everything in reverse until there was more open road again.  Stopping in front of her first possibility, Annabeth pulled from the trunk two large shopping bags filled with small items, but instead of pushing them back into the car and racing away as she wanted to do, the image of her house floated into her mind, so she took a deep breath and walked into the store, which was empty except for the proprietor, a woman who was much too old for the skin-baring sundress she sported.

In a way which she hoped was friendly and confident despite the knots in her stomach, Annabeth smiled at the woman  "I wanted to show you these," stammered Annabeth, then gaining more courage, she continued, "To sell."  She set the bags down at her feet, reached down and pulled out a couple of the small items and set them on the counter.

"Hmm," said the woman noncommittally, which inspired Annabeth to remove a few more pieces and offer them to her.  "Interesting," was the comment, and Annabeth continued piling her work on the counter.  "Do you have a price list?"

Annabeth swallowed hard.  A price list!  "They're all one of a kind.  I planned to price them individually."

"That's fine." The woman offered Annabeth her hand, saying, "I'm Maud Bullock."

Annabeth relaxed a bit then, shaking her hand and replying, "Annabeth Welner.  So nice to meet you."

"And you're the artist?"

"Yes, I painted them all."

"Let's see, what do we have here?  Two dozen pieces."

"Actually it's twenty-eight items.  But I'll be painting more."

"We won't be getting busy for Christmas gifts until after November, of course."

Thinking this was a rejection, Annabeth nodded, smiled, and picked up a couple of items to return them to the bag.  "Oh, I understand."

Placing her hand on Annabeth's arm so the pieces remained on the counter, Maud continued, "But I could buy a few now.  If the price is right, of course."

"Oh.  Well, that's great."

"This wooden compote, for example.  How much is this?"

Annabeth did some fast calculations.  She had paid six dollars for it at the flea market.  Becky said anywhere from double the original cost up, plus time and materials, but surely that was too much for these, so hesitatingly Annabeth said, "Twelve dollars."

Maud reached under the counter for a pad of paper, then began rapidly jotting down the prices as Annabeth quoted them.  "And this?"

"Oh...fourteen."

"And this?"

"Nine."

They continued like that for a while until each item had been priced by Annabeth.

"Well, let's see. That's three-hundred and thirty-six dollars.  For everything."

"You're certainly good at math," commented Annabeth, completely unsure of the accuracy of Maud's addition, but not wanting to appear rude by asking her to check the figures with a calculator.

"Suppose we make it an even three-hundred?"

"You mean you want them all?"

"It's a big risk for me, of course, but I want to help you out.  Encourage you to keep at it."

It wasn't hard at all!  Annabeth left the store with the cash in her purse, feeling a bit sad that her adventure was being cut short by the fact that she had nothing left to sell and no need to call on any other stores.  She drove toward home then, running the figures back and forth in her mind.  Three hundred dollars...that was one-hundred-thirty-two profit.  Amazing.

Later that week, she sat at her dining table with Becky to deliver her sketches.

"Oh, Annabeth," Becky exclaimed, "They're all just beautiful.  This is real art, not silly craft designs.  You ought to have a coloring book of your own.  Or greeting cards.  Or a calendar.  I bet lots of craftspeople would want to copy these sketches.  Even if they could think up ideas of their own."

Annabeth smiled at Becky's effusion.  "Thanks.  I'm so happy you like them.  I was afraid they were too ordinary."

"Ordinary!  They're charming as can be.  Have you given any more thought to coming to the next show with me?"

"I went on a selling trip.  Sold everything to the first store I went to.  Made a-hundred-thirty-two bucks profit."

"That's great.  How many pieces?"

"Twenty-eight."

"All the same?"

"All different.  Flea market stuff.  This and that, you know.  I did what you said--doubled the price. There were supposed to be three-thirty-six, but the woman bargained me to an even three-hundred."

"And you added in the cost of the materials and ten dollars an hour for the labor?"

"What?  No.  I didn't think the woman would go that high."

"How do you know?  Did you give her a chance to say no?  Anyway, your things should be more.  They're one of a kind, not all the same.  They're treasures.  Of course you have to sell cheaper to a store than you would at a show.  But you could play it by ear.  Shop around, make comparisons.  That's what I thought you were going to do, not go off and sell everything right away like that."

"So you think I was wrong to do it?"

"No, of course not.  I just want you to get what they're worth.  Well, in crafts we never get what our things are really worth, but at least you should get as much as possible.  After all, a-hundred-thirty-two isn't a lot for two weeks work."

"The woman seemed pretty fair to me."

"Well, if you're satisfied, then that's all right.  But I hope you'll come with me to the show."

Annabeth nodded.  "Okay, sure I will."

"Here I am telling you to get what your things are worth and I'm paying you five bucks a drawing."  Becky shook her head.  "I feel guilty.  I'm cheating you.  At least I'm only going to Xerox them, not take the originals."

"Oh, go on.  Take them.  I can always do more."

10

Annabeth set aside a dress she was finishing for Julie then walked to the bedside table and opened the tin where she kept her knick knack profits.  It held less than three-hundred dollars because she was now busy painting more pieces and paying for them without selling any.  And that included the money from Etta.  Five weeks work and three-hundred profit.  It hardly equaled income enough to save her house.  But Becky said she undercharged.  How was she to determine what her pieces were worth?  Surely those little local shops couldn't afford to pay the sort of prices Becky described.  Annabeth pondered the situation, then thought of the gallery she had visited with Laurel.  They charged respectable prices, in fact, they seemed to overcharge.  Reaching for the phone, she dialed New Orleans information.

Trying to sound self-assured, Annabeth spoke into the phone, "Hello.  May I speak to the manager, please."

The voice that replied was a sophisticated, effete drawl, cultured and certain of its own superiority, "This is Mr. Paris Landry.  I'm the manager.  How can I help you?"

"I'm interested in selling some pieces to your gallery."  Annabeth was amazed at herself.  She actually sounded confident.

"What sort of pieces?"

"I do hand-painted designs on various knick knacks.  Bowls.  Recipe boxes.  Letter holders.  Small pieces of furniture."

The voice became more nasal and supercilious as the conversation progressed. "What other galleries feature your work?" he asked.

"I've only just begun to sell.  Although I have sold my pieces to a couple of local shops."

"I see.  What is your price range?"

"Well, I'm still trying to determine that.  So far it's been about twenty-dollars for the smaller items.  More for things like rocking chairs."

"Have you ever been to our gallery?"  Landry's voice made it clear that he was barely tolerating Annabeth and her overtures.

"Yes, it's lovely."

"Yes it is.  Then you must surely realize that we don't offer much in the low-price range, or knick knacks at all for that matter.  We sell objects d'art of the finest caliber."

Annabeth heard the scorn in his voice, and realizing how foolish she was to be calling such a place, replied, "Yes, of course."

"We do see artists and their work, of course.  Generally on Thursday and Friday.  And we review portfolios.  You could always drop yours off."  The tone in his voice made it clear that he doubted Annabeth had any such thing at the ready.  "You are local?"

"No, I'm in Gull's Perch.  My daughter lives in New Orleans."

"How nice for her.  Now I really must go.  Feel free to drop off a portfolio anytime."

"Yes, thank you."  Annabeth sighed as she lowered the phone into its cradle.  A portfolio.  Not that Mr. Paris Landry would have any real interest in seeing such an item even if Annabeth possessed one.  It wasn't a bad idea--from now on she would take pictures of her pieces before selling them.

There was no sign yet of fall, there in early October, and the ice cream counter was as busy as ever.  When Grady Hawkins walked in the door, Annabeth knew that it was quite possible that he was searching for a snack to relieve the heat, yet still she tensed up.  There had been several customers each hour, and two sat at the counter now.  Grady nodded to them in a way that made Annabeth wonder if he knew them, then walked all the way to the other end of the counter, forcing Annabeth to follow him.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Annabeth!" he said in a voice that sounded deeply wounded, "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"  He bestowed on her his most dazzling grin.

Feeling more and more tense, she managed a shy smile and asked politely, "How are you?  How's Doug?"

Ignoring the mention of his brother, Grady replied, "I'm just fine.  In fact I've been thinking a lot about you.  But of course you knew that."

"What?"

"You can't give a guy a sizzling kiss like the one you gave me and not haunt his memories."

Annabeth blushed, remembering that scene in the auto dealership.  Not knowing how to reply to Grady, she remained silent.  When he reached his hand out to capture her own, she automatically stepped back a pace, eluding his grasp and causing him to frown.

"You're an interesting woman, Annabeth. Feminine yet sexy."

Annabeth looked around to see if anyone had heard his comments.  "Excuse me," she said, and began to walk toward the other end of the counter where a young mother waited with her toddler for some ice cream.

Unwilling to let her go, Grady asked, "What about my order?"

"Yes?"

"Chocolate shake.  And dinner tonight."

Annabeth shook her head as she escaped his demands.  What was he after from her?  A guy like that--a football hero--it didn't make sense--what could she ever be to him?  She waited on the mother and her child, prepared Grady's shake, then placed it uneasily in front of him.  "That's a dollar-sixty-five."

Instead of sipping through the straw, Grady dunked his tongue into the shake, while staring lasciviously into Annabeth's eyes.  Licking his lips, he said, "Mmm, cool and sweet."

Once again Annabeth escaped, this time to wait on a couple of teenagers, who ordered cones and took them out of the store.  She prayed that Grady would leave.  He made her so nervous, although she didn't understand why.  If only Charles would come out, but he remained behind the prescription counter, busily counting out pills.

"Annabeth."  His voice was deep and filled with self confidence.

Once again she walked to where he sat.  "A dollar-sixty-five," she repeated.

"How about a hot fudge sundae?"

"You're kidding."  Suddenly filled with nostalgia, flooded with a memory of her husband on the night they met, Annabeth drew in a deep breath.  R.J..   She sighed for the past that was so long gone, for her youth, and for the chances that would never come again.

Grady continued, "I'm not going to give up.  It's only a dinner you know.  You'll enjoy it."

Annabeth looked down at her feet, up at the ceiling, out the window and down the street.  Anywhere but at Grady.  She searched in her heart for the answer to this whole situation.  Grady's motives were unfathomable to her, and she didn't wrestle long to uncover them.  Her own hesitation was obvious.  She was a married woman.  Annabeth winced at the irony.  "I'm sure you're a wonderful person," she mumbled, although she was not sure of any such thing.  "I'm just not ready to date anyone.  Though I appreciate your offer."

There was a bewildering look of determination on his face as he replied, "I'm not giving up on you, Annabeth."  Taking a five-dollar bill from his pocket, he left it on the counter, then reached over to touch Annabeth's hand.  "I'll be back."

She watched him turn to walk away, then said, "Wait."

He turned to face her as she said,  "Let me give you your change."

Once again he smiled at her.  "I want a lot more from you than change for a fiver."

She watched him stride out of the store, graceful and sure of himself, still the athlete, still the predator.  Annabeth pressed her hand to her stomach, and feeling a bit queasy, she sat down on the little stool that stayed behind the counter.  Imagine that.  Dating.  Dates.  Kisses.  Sex.  How could she possibly cope with that?  She sat and pondered the future until the next customer came in to rouse her.

"How do you have the time to do all that?" asked Charles Gleason during his usual afternoon ice cream break.  He was by now in the habit of sitting at the counter chatting with Annabeth when Debbie took her lunch break, particularly if he were running the store without his son.

"Oh, I don't know.  I get up early, shop for unusual things to paint or work on what I've already collected, come here, and then when I go home, I paint for a few hours at night.  I keep hoping that being so busy will help me lose weight,"  Annabeth laughed.

"I think you look perfect the way you are.  You know, Annabeth, I really admire you.  You've been so brave to start over, and you never complain.  And now you're working so hard here and with your painting."

She smiled back at him.  "I didn't have a choice.  And besides, it's a lot less lonely to keep busy.  Helps me forget the whole thing while I'm painting."

"Starting over can be a good thing, I think."  Charles always looked toward Annabeth with a certain degree of yearning, something she couldn't quite understand.

"That's what everyone tells me."

He glanced carefully around the drugstore, and in seeing it empty of customers, he continued in a lowered voice.  "There was a time about ten years ago when I was going to leave Sara."

Annabeth squinted slightly, thinking of another middle-aged woman with her life turned all topsy-turvy, but she remained silent, allowing Charles to continue.

"It was the worst time in our marriage.  We had nothing left to say to each other.  The kids were gone.  The zip was gone."  Here his voice grew even softer, "I strayed.  Found a woman who was interesting.  And interested."

Annabeth looked at Charles as he spoke, but it was impossible not to focus on her own feelings as well.  That's probably what R.J. thought.  But she never stopped being interested in him, no matter what he thought.  Feeling that it was rude not to comment, she asked, "What happened?"

"I struggled with the whole thing for a long time.  Finally I realized that I couldn't sneak around any more.  I decided to leave Sara.  Only the other woman was fed up by then and she dumped me.  Maybe it was for the best.  Sara and I had a lot of time invested in each other."

"That's true, you did.  Continuity is very comforting."

Charles nodded.  "I guess."  He smiled, "You're a good listener, Annabeth."

"Thanks."

He rose then from his stool as a young woman entered the store.  Annabeth cringed as she noticed who it was.  Linna!

"Excuse me," she said in her little girl whine, "Where are the pregnancy tests?"

"Right over here," said Charles, leading her to the back of the store.

Once more Annabeth sank back onto the stool behind the counter as she watched her husband's girlfriend search for something that she herself would never need.  Her heart began to pound, her head throbbed, and her stomach clenched into a knot that seemed permanent.  She had to face facts.  Never again would she be with R.J..  That part of her life was over.  It really was time to move on.  How many times did she need to have this realization?  In how many different ways had she seen that what used to be would never be again?  Sorrow settled over her like a fog, and although Annabeth wanted to be cheerful, she couldn't.

She plodded through the rest of the afternoon, waiting on customers, smiling, wishing for all the world that she could sink through the floor into oblivion, that the pain that wrenched at her would finally subside.  The later it got, the wearier she felt until it became almost impossible to lift her feet and walk from one end of the ice cream counter to the other.  The thoughts ricocheted through her mind randomly and nowhere did she find peace.  She worked constantly and had so little to show for her labors.  Thousands to pay R.J. and thousands more in debt to a bank--if she could pull it off and that seemed unlikely.  She'd never be able to save her home.  And why did she need it anyway?  She was all alone, and therefore not in need of a three-bedroom house at the secluded end of a bayou.  Surely a one-bedroom apartment would serve her needs.  R.J. would have to pay her alimony--what did they call it now--maintenance.  What a joke.  And she could quit this job, concentrate on painting knick knacks, so superior-acting people like Mr. Paris Landry could mock her efforts.  Another joke.  And then she could be free to date exciting men like Grady Hawkins.  A bigger joke.  What was it about him?  Was she the only suitable kidney donor for him in the state?  Surely he had an ulterior motive.  R.J. Welner, a man on whom she had lavished nothing but devotion for twenty-five years didn't want her, and he was overweight, out of shape, and nobody's idea of a great success.  Why would a football hero be so crazy to date her?  On and on the thoughts pounded at her, the ridicule generated by her own mind leading her deeper and deeper into depression.

Pressing her hands to her throbbing temples, she sank down onto the stool behind the counter.   Resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands, Annabeth was immobilized.  Could this be the flu?  What difference did it make?  She felt like weeping, but that, of course, was out of the question.  Knowing that were she to allow herself the luxury of even one tear, the rent in her heart would split further and she would have no way to control the flood of emotions that would engulf her.  So she sat, frozen on the stool, wondering if she were ill, unable to rise and ask if she could leave early until it was no longer early and Charles came out from behind his window and locked the front door.

He turned to speak a few words to Annabeth, then spotted her, locked in deep distress behind the ice cream counter.  "Are you all right?" he asked kindly.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.  She looked at him, her eyes wide with terror, but she shook her head calmly, indicating that she was just fine, which was obviously untrue.

Charles walked over to her, resting his hand on her shoulder.  "Annabeth, what's the matter?"  He pressed his hand to her forehead, which was cool, then asked, "Are you ill?"

She bit her lip, still unable to speak, but the pain had a calming effect on her and so she volunteered, "That girl, the pregnancy test..."

Charles' eyes opened wide.  "Oh, no.  That was your daughter?"

Annabeth held both hands to her temples, looking wildly about, then trying to maintain her composure.  Shaking her head, she answered, "No, my husband's girlfriend."

"What a fool," said Charles.

Annabeth, feeling embarrassed for confiding in him, started to rise, determined to get herself home.  Clearly he thought she was overreacting.

"What sort of fool would leave you for a little tramp like that?"

She began to tremble then, and holding her hands to her eyes, Annabeth willed herself not to cry.

Charles, seeing she was in deep need, stepped closer, reached out, and wrapped his arms around her tightly, pressing her head to his shoulder.  Annabeth allowed herself to be held, but she did not let go and weep as she needed to. Instead she worked to regain her equilibrium, to compose herself and to show once again to her employer the cheerful, good-natured persona he was used to seeing.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped back, out of his embrace, and managed a slight smile.  "Thanks, Charles.  I'm better now."  He looked so helpless, fumbling for some way to offer the assurance she needed that it was all right for her to let go with him, and Annabeth felt guilty to be taking his time and worrying him needlessly.  "I'm sorry," she said.

"Oh, my dear, don't be sorry.  I know you're having a hard time now.  And I think you're handling it so very well.  Really.  I just wish I could help you more."

"That's so nice of you.  You're very kind.  And I appreciate it.  I'll be better tomorrow, I'm sure.  It's just been a difficult day.  I'll just go home now, if that's all right?"

"I don't think you should be alone just yet.  Let me buy you dinner at least."

Looking at Charles, she felt sorry for him and guilty for what she'd just put him through, and although Annabeth doubted that she'd have the energy to sit across the table from anyone right then, she didn't see a way to refuse without hurting his feelings.  "What about Sara?  Won't she wonder where you are?"  Annabeth hoped that reminding him of his wife would provide her out.

"No, it's Wednesday.  She knows that if I'm late, I'm at the Rusty Lantern, laughing at the crooners.  Now I won't take no for an answer.  You need some looking after."

"You're very nice," she said in a quiet voice, and followed him out the door and up the street, all the while wishing she could forget her manners and race away from him so that for once she could put her own needs first and just be alone.

Doug Hawkins sat across from Patsy Clark at a table in the Rusty Lantern.  When he spotted Annabeth and Charles entering the bar, he waved them over to his table and invited them to join him and Patsy, causing her to sulk a bit.

"Patsy, Annabeth, you remember each other, don't you?  And of course you two know each other."

Charles nodded to both of them, "Patsy found Chuck's house for him.  How are you?"  He smiled at her, helped Annabeth to a seat, then sat down.

"It's about time he started looking for a bigger house isn't it?" she asked, "What with the growing family and all."

"Oh I think they're pretty happy."

While Patsy queried Charles about the possibility of his relocation to a smaller home, Doug smiled at Annabeth.  "Everything all right?" he asked in a low voice, looking closely at her and causing Patsy to glare at Annabeth.

"I'm a bit tired.  Fine though.  And you?"

"I'm glad to see you."

"I saw your brother today."

Doug's brow furrowed, "Oh?"

"Chocolate shake."  Annabeth smiled gently, wishing she could confide in Doug about his brother's invitation, but not knowing how to broach such a subject, she remained silent.

"Furniture painting going well?"

"I'm going to do a show with a friend.  Then we'll see.  I've sold a lot but I have a hard time setting prices."

"What's your criterion?"

"Well, the first time, Etta set them, and she paid well, I thought.  Better than I expected.  Then I sold to a store on my own and just doubled what I paid."

"Have you done any research on the market?"

"Like The Price is Right."

Doug laughed, "Exactly.  Visit a lot of shops, see how what they sell compares to what you have.  Then ask for more than what you want to get.  Let the store owners bargain you down--to the price you really want--that way everybody's happy."

Annabeth nodded.  "That's a good idea.  I'll try to remember it."

Noticing the way Doug and Annabeth were interacting, Patsy reached over and kissed Doug on the cheek, then focused on Annabeth, saying, "You two have to have some wine with us.  We're celebrating.  Seven months together."

"How nice," said Annabeth and Charles simultaneously.

Doug signaled to Wanda, the waitress, as Patsy said, "And Annabelle, where do you live?  I'm always looking for clients."

"It's Annabeth," said Doug.

"Oh, sorry.  Annabeth."

"I live on Old Magnolia Bayou."

Patsy's eyes opened wide.  "Oh!  I heard the most marvelous story about that street.  Years ago--when I was first in the business."  She licked her lips and continued,  "Well, everyone knows the Parish Paper Company."  They all nodded, so Patsy went on, "And they owned the whole street, all the land around it, just a pine forest really.  This was, oh, in the twenties or thirties, I think."

"Here you go," said Wanda, placing the opened bottle of Chardonnay on the table with four wine glasses.  Want to order supper now?"

"Come back in a bit, would you?" instructed Patsy without consulting the others.

"No problem," said Wanda, walking to another table.

"So!  Old man Parish--Tyler was his name I think, though he wasn't any old man then--he was maybe forty--younger than we are now."  Patsy laughed at this irony before continuing, "In fact, he was the youngest son, but I'm getting distracted here.  Anyway Tyler Parish it was, and he got involved with some bootleggers, and one of them had a friend who was a grifter, and that guy had a girlfriend from up North--she was Swedish, I think, one of those pale, shimmery blonde types, stunning, not too bright.  So Tyler built a house for the blonde.  At the end of the bayou, in fact, he built the street.  And he didn't just keep her for his mistress.  He actually lived with her, dumped his wife.  The wife had the rest of the town to offer her comfort, and she didn't much miss Tyler.  He was kind of a sleaze."

Doug filled the wine glasses and handed them out.  Apparently he was far less interested in his girlfriend than she was in herself despite the fact that she was very beautiful.

"So.  The blonde runs off after a couple of years and Tyler eventually drops dead.  The house on Magnolia sits empty for twenty years, maybe more.  But Tyler and the wife had a son, Buster Parish, kind of a weakling, and he's into gambling, not that he has a knack for it.  And one night he gets into this poker game with some local low life, a guy who everyone knows is a cheater, everyone but Buster, that is."

Annabeth swallowed hard on hearing this part of the story, and she wanted to speak up and correct Patsy, but if she were to defend R.J., it would be like calling Patsy a liar, and that would be awkward for everyone, so she chose to remain silent.  Instead of commenting, she picked up her wine glass, downed its contents and allowed Doug to refill it as Patsy continued.

"So.  They're playing five card stud, and the low life is dealing from the bottom of the deck, or whatever it is that cheaters do.  Buster is too drunk to know.  And the low life bets his truck--a new vehicle--against this house that Buster says he owns on the Bayou.  And the cheat wins.  He gets the house.  So this sleaze, thinking he got a valuable piece of property goes all around town talking about how he beat out a Parish."

"What became of the house?" asked Charles.

"They actually moved into that dump.  The guy's wife fixed it up. Kind of a mousy somebody I heard.  Was that who sold it to you?" Patsy asked Annabeth.

Annabeth blushed when this question was asked of her, and stammered only, "No, don't think so."

"You two here for supper?" asked Doug, changing the subject.

Charles nodded.

Doug signaled to Wanda, who appeared immediately.

"What are the specials?" asked Patsy.

"We have some nice fish tonight.  Grilled Grouper or Snapper.  Or you can have it fried or blackened.  Also lasagna."

"Grilled grouper sounds great," said Patsy.

"Rice and salad?"

Patsy nodded.  "And another bottle of wine."

Wanda looked toward Annabeth.

"Oh a burger is fine."

"No, come on, eat a proper dinner," insisted Charles.  "You do eat fish?"

Annabeth nodded.

"Have that, please."

"All right," agreed Annabeth.

"Grouper or snapper?"

"Either is fine."

"We'll both have the grouper, but I want mine blackened.  How about you?"

"No, grilled please."

"Rice and salad?" asked Wanda.

Annabeth nodded, so Charles said, "Perfect.  And a beer for me.  Want a beer?"

Annabeth shook her head.  "No, thanks.  Some water, please."

"How about the grilled sirloin for me," said Doug.  "Baked potato.  And salad.  Tanqueray and tonic."

Wanda nodded, scribbling on her pad.

Patsy leaned over, put her arms around Doug, kissed his cheek, then said, "Such a carnivore!  He'll need all the strength he can get tonight."

Doug reached out, took her hand and held it briefly, extracting himself from her public embrace.

Wanda arrived shortly, placing Doug's steak in front of him, plates of blackened grouper in front of Patsy and Charles, and a burger plate in front of Annabeth.

"Wait a second," complained Patsy.  "This is supposed to be grilled."

"And the burger's wrong too," said Doug.  "It was another grilled grouper."

"It's fine," said Annabeth.  "I can eat this."

"Don't be silly," said Doug, handing the burger plate to Wanda.  "Probably a mix-up in the kitchen."

"She's so fuzzy-headed," said Patsy, spearing a forkful of salad and eating it.

The two men sat waiting for the rest of the food, but Annabeth said, "Oh please, don't wait.  Your food will be cold.  Eat."

Doug refilled the wine glasses for Annabeth and Patsy.

Wanda returned to the table with one order of grilled grouper, which she set in front of Patsy.  "I'm sorry.  We're out of grouper.  Is the snapper all right?"

Annabeth nodded, "Sure, it's fine.  And a glass of water please."

Before Annabeth's supper arrived, the phone in Charles' pocket rang, and he answered it.  "Hello?  Yes, dear.  Are you sure?  Look downstairs?  In the kitchen?  No Tylenol?  No Advil?  How's that possible?  All right, I'll be right along."  He flipped the phone closed then turned to his companions, "My wife needs some aspirin.  Imagine that--a pharmacist's wife running out of aspirin."

Annabeth rose to leave with him, but Charles insisted that she stay.  "You haven't even had your supper."

"Of course you'll stay.  After all we've gone through this evening to get you some edible food," interjected Doug.

Patsy remained silent.

"I'll get the check," said Doug.  "Sara's waiting."

"Thanks," smiled Charles.  "Next one's on me."

"Does he ever get the check?" asked Patsy when Charles was beyond hearing.  "Every time I see him in here, he gets a call and trots home to the wife."

Wanda removed Charles' and Patsy's plates and set Annabeth's food in front of her along with a glass of water, and at last she began eating, along with Doug, who had waited for her.

"You know, I think I'll sing a song.  Need to show these people how it's done."  Patsy winked at Doug, strode to the end of the bar and sang a passable rendition of "Walking After Midnight," although she posed no threat to the memory of her namesake.

"She has a lot of energy," said Annabeth in genuine admiration.

Doug nodded, "You know, I just realized it this minute.  What it was about Patsy."  He continued softly, watching his girlfriend sing, but speaking to Annabeth in an intimate way, expressing his ideas slowly as they were forming in his mind.  "My wife always acted like she wanted me to be someone else, someone who was better,  someone more up to her standards.  And with her I felt like I'd captured a treasure, one I maybe didn't deserve.  And she acted like that was the correct interpretation, right up to the end of our marriage.  I always felt like it had all been my fault, that I just couldn't live up to the life--and the partner--I'd chosen, that I'd reached beyond my limits.  With Patsy, there are no complications.  She wants me for who I am, well as much of me as she understands."

"You must have been very competitive," said Annabeth.

Doug's eyes widened with insight.  "Yes!  I never thought of that."

Before he could continue, Patsy had returned to the table, saying, "Look who I found by the cigarette machine."  The man was tall, with the same dark eyes and fair skin that made Patsy so beautiful, although his face was marred with a number of pock marks.

Doug rose from his seat, shook the man's hand and then reseated himself.  "Annabeth Welner, this is George Healy."

"My wonderful brother," said Patsy, smiling, "Now our table is less unbalanced."

"Hello, Annabeth," said George, smiling at her.  "Let me refill your wine glass."

Before she could decline the invitation, she watched aghast as R.J., his arm around Linna, walked into the bar, his footsteps unsteady.  Not even spotting Annabeth, he steered his girlfriend to a booth at the back of the bar and began kissing her in a manner that was far too intimate for a public place.

"I don't believe it!" trilled Patsy.  "That's the guy.  The low life, cheater guy."  Knowing better than to point, she nodded toward R.J., who by this time had his back to them.

Seeing that her glass was filled, Annabeth lifted it and downed the wine, then held her hand to her temple.  The headache that had begun at two in the afternoon was now a migraine.

"Are you all right?" asked Doug.

"I really need to get home.  Headache for hours."  Annabeth stood quickly, and feeling the room spin around, she steadied her hand against the table.

"We'll drive you home," said Doug.

Patsy jabbed George with her elbow, causing him to say, "Ouch!" followed by a hasty offer to see Annabeth home.

"I'll be fine, really," said Annabeth, trying to regain her equilibrium by focusing on one corner of the bar.

"It's no trouble at all," said George.

"We're ready to leave anyway," argued Doug.

Not wanting Patsy anywhere near her house, Annabeth said, "You two go on with your celebration.  I'll be fine.  Some fresh air will help.  Thanks so much for supper."  She took a couple of steps toward the door, expecting to be able to exit on her own, but George leapt up, and placed his arm on her shoulder to steady her, and he helped her out the door toward his car.

11

There's a certain feeling of electricity in the air before a thunderstorm, in the wind, even if it's barely ruffling the trees, and it was this charge that Annabeth sensed as she walked out the door of the Rusty Lantern.  She held her face toward the sky, hoping to be refreshed by a mist of yet unfallen rain, but there was nothing but the faintest breeze, not even a noticeable drop in temperature.  "It's going to pour any minute," she said softly, breathing deeply in the hopes that her throbbing head would clear.

"Oh I don't think it will be so bad," said George Healy, opening the door of his car and helping her inside before Annabeth could insist once again that she was fine.  "Where to?"

"Old Magnolia Bayou," she said, wishing she could exit the car and run up the street to her own vehicle.

Without comment, George pulled into the street and drove smoothly toward her house.  He reached over and turned off the radio, then turned the air conditioning up.  "The cold air ought to help you."

Annabeth nodded.

"You know, I've never seen you in the bar before."

"I've only been a few times for supper.  I'm really not a drinker."

"Celebrating something?"

Annabeth shook her head, then feeling herself rude for being so unresponsive to this man who was going out of his way to help her, she added, "Nothing to celebrate today at all.  Horrendous."

"I've had a few of those."  Turning onto her street, George slowed down, then pulled smoothly up to her door.  "Say.  You have all the original gingerbread."  He turned off the car, pocketed the keys, opened the door, then walked to Annabeth's side to help her out.

"Thank you so much for the ride.  But really, I'm fine."

George silently steered her to the porch, then stopped to examine the railings, the shutters and some other details of the house.  "I've restored a few of these myself.  Talk about a labor of love.  But what a fine job you've done here.  And the embellishments are charming."

Annabeth fumbled with the key, turning to answer him, "Oh you mean my little designs.  Thanks.  Some think they're pretty eccentric."

George ran his hand along the wood of the door frame.  "I'd love to see the rest of the house."

Annabeth was searching for the excuse she needed to refuse him entry, but her mind was foggy and while she fumbled, the clouds above crashed together in a mighty clatter and then from them came the torrent that she had predicted earlier.  She had no choice; she couldn't send him off in a downpour.  "Come in for a minute then.  The rain won't last long."

George followed her into the house, waited while she fed the cat, retrieved a bottle of aspirin from the kitchen and downed a couple.  "And you painted all the designs inside as well?"

Annabeth nodded.  "Could I offer you some coffee?"

"Love a cup.  Probably do you good as well."

While the kettle heated, Annabeth led George through the house, answering his questions, stopping as he examined a piece of molding or built-in and then moving forward until they were back in the kitchen where she prepared two mugs of coffee and set them on the table.  George remained standing, sipping his coffee as Annabeth asked him, "You're a builder?"

"No, real estate."

"Oh, I see."

George walked toward the stairway.  "Let's finish the tour."  Without waiting for Annabeth, he climbed up to the second level, forcing her to follow along behind him and do the same routine she had done downstairs.  When they came to a halt in her bedroom, Annabeth stood nervously, both hands clutched around the mug she had brought with her.  George seated himself comfortably on the bed and looked toward her.  "Recently separated, huh?"

She nodded.  "Well, thanks for seeing me home," then walked toward the door, hoping he would arise and follow her down the stairs.

"How's the headache?"

"I'm sure it will be fine in a bit.  You've been very nice."

"I know a little accupressure," he said, rising from the bed and walking over to where Annabeth stood, putting his hand on her arm before she could exit the room.  "Trust me, Annabeth, you're safe."  He led her toward the bed, pressed her down against it so that she was sitting on the edge, facing out.  His hands massaged the knotted places in her shoulders and neck.  "Just relax," he commanded.

Not knowing how to leap up and eject him without being terribly rude, Annabeth sat, tensely at first, but in a short amount of time she allowed herself to relax as he expertly massaged her shoulders.  His hands were strong and smooth and his motions controlled and comforting.  Breathing deeply, Annabeth let go of the headache, of the various events of the day which had pounded at her like a series of strokes on an anvil, until all she was aware of was the healing presence of his hands on her shoulders.

"So many knots," he said in a voice that was knowing yet patient.  "Been a long time, hasn't it?"

She nodded, although she did not stop to think to what he referred.

"Here, lie back."  His hands guided her gently back against the bed, but she stopped, reaching to sit up once again.  "No, no," he said, "I can't reach your back properly that way.  Don't worry."

So Annabeth lay, face down, and George kneaded her mid-back, releasing the kinks that had been there since the summer.  She sighed now and then, floating inside her body, her mind at peace.

Relaxing his grip to a sensuous stroking, George slid first one hand then the other along the bare skin on her back, beneath her blouse.  Almost before Annabeth realized it, he had unhooked her brassiere and had pushed the blouse up as far as it would go, his fingers gently kneading each little bump of her backbone.  Unhooking the button closing the waistband of her skirt, he was able to push it down a bit so he could massage the base of Annabeth's spine.

Very relaxed, yet aware she should make him stop, Annabeth stirred.  "Thank you.  That was so nice.  But..."

"Not yet.  Don't worry.  You're fine.  Your feet."  He reached gently inside Annabeth's skirt, along the outside of her hips and grasping both panties and panty hose, pulled them down, down, down, until she was naked beneath the skirt.

"No, no," she said.

"Relax, you're fine."  In hands that were strong and sure and very practiced, he took each foot, pressing deeply with confident thumbs that knew exactly where each spot in need of attention lay, rubbing gently, sliding up and down and back again until all pressure points were activated.

Annabeth sank deeply into a relaxed calm, thinking very little, feeling the power of his hands on her skin, and she let go of the final shred of anxiety that nagged at her.  No longer worried about what she should do or what she was doing, she allowed herself to receive from him the attention that he was lavishing on her.  How wonderful his hands were.  He knew exactly how to touch her, how long, how hard, and when to move to another spot.  Her mind wandered deeper into sensual thoughts of pleasure, and her body was focused on pure sensation.

George worked now on her left calf, his fingers rolling the muscle into blank relaxation, the cramping of hours on foot released, and then he slid his hands along her thigh, caressing gently, sliding his palm up her thigh and against her buttock.  He relaxed back against the bed then, lying on his side, leaning against Annabeth, and reached over and kissed the middle of her back, sliding his lips along her bare skin.

Feeling the heat of his lips on her back, Annabeth thought to herself, I could pretend; she sighed in pleasure, thought I could pretend, I was drunk after all; her breath came faster and she thought I could pretend I'm not in charge; she gasped a bit, tried to right her breathing, feeling his hand slide up deep between her legs, thought I could pretend I didn't know what I was doing; she gave in to the intensity of the moment, as his other hand pressed against her side, turning her toward him, and thought pretend it was just him doing it all, not me; feeling him push her blouse up over her head and off and his mouth capturing her nipple, she groaned with desire, wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing him tightly to her, and thought, oh no I won't pretend, I want it.  Her eyes fluttering open occasionally, looked down at George as he floated above her breast, grazing now and then in many ways, all of them exciting.

Leaning back abruptly he unbuttoned his slacks, reached in the pocket, tossed something onto the table beside the bed, hurriedly unzipped them, and twitching once, divested himself of them.

Wanting to touch him, but too shy to assert herself, Annabeth paused, gathering her breath, her nerve to continue, which he could clearly see, and smiling he pressed her hand to the spot she sought, causing her to grasp him just tightly enough, gasping again at the wonder of it all.  "Oh," she said, and smiled slightly, saying again, "Oh." To touch…a man…to touch…I want to…

"It's always you quiet ones," he answered, wanting to wait no longer, having been ready for a long time.  He reached over and kissed her mouth quickly for the first time, his need and urgency plain, and then reached to the table, opened the packet and removed its contents as Annabeth watched him.

How funny to see a man do that.  She was glad he was doing it, for how would she ever have broached such a subject herself?  Her first condom! But she'd wanted to….  Then he was upon her and soon they moved together.  "Oh," she said again, her breath a short shock of air burning her lungs.  She held him tightly to her, adjusting the rhythm of her thrusts to match his, concentrating, knowing she must hurry if she were to gain her own fulfillment before he found his and stopped, but his pace was constant, his breathing steadier than her own, and Annabeth found there was plenty of time, all the time she needed, and then when they reached the same plane of arousal together, she relaxed deeply and rode with him, feeling his breathing escalate to match her own, his urgency a counterpart of the tensions she herself was experiencing, and then just being in her flesh, sensations like the thunder and lightning that raged outside filling her with joy once again to be alive.

His breath coming in great gasps to match her own, he let go and together they finished, rocking and holding each other tight against the earthquake inside them.  George remained on top of Annabeth, her arms holding him tightly, their skin flushed, dripping, stuck together in heat and the aftermath not of love but of lovemaking.

He rolled then onto his back, and not wanting to let him go, Annabeth slid over, placed her head on his shoulder and let the softness of her hands soothe him in long, gentle strokes along his chest.  "Oh, my," she said.  He smiled sleepily, then relaxed back against the pillow and was soon snoring, leaving Annabeth to her thoughts.  She'd never thought a man could be as exciting as R.J., but what did she know?  She never had a man other than R.J..  She'd thought her life was over, that she would be alone, but here was someone new to love, just like that.  And he was every bit as good a lover as her husband, maybe better.  How about that?  Relaxing into thoughts of a future far less bleak than the one previously imagined, Annabeth drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep, her head pillowed on the shoulder of a man she didn't know at all, except intimately.

The next morning she awakened slowly.  Still groggy, Annabeth glanced at the clock on her bedside table.  Rogers, the cat, blocked her view.  He sat there, placidly staring down at her, a look of wounded disapproval on his face.  She reached her hand toward him, touching his soft fur, but he leapt from the table and ran out the door.  Then she remembered.  George.

Annabeth turned over in the bed and regarded the man sleeping there.  Her thoughts organized themselves in her brain into columns, like people do when they're listing the pros and cons of any situation.  On one side, she put, it was a wonderful night.  On the other, what have I done?  Over and over these two warring concepts blazed in her mind.  Holding her hand to her head, Annabeth hoped that yesterday's migraine would not reassert itself.  It had been years since she'd had those headaches, not since Richard's death and that whole thing with Mother Welner.

George Healy awakened then, his head clear. He smiled at Annabeth and reached his arm out, pulling her close, cradling her head on his shoulder.  "Hello sexy, " he said quietly.

She relaxed against his shoulder, letting her hand lie softly on his chest.  "Good morning," she said, still shy.  "Are you hungry?"  What sort of hostess etiquette did one use in this situation?

"Yes," he said.

"Oh, let me make you breakfast then."

"In a bit."

"The shower is right in there," Annabeth lifted her arm to gesture.  "I'll get you a clean towel."

"Not yet."  George took Annabeth's hand in his, squeezing it briefly, then slid it down along his body.  "Let's get a little dirtier before we get clean."

"Oh," said Annabeth, her thoughts swirling.  She lay there calmly, quietly, enjoying the freedom to touch him as she chose.  Unlike the previous night, there was no sense of urgency, and she could savor the feel of his skin against her hands as they floated, stroked, drifted across his flesh.

"You have good hands," he said, his breath a bit unsteady.

"You too," she said.

"How is your mouth?"  His hand pressed against the top of her head, guiding her down.

She slid down, along the smooth sheets, the coarse hairs of his body tickling her soft skin, and began working on him with her mouth in tender little kisses, gentle nibbles, wet strokes with her tongue.

Hearing him groan, she smiled quickly and continued, taking her time, inventing new techniques as she went along until he was ready for more.

George lay back against the pillow, looking down at Annabeth as she worked on him.  Holding her head tightly to him, he moaned, saying, "That's it, oh yes, so wonderful."

There was a strange sound, like a clatter, a rumbling, but Annabeth was too focused on her task to hear it until George jumped, reaching for the covers.

"Mom!" exclaimed Sally, whose footsteps on the stairs had made the noise.  Her voice was hoarse, and she stood silently then, in shock.

Annabeth turned, grasped the covers and pulled them to her chin, her mouth agape.  The three of them stayed frozen for a moment that seemed to last forever  until Sally turned and ran from the room.

"These things happen," said George, reaching for Annabeth, who leapt from the bed, grabbed a robe and raced down the stairs after her daughter.

"Sally, wait," she said, as Sally was reaching for the front door.  They glanced at each other, equally embarrassed.  "Come in for a minute.  Did you need me?"  Annabeth tried to catch her breath.

Sally glared at her mother, then walked into the kitchen and sat at the table.  "Who is that?" she asked sternly.

Annabeth began making coffee, speaking softly, not really knowing how to answer.  "A friend."

"How long have you known him?"

"Oh, a while," lied Annabeth.

Sally stared at Annabeth, her eyes blazing and her jaw clenched.  Shaking her head, she continued, "You have a boyfriend and you don't even introduce him to us?"

Trying to change the subject, Annabeth said, "What brings you by so early this morning?"

Still frowning, Sally held out her hand.  On it was a tiny diamond.

"Isn't that beautiful," said Annabeth, smiling.  She could hear the water running upstairs.  Would George be coming downstairs soon?  What if she introduced him to her daughter and somehow he mentioned that they'd only just met?  What had she done?

"And I wanted to show you this," said Sally, still obviously upset, as she rummaged in the tote bag on her arm.  She pulled out a bridal magazine, turned back to a specific page.

"Oh, my, how beautiful," said Annabeth on seeing the wedding gown pictured.  Lost for a moment in a reverie, she envisioned Sally in the dress, and she smiled.  "You'll look wonderful in a dress like that."

George appeared in the kitchen briefly, his clothes on.  He nodded awkwardly toward Sally then mumbled, "See you at the Lantern, Anna--uh--Annabelle--uh--Annabeth," and walked to the front door and out.

Sally was thoroughly aghast.  "Mom!  He doesn't even know your name.  And the Lantern?  The Rusty Lantern?  You're hanging out at bars now?  Jesus, what are you thinking?"

"I have supper there occasionally, that's all.  For heaven's sake."

"He didn't even get your name right."

Annabeth blushed,  Trying to find the right thing to say, she mumbled, "It's early."

"You're acting like a slut.  You're supposed to be a mother.  I have to go now.  I'm just too mad at you to talk any longer."  Sally jumped up and strode toward the door, saying with a stammer, "Just, just, just think about what you're doing, will you?  I'm ashamed of you."

Annabeth heard the door slam.  When, an hour later, the phone rang and she heard her father's voice, she was almost afraid to speak to him.  Could Sally have called him?  Annabeth cringed at the thought.

"How are you, dear?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm fine," she answered, her mind racing.  "How are you?"

"I'm a little upset."

Annabeth's throat locked as she swallowed.  Afraid to ask what was wrong, she remained silent, waiting tensely.

"Though I consider this only a minor setback."

A setback?  Would her actions with George have an effect on the divorce?  How was that possible?  Afraid to continue silently, Annabeth spoke haltingly, "A setback?"

"Judge Henson will be hearing the case.  He's young.  Too young.  Too liberal if you ask me."

Annabeth let loose a huge sigh of relief, which her father read as one of disappointment.

"Now listen to me," he said, "I don't want you to worry.  The judge--even Henson--will want to see you're taken care of."

"I'm sure it will all be fine.  Say, Dad?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I stopped in at the bank and the woman there said I could get a mortgage.  Even on what I earn.  And with alimony--er, maintenance money, I could qualify for the whole amount to pay off R.J.."

"Give that son of a bitch a settlement and you get stuck with a mortgage?"

"I have to save my home."

"Well, we'll see.  Asprey's been stalling, making R.J. sweat."

Her conversation with her father finished, and her heart no longer pounding, Annabeth sat back at the kitchen table.  She breathed in deeply, thinking about the recent events in her life.  She could not help but feel guilty, although somewhere in the back of her mind was a thought she couldn't quite articulate, namely, didn't she have the right to do what she wanted?  As she was trying to make sense of everything, including George Healy and whether she would be likely ever to see him again, the phone rang once more.

"Sally's hysterical," said Laurel.

"I know," answered her mother.  "I'm sorry."

"She says you're picking up men in bars and they don't even know your name."

"And how are you, honey?" said Annabeth, trying to change the subject.

"I told you to date, didn't I?"

"Things in New Orleans going well?"

"I just want to ask you one question.  Condoms."

"That didn't sound like a question to me.  Look, hon, don't worry about me.  I'm fine.  All grown up, you know.  Able to take care of myself."

"It's serious, Mom, condoms."

"I know, hon, I know."

"Well, that's a relief.  And, Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Um...well...I mean...you need them for...um...oral sex too.  Just thought I'd mention it."

Annabeth blushed and remained silent.

"I think it's great you're getting out.  Really I do.  In fact, I told the kid that when she called me. But, Mom?"

"Yes?"

"You're not thinking of getting married again right away are you?"

"Goodness, no."  Annabeth wondered if George would ever speak to her again after this morning's shock.

"Because there's more to life than being married you know."

"Oh?"

"We all need a life of our own.  A career.  Something that matters."

"You're a very smart girl."

"You know, Mom, you could always come here.  There are a lot more things to do in a city.  More people."

"Thanks, hon, you're a wonderful daughter, but this is home."

"I had a party this weekend.  Everyone loved the apartment."

"Oh, you mean a house warming?"

"Well, not really, just a little party."

"And when will you be coming home next?"

"Maybe Thanksgiving."

"That would be lovely.  Oh--did I tell you--I sold a lot of pieces to a store.  And I'm going to a crafts show with Becky, this nice woman I met."

"Great.  Keep at it.  I'm sure you'll be in galleries any day now."

"Nah, don't think so," said Annabeth, thinking about Mr. Paris Landry and his haughty treatment of her.

"Okay, Mom.  Don't worry about Sally.  I'm sure she'll snap out of it."

"Thanks hon.  You take care."

There was a lull at the ice cream counter later in the day, and when Becky stopped by, Annabeth was glad to see her.  Becky accepted Annabeth's offer of a milk shake, then said, "I just wanted to check in with you about the show this weekend.  All ready?"

"I have quite a few pieces.  I hope not too many.  How about you?"

"Oh!" Becky reached out and touched Annabeth's hand.  "My things never looked better.  It's your wonderful designs."

"I'm so glad.  My boss gave me this weekend off, so I guess we're both all set."

"Great.  I can pick you up in my van.  That's better than going in two cars, don't you think?"

Annabeth nodded.  "I'll pay for the gas."

"No, don't be silly.  I still feel guilty for taking your sketches for so little money.  Oops, you have customers."

Annabeth looked over to see Maggie and Louise Watkins seating themselves at the ice cream counter.  "I'll be back in a second," she said to Becky, smiling.

Maggie, appeared to be frowning at her and if she wasn't there to be friendly and make up at last, what did she want?  "Hi," said Annabeth, smiling.  "It's great to see you."

"How about two hot fudge sundaes," ordered Louise.

"Sure."  Annabeth turned to prepare the ice cream, which took only a moment, then placed the treats in front of the two women.

Becky walked toward where Annabeth stood, touching her hand once again.  "Gotta run.  See you early Saturday."

"Great.  I can't wait."

"I didn't know you worked here," commented Louise.

"I've been here a while.  It's fun."

"Must be a great way to meet men," said Maggie.

Annabeth lowered her eyes briefly before replying, "And toddlers."

"Have you ever been to the Rusty Lantern?" Maggie asked Louise.

"Gracious, no.  Have you?"

Maggie shook her head.  "Of course not.  But Annabeth can tell us all about it.  Can't you?"

Annabeth looked silently at her friend, not wanting to say anything mean, but wishing Maggie hadn't come into the drugstore.

Louise gasped.  "I heard that place is filled with every slut and sleazeball in town.  Do decent people go there too?"

Charles Gleason suddenly appeared at the counter and took a seat next to the two women.  "My usual," he nodded to Annabeth, who was relieved to turn and prepare his ice cream.  "And to answer your question," he turned toward Maggie and Louise, "Yes, decent people go there all the time for innocent fun."  Gathering his nerve, he shot them a withering glance and said, "Nothing to gossip about there at all.  Why don't you have your husbands bring you one night."

"Then I wonder why my future daughter-in-law was so upset about her mother bringing home a strange man and spending the night with him?"

"Who can tell about such things?" asked Charles.

"I'm sure Annabeth could tell us plenty."

Swallowing tightly in a throat that was clenching shut, Annabeth scribbled a check and set it in front of Louise, who reached in her wallet and lay a five dollar bill on the counter.  Annabeth took the bill, lay fifty cents in change in front of her, then walked to the back of the store, saying "Excuse me."

When Annabeth returned from the storeroom with a few supplies that didn't need replenishing, Louise and Maggie had left.

"What a couple of old hens," commented Charles.  Annabeth was sure he was wondering about the previous night and the supper they'd shared, probably replaying it in his mind.  Maybe he wondered if they were implying that Annabeth had brought him home.  That was all she needed--Maggie spreading gossip and jeopardizing her job.

"The one in blue was my best friend for more than forty years.  I never thought there would come a time when I would stop thinking of her that way."

"Well, my dear, you know what they say.  With friends like that...."

Annabeth took a break that afternoon and walked toward the bank when  Sally would be getting off work.  Spotting her daughter's car parked near the bank, Annabeth waited beside it, knowing that Sally would soon appear, which she did.

"Mom," said Sally, clearly surprised.

"We need to talk."

"I'm still mad at you."

"And I'm annoyed at you."  Sally was taken aback by this comment, and Annabeth continued, "Maggie and Louise were just in the store, making comments about the Rusty Lantern.  And me."

"What?"  Sally's voice raised an octave to a shocked squeak.

"Yes.  Maggie is determined to perpetuate this feud.  Why I can't imagine.  But to have her do that--and to know she got the information from you--well, I just don't know."  Annabeth shook her head.

"I was upset.  I told Jackson.  Nobody likes to see her mother acting like a slut."

Annabeth straightened up.  "I resent that.  It's none of your business what I do.  I'm an adult."  Noting the shocked and hurt look on Sally's face, Annabeth softened a bit.  "Listen to me, hon, I'm single now.  I'm your mother, of course, and there's nothing in this world more important to me than you and your sister.  But you're adults too.  In fact, aren't you living with a man?"

Sally nodded.

"You're living with him, aren't you?"

Sally blushed upon hearing the emphasis in her mother's sentence, then she rallied.  "Yeah, but he knows my name.  And we weren't living together on the first date, or whatever that was."

Annabeth shook her head.  "I'm not happy with the way you're behaving.  Not at all."

"Well, that goes double for me."  Sally turned, opened the door of her car and climbed in, rolling down the window and remarking, "But don't worry.  I won't be the source of any more gossip about you.  That's too tacky for words."

Annabeth reached her hand out, letting it rest on Sally's arm.  "Oh, hon, let's not fight.  You're too important to me."

"I'll think about it."

12

Annabeth sat nervously beside her attorney as the judge reviewed the various financial statements.  He was a man in his thirties, and he seemed improbably young to hold such an important position.  His brown hair was boyishly rumpled, but his eyes were intelligent.  R.J., seated at a table next to Kyle Sennet, glanced repeatedly at his watch.  Mother Welner, dressed in funereal black, sat behind her son's table.  Every now and then she would glance toward Annabeth, daggers in her eyes, then look back toward her son, an expression of wounded piety on her sagging face.

"I see here that you are now employed, Mrs. Welner?" asked the judge.

Annabeth nodded silently as Asprey rose.  "Your honor, my client has been a wife and mother all her adult life.  She was forced to take a job at minimum wage--anything she could get--just to survive after her husband abandoned her and stole their joint funds."

The judge nodded.  "I understand.  But she is working, and is earning money?"

"Yes, she is but…."

The judge nodded again.  He resumed his study of the financial statements involved, forcing the others in the courtroom to wait silently.  "All right," he said finally,   "I'm going to issue an order for temporary support."   Annabeth listened as Henson named an amount.  Would that be enough to save her house?  R.J. had offered much more when they met in her father's office.  Asprey's strategy wasn't working at all.

"Excuse me, your honor, but we do not accept this financial statement."  Asprey walked confidently toward the judge, "There is a substantial discrepancy in his assets.  And I'm sure we will uncover additional income."

"Do you have proof?"

"We need more time," insisted Asprey.

The judge shook his head.  "All right. I'm setting a second hearing for three weeks from today.  Be ready."

"Let's get on with it, how 'bout it.  This here is done, so let's sign the rest of the papers and get this over with."  R.J. spoke with impatience, glancing at his watch.

"I'll see you people in November." The judge rose, the others rose, and they watched him walk out of the courtroom.

R.J., walking over to Annabeth, stopped in front of her, deftly counted out some cash, with the same sort of gesture as one might use when dealing cards, looked defiantly at Asprey and flung it onto the table in front of her.  "That's what you get for tryin' to rob me," he said.

Glaring arrogantly at R.J.,  Asprey rose, and turning toward Annabeth, he said, "Put away your pin money, my dear.  You might want to purchase a new dress with it."  Annabeth silently looked at the young attorney, her eyes widening, then placed the money in her wallet.

"This is just temporary support.  Of course you realize this."  There was a look on Asprey's face, one that said he knew more than he was telling, a look that bad poker players sometimes have when they are trying without success to bluff.  Annabeth had often seen that look on R.J.'s face and it always made her nervous.

"We'll see." answered R.J..

"Trust me."  Asprey attempted to sound condescending.  "The judge simply wants to make sure that Annabeth is all right for the time being. "

"Let's get real," said Sennet smoothly.  "We want a divorce; your client wants the house.  Let's just come to an agreement we can all live with."

"That's right.  I'm not bein' unreasonable.  And we had a lotta good years.  You pay me my half and I'll sign over the house."

Asprey laughed.   "You're dirty Welner, and everyone knows it.  Every judge will try to see that your wife's standard of living remains the same.  Which doesn't mean struggling to survive on a pittance in an apartment."

"Look!  I'm fed up with you.  What do you want?" R.J.'s voice crackled with intensity as he spoke.

"We want you to sign off on the house and walk away.  We want the twelve-hundred a month you offered last time.  Then you can have your divorce.  We'll sign the papers today."  R.J. hated to be cornered and Annabeth knew he'd never fold this easily.  He had nothing to win by doing so.

"You think I'm a fool?" asked R.J..

"I think you're a lot worse than a fool, but so what.  You want your freedom in a hurry.  I'm offering it to you."

"You know," said R.J., "Maybe I been too hasty.  Been too nice, too.  Makin' too big a deal outta this whole thing.  I don't gotta be divorced.  Or remarried.  Sure seems the judge has a lot more realistic idea of what's what than you do.  So go fuck yourself."  R.J. turned to stride out of the courtroom as the others gasped.  His mother walked over to him then, grasped his arm tightly and walked out with him.

"I apologize," said Sennet lamely, following his client from the courtroom.

"Are you all right?" Asprey asked Annabeth.

She shook her head, "No, not really.  I hate these scenes."

Asprey glanced at his watch then said, "In legal situations like this, conflict is inevitable.  I've got a meeting now.  I'll call you later on, okay?"

"What if we offered him something?  I could borrow from a bank."

Asprey shook his head.  "Let's go slowly.  Trust me.  Really."  Without looking back, he dashed out of the courtroom, leaving Annabeth to walk out alone.  She paused for a moment, spotting R.J. in deep conversation with his mother.  Her hand clutched R.J.'s arm tightly as she spoke, a worried look on her face.  In the other hand she held the financial statement R.J. had offered to the court.  R.J. leaned down and spoke to her, his face an intense mask.  If only she could hear what they were saying.  Spotting Annabeth, R.J. shook his head once, then escorted his mother from the building.  Something was going on between them.  Mother Welner never looked worried without a reason.  Annabeth walked toward her car then, all alone and puzzling the scene she'd witnessed.

"We'll never sell all this stuff," said Annabeth to Becky the following day.  "The display looks great, though."  They had worked for an hour setting up two folding tables with various items.  There were the usual boxes, key racks, trays, plates, bowls, small shelves, bookends, all painted with charming designs and arranged decoratively on top of white table cloths.

"Yeah, we did a great job.  And have a little faith, will you!"  Becky reached in her tote bag and produced a packet of tiny stick-on labels and began pricing her merchandise.  Seeing Annabeth hesitating, she asked, "Need some of these?"

"Yes, thanks.  But could you help me price things?"

Becky nodded.  "Just let me finish here."

Annabeth scrutinized her own pieces as well as those still in boxes on the ground.  What were they worth?

"Okay, lets go."  Becky touched a wooden tray, painted charmingly with flowered, striped and checked tea cups.  "How many of these do you have?"

"I have three trays, but they're all different.  That one cost six-fifty."

"I want to say ninety, but that is probably too steep for this show."

"Ninety dollars?"  Annabeth was shocked.

"What'dya think?  Ninety pesos?"  Becky picked up the tray, and flipped it over.  "It's just so darling," she enthused, noting the designs on the bottom as well as the top.  "Make it seventy-five and if it isn't sold by noon tomorrow, mark it down to sixty."

Still clearly unsure, Annabeth complied.

Next Becky scrutinized two little shelves, each painted with hearts and flowers.

"I got those from Rum.  They were eight each."

Becky nodded.  "How many of these do you have?  All different, right?"

Annabeth nodded.  "I have six of them."

"You never run out of ideas, do you!  I'm just so impressed with you."

"Well, I don't always remember what I've painted in the past, but now I photograph everything after I finish it."

"Oh, make a scrap book.  That's a wonderful idea. Think I'll do that myself.  Now, let's see.  I don't think you can get eighty for these since they're new, not one of a kind finds.  How about fifty?"

Annabeth gulped.  "Are you sure?"

"Okay, maybe forty.  Try for forty-five.  You know, I think you need to go on a shopping expedition.  Check out some stuff."

"Everyone suggests that."

"I love these wooden plates.  Though why anyone would buy a plain wooden plate, I can't imagine.  Okay, how many?"

"Six, but some are round and some octagonal.  They were about three each, some a little more, a little less."

"I gotta check out more flea markets.  Seems to me there's a better profit margin that way.  Forty is probably too much."

"Forty!  I would have charged ten."

Becky shook her head.  "Are you a charity or an artist?  Twenty five, no, twenty-eight."

"Wow."

They continued like that until Annabeth had little stickers on everything.

The prices were just too high, she was certain of it, but if she didn't sell anything the first day, she could reduce them for the second.  Or try some stores if they don't sell at all.  At least they were having a nice day.  Annabeth glanced at her watch.  Nine.  No sales.

Becky smiled.  "Don't worry.  Things never get going till ten.  See, look how many more people are walking around now.  Why don't we have some food and relax.  I brought sandwiches and cupcakes as a treat."  Becky reached in her bag, pulled out the lunch and offered some to Annabeth.

Annabeth nodded. "Me, too.  Sandwiches and cookies.  And carrot sticks."

"We make a good team."  The women divvied up the food and sat relaxing together in the collapsible chairs they had brought along with them.

"Did your husband mind that you came with me today, instead of him I mean?"

"I hate to say it, but he was kind of relieved.  He wanted to play golf.  It's nicer now that the weather is a little cooler and he doesn't always want to come with me, but he feels guilty about sending me out all alone.  It's a lot of work sometimes."

"He sounds so nice."

"He has his moments.  You'll have to come over to our house for supper one night.  Then you can meet him."  Becky reached back into her bag for her wallet, which contained a plastic fold-out for pictures, which she happily handed to Annabeth.

"Thanks, I'd love to meet him.  Oh, is this him?"

"Not Harrison Ford!"

Annabeth smiled.  "Oh and these are grandchildren, huh?"

Becky nodded.

"Aren't they just darling!  I can't wait to have grandchildren.  My daughter in New Orleans was lecturing me that there's more to life than marriage, so I guess I'll have to depend on my younger daughter."

An older woman, walking arm in arm with someone much younger, probably a granddaughter, approached.

"Gran, look at these.  How darling."

"Cute."  The woman held up the tray, causing Annabeth to wish they hadn't overpriced it.

"It has a tea pot on the bottom.  How sweet."

Feeling nervous, but wanting to help, Annabeth said, "I have two other trays."  She reached under the table and pulled them out.

"Oh!" enthused the girl.  "Each one cuter than the last.  And I love this little jewelry box."

The older woman reached into her purse, removed her wallet, counted out some cash and handed it to Annabeth.  Hugging her granddaughter, she commented, "For your hope chest."

When they were out of ear shot, Annabeth commented to Becky, "I don't believe it."

"Yeah, maybe we should have charged more."

Annabeth shook her head.  "You're too much!"

The day progressed well, and in between dealing with customers, Annabeth and Becky had time for little snippets of casual conversation.  At five they began packing up what was left.

"I'd say we did well.  We have just enough to sell tomorrow," said Becky.

"It was an amazing day.  I can't believe I made this much money."

"It was a good show.  There will be several more between now and Christmas.  Will you be able to get all the weekends off?"

"Probably not all, but some.  Oh, Becky, thank you so much for inviting me.  I could never have done this without all your help."

"I made twice what I usually make, and it was because of your designs, so I'd say we did each other a service."

Annabeth nodded.

"And tomorrow we'll sell the rest of this stuff."

"Amazing."

By Sunday night, Annabeth was exhausted.  She sat on the bed in her robe, after a long hot shower.  Becky was right.  It was a lot of work going to those shows.  And imagine how it was for the craftspeople with breakable items.  All that wrapping.  But it was worth it.  Annabeth tossed a sheaf of bills onto the bed and then counted them.  She really was making progress.  But it was a long way from what she had to what she'd need.  Annabeth returned all but twenty dollars to the tin, then placed it under some sweaters in a drawer.  This was too much cash to be sitting about.

Looking around the empty bedroom, she listened to the quiet in the house, breathed in the safety of her home.  She would save this place yet.  She lay on her bed, relaxing, and let her thoughts wander.  This was the first moment she'd had to think in a long time.  A sensation floated up into her consciousness, one of strength and self-sufficiency.  Maybe she could make her own money.  She already had.  She could survive without R.J., but the real question was how could she be happy?

She thought then of George Healy.  Random notions, scattered like wildflowers, teased her.  He was a wonderful lover.  It had been so long.  She must be crazy; she didn't even know him.  He seemed like a nice man, didn't he?  But would she ever see him again?  It had been four days.  He could have called.  He didn't remember her name.  Yes he did; it just took a while.  How long does a man wait to call these days?  He would have had to ask Doug for her number.  Maybe he didn't want to.  Or felt strange about it.  It had been so long.  Anyone would have been good.  No, how was that possible?  She just didn't know anything about it.  How would she?  She could call him and apologize for Sally barging in like that.  She could ask Doug for his number.  He'd know it.  Oh, no, she could never do that.  Wouldn't he be in the phone book?  Annabeth reached into the drawer of her bedside table and pulled out the phone book, causing a packet of photos to fall onto the floor.  Leaning down, she snatched up the photos, tossed them on the bed, then flipped through the pages of the phone book.  Healy, George.  He was the only one.  She glanced at the clock.  Nine.  Too late to call a stranger.  A stranger!  Maybe she should have thought of that before tumbling into bed with him.  It had been so long.  She reached for the phone, lifted the receiver, then replaced it.  What was she thinking?  Calling a man like that?  It was crazy.  She was just lonely.  She could stop into the bar, casually, see if he were there.  Go all alone?  No, of course not.  Yes she could.  She sighed then and opened the packet of photos.  She had done so much work in such a short time, and it wasn't bad, not bad at all.  When she came to the last photos, she stopped.  They were the Polaroids taken at the mall.  Annabeth paused for a long time, staring at her own image.  Then she reached into the drawer once more, pulling out a separate packet, the one containing the Glamour Poses proofs. Exhausted, she lay back against the pillow until she drifted off to sleep, the photos lying on the bed beside her.

The next evening, Annabeth resolved to see Sally once again.  After work she drove to the apartment Sally shared with Jackson and knocked on the door, carrying a basket of Sally's favorite cookies.  She could hear the stereo playing, then Sally opened the door, surprised to see her.

"Mom," she said quietly, "This isn't a good time."  There was concern on her face.

"Annabeth," said Jackson coming to the door.  At least he was smiling.  "I didn't know you were joining us.  Come on in."

Annabeth smiled and walked through the door, suddenly realizing why Sally had hesitated.  Maggie and Hugh sat on the couch sipping glasses of wine.  It was apparently a dinner party.

Hugh rose from his seat, greeting her warmly with a hug, "Annabeth!  How nice to see you.  It's been too long."

Maggie nodded stiffly, a scowl on her face as Annabeth stood in Hugh's embrace.

"Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt.  You go on without me.  I can stop back by tomorrow."

Hugh looked surprised, but Maggie was clearly relieved she wouldn't be joining them.  Sally, unwilling to embarrass her further, stepped in.  "I had invited Mom but her schedule at work was up in the air so we kept it loose.  Come and sit down, why don't you?  We always have plenty of food, I told you that."

"So how are you?" asked Hugh.  "We've missed you."

"I've missed you too," said Annabeth, looking openly at both Maggie and Hugh.  She scrutinized Maggie's face.  Something flickered across it, but what?

"Let me just check on everything," said Sally.

"I'll help you."  Annabeth followed her daughter into the kitchen, where they could speak privately.  "I'm sorry to just show up like this.  It didn't occur to me you'd be busy."

"It's all right," said Sally.

"I just couldn't stand another day with bad feelings between us."

Sally sighed, "I've been feeling horrible since the whole thing happened.  I haven't been mad at you since I was twelve."

"You were mad at everyone at twelve."  Annabeth smiled.  "You know, I would never disappoint you for the world, but I'm kind of out of my element now, and I don't always know what I will do or what I should do.  I'm really just going on instinct."

"I guess I understand.  Laurel's been after me about the whole thing.  Maybe she's right.  After all, you have a right to be happy."

Annabeth breathed deeply, in relief.  "Oh, hon, you don't know what it means to me to hear you say that."  She reached out and enfolded her daughter in a hug.  "Now should I make an excuse and run off?  Maggie looked like she was ready to drop."

"I don't see how you can do that.  You'll just have to stay.  Make the best of it.  Maybe now Maggie will have to snap out of it."

In a short while they were all seated at Sally's table, eating good food and sharing stilted conversation.

"How're Emma and the kids?" asked Annabeth.

"They're great," said Hugh.  "How's your job?"

"Still kind of fun.  Maggie was in the other day, weren't you?"

Maggie blushed, nodding her head, remaining silent and pointing to her mouth, which didn't appear as full as she implied.

"Soon we'll have to get busy planning the wedding," said Jackson.

Annabeth nodded.  "Still planning to have it outside at our house?"

Maggie's mouth dropped open.  "Outside?  In February?"

"Maybe it would be too cold," answered Sally.  "I had just thought of that in the summer, but I don't really know yet."

"Wouldn't it be a lot easier to have it at a nice, simple place?" asked Jackson.

"Oh, probably so," said Sally.  "We'll have to check some places out, I guess."

"What about..." began Annabeth.

"The Rusty Lantern?" asked Maggie.

All eyes turned toward her.  Hugh looked incredulous.  "Are you kidding?"

"Actually I hear it's a really nice place," said Sally.  "With great food."

Annabeth smiled at her daughter.  "I was going to say the Women's Club or the Garden Club.  They both have nice party rooms, don't they?"

"I'll check into it all.  I still like the idea of a tent outside.  I think it would be so pretty to be outdoors with the pine trees all around."

"They rent heaters for outside, don't they?" asked Jackson.

Sally nodded, "I bet they do."

"Will you girls be making all the food again?  That's a big job," said Hugh.

"Oh, no," said Maggie, "I don't think so.  We couldn't possibly."

"I was hoping for an afternoon wedding.  Just some little things, hors d'oeuvres, and of course cake."

"That would be lovely," said Annabeth and Maggie at the same time, causing them to peer into each other's eyes and then turn away.

Later as they were in the kitchen cleaning up, Sally took a deep breath and began to speak, "I don't want to ruin the evening but I just don't understand what's wrong.  We've known each other all our lives.  You're going to be my mother-in-law," she said looking at Maggie, "And all my life you've been like my second mother.  What's wrong?  Why are you so upset with Mom?  Surely it isn't the spoiled Jambalaya for the engagement party?  That just doesn't make sense."

A silence fell.  Annabeth hoped that Sally's comments would make a difference, that at last they could make up.  Maggie opened her mouth to speak, once, twice, then closed it each time.  Finally she said, "I don't know what you mean.  Okay, sure I was upset when that happened, but of course I'm not upset any more.  We've just all been busy."

"I could never be too busy for you.  We've shared our whole lives and now it seems like we're strangers, or worse, enemies," said Annabeth.

"That's silly," answered Maggie.

"Look, I've had enough of this.  I want you two to hug and make up.  How can we plan a nice wedding with all this tension?"

Annabeth and Maggie embraced then, on command, and they even smiled at each other.

"See," said Sally, "Isn't that better?"

Annabeth thought of her daughter's intervention as she drove home.  She smiled to herself softly, thinking of Sally's skills with people and sweet nature.  She would be a wonderful mother.  Annabeth was filled with pride, not just for her daughter, but for herself and the good job she had done raising Sally, and a deep sense of fulfillment flooded her heart.  Then she turned her thoughts to Maggie and she sighed.   Hugging her old friend was like embracing a cigar store Indian.  What was it that Maggie refused to say?  Why was she so determined to end their friendship now when Annabeth needed her the most, and how could she maintain this crazy feud over that party?  She rolled down the window of her car, allowing the night breeze to flow in.  She took a couple of deep breaths, trying to relax and let it all go so she could end the day peacefully.

"You're looking extra pretty today," said Charles on Wednesday.

Annabeth blushed.  "Just a little bit of eye shadow," she mumbled.  She felt like a bonafide femme fatale, wearing makeup to inspire one man to take her to dinner so she could connect with a second.

"It certainly brings out the blue of your eyes."  He examined her carefully. "Seems a shame to waste all that beauty.  Let's have supper, why don't we."

Annabeth didn't hesitate for a moment.  "All right, sure, that would be nice."

Charles reached into his pocket and removed his cellular phone.  He pressed a couple of buttons, then stated, "This thing needs a new battery," and he tossed it behind his pharmacy window.  "Let's go!"

What was she to do now?  His wife couldn't call him, and maybe he'd stay the whole evening.  Even if George were there, she wouldn't be able to talk to him.  What if George tried to talk to her, with Charles right at the table?  Annabeth cringed, but followed Charles out the door.

She sat nervously across from Charles, glancing about.  At least there was no sign of George, but it was early.

"So how's the single life?" Charles asked, probably wondering again about Maggie's comments the previous week.

"Pretty lonely."

"Sometimes I wish I'd had the courage to begin again.  Sara's a wonderful person, but it often seems that we had more in common in the past than we'll ever have in the future."

"I'm sorry to hear that.  Maybe you need to develop some new interests together."

Charles nodded.  "That would be a good idea.  If there were anything either of us wanted to do that the other also wanted."

"What about a trip?"

"I would love to travel more.  If only Sara wanted to."

"A hobby you could share--bridge--golf--something like that?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe.  We never discussed those."

"You folks ready to order?" asked Wanda.  "We have some nice fried catfish tonight.  Ham with sweet potatoes.  Spaghetti and meat balls."

"Catfish sounds good," said Charles.  "And for you?" he gestured toward Annabeth.

"Catfish is great, thanks.  And a glass of water."

"You seemed to enjoy that white wine we had last time.  How about a bottle of that?"

"I thought you didn't like wine."

"It's not so bad."

"Don't buy a whole bottle on my account.  I'm not really a drinker."

"All right then, two catfish plates, two glasses of wine."

"Salads and fries?" asked Wanda.  "Or rice.  We have steamed broccoli."

Charles looked toward Annabeth.  "Rice and broccoli, please."

He nodded, then said, "No, I think fries for me.  And salad.  Not a big broccoli man."

Wanda nodded, then walked toward the kitchen.

"I bet you have lots of men wanting to date you," Charles said abruptly.

Before Annabeth could reply, Doug walked in and came over to their table, offering his hand to Charles.

"This is getting to be a regular thing, isn't it?" asked Charles, gesturing toward a seat at their table.

"I grab a bite here most evenings, then go back to work for a bit."

"That's a long day," commented Annabeth.

"It's not so bad."

Wanda returned, setting plates of catfish with French fries, and salads in front of Annabeth and Charles along with two glasses of white wine.

Annabeth looked down at her plate, shrugged her shoulders and remained silent.

Wanda smiled and asked, "Ready, Doug?"

"I'll have what they're having.  Tanqueray and Tonic, and a glass of ice water, please."

Wanda nodded, disappeared for a short while, then returned with Doug's order.

"Thanks," said Doug, pushing the glass of water toward Annabeth and saying, "I bet you wanted this, didn't you?"

She nodded, smiling at him.  "Thanks, yes I did."

Charles looked toward Annabeth and Doug as though he were weighing what was between them.  "Patsy meeting you?" he asked Doug.

"No, no plans to meet.  Usually I just eat and run."  He turned toward Annabeth and asked, "Furniture painting going well?"

She nodded.  "Yes, thanks.  I did a crafts show this weekend.  It was great."

"That's wonderful."

"I hope you don't get rich too quickly," said Charles with complete seriousness.  "Wouldn't want you running out on me."

Annabeth looked at him.  Something was on his mind.  "Not much chance of that," she said and smiled at him, trying to be kind, but wondering why he was acting so peculiarly.

Wanda returned to the table and said, "Excuse me, Charles, right?"

Charles nodded.

"You have a phone call."

Charles shook his head.  "Excuse me."  He walked to the bar to take the call, then returned to the table.  "Seems my wife has flooded the bathroom.  I guess I need a disguise to go out without being tracked down."  He reached in his pocket, removed a twenty-dollar bill, tossed it onto the table, then said, "Gotta run.  Sorry, Annabeth."

"Thanks for the supper," she replied.  "I hope the flood's not too bad."

Charles clenched his jaw, shaking his head, then added, "See you tomorrow."

"Okay."

"Take it easy," said Doug nonchalantly.  "I'm glad I ran into you this evening," he confided to Annabeth after Charles was gone.  "I've been thinking about what you said all week."

"About being competitive?"

"I knew you'd remember.  I wouldn't expect that of most people, you know."  Annabeth smiled at this praise and he continued, "All my life I've been in the shadow of my father and brother.  They're both ladies' men, social, sparkling."

"I remember when your folks split up and your dad married that blonde."

Doug nodded.  "He's had two more since her."

"But you were always a real achiever."

"I guess, but I knew I could never live the party life they lived.  And it seemed that everything I did was sort of to show them.  Including my marriage."

Annabeth looked deeply into Doug's eyes.  The light there was clean and honest and she saw him struggling to uncover the truth of his own reality, something she admired.  "How so?" she asked.

"I married this beautiful, wealthy woman, someone they could never get, someone above them.  The only problem was she always acted like she was above me too. Like she was doing me a favor."

"Do you think it's possible that it was your attitude toward yourself that caused her to respond to you that way?"

"I don't know, probably so.  Don't they say that we create every circumstance in our lives?"

"Who says that?  I just meant that it seems to me you always underrated yourself."

Doug nodded, "Maybe so.  You know, when my dad called me to come back here and help him with the business, I was excited.  I felt like I had the upper hand at last.  Do you think I'm awful for admitting that?"

"Not at all.  And so now things are better for you?"

"I fight with my brother constantly."

"Maybe he feels like you used to--that he's living in your shadow.  After all life here is all he knows.  You had a whole other life in a big city."

"He and my father would have run that business into the ground if I'd let them.  Too much partying, too little care to the important things."

"So it's a pretty big come down for him to see you setting his mistakes to rights, isn't it?"

Doug nodded.

"But you're still angry at him?  Over high school and him being the football hero?"

Doug hesitated, as if he were about to confide something deeper, then said only, "Yes, I guess.  But lately it's a little better."

"It seems to me that if the best part of your life is in high school, the rest of your life must feel like a downwards slide.  Kind of sad, really."  Annabeth paused for a moment, thinking of Grady and his passes at her.  Maybe he was looking for some sort of validation with her?

"You have a lot of wisdom, Annabeth."

"They say it's a lot easier to make sense of someone else's life than your own."

"What's puzzling you in your own life?"

She sighed and peered once more into Doug's eyes, then looked down at her hands, quietly lying in her lap, then back to his gaze, which was kind and unwavering.  "It's awfully hard for me to accept being single.  I mean to feel single.  To know where to go from here."  She gulped and continued, "Sex.  Dating."  Feeling shy for revealing so much, she looked away from Doug, whose eyes were still on her, and across the bar.  George!  He had come in and Annabeth hadn't even noticed.  He was sitting at the far end of the bar, talking to some woman, his hand pressed tightly on top of hers.  Annabeth winced, then looked back toward Doug, who had casually been following her glance, causing her to blush.

"So you slept with someone maybe you wish you hadn't?" he asked.

"Not exactly."

Doug nodded, understanding.  "You got married young.  The truth is you probably need to experiment a little.  This is just a bad time for it."

Annabeth nodded.  Lowering her voice to barely more than a whisper, she said, "My daughter walked in on us.  It was humiliating."

"Children sometimes have difficulty accepting their parents as people, particularly their mothers.  Of course a chain on the door is a good idea."  He smiled after this last bit of advice.

Annabeth nodded.  "I installed one the other day.  Not that I expect to need it."

"Of course you will."

Annabeth looked again toward the bar.  George was massaging the shoulders of the woman next to him.  She sighed and paused, searching for a way to change the subject. "Patsy seems devoted.  How did you meet her?"

"She found me my house.  One thing led to another.  It was really just casual for a long time, but now she keeps after me to move in with her, but I don't know."

"Oh?  She's very beautiful."

Doug nodded, "I know.  But I guess the thing I like best about her is that she thinks I'm this great guy."

"You are a great guy."

"Thanks.  You're a good friend."

"It's hard for me to imagine being in love with someone new."

Doug opened his mouth, and Annabeth was sure he was going to say, Oh, I'm not in love with her.  Instead he volunteered,  "Sometimes just having fun is all you need."

Annabeth shook her head, "Oh, no.  How could fun ever be enough?"

"You're right.  It isn't.  I learned a lot from you tonight.  Thanks."

"Oh go on.  You knew it all along.  I just listened."

"Say, Annabeth," said Doug in a voice that was so quiet she could barely hear him, "Would you like to..."

"Hiya!"  George pressed his hand warmly against Annabeth's shoulder, wresting her attention from Doug and his question.

"Hi," said Doug and Annabeth simultaneously.

Without being asked, George pulled up a chair and sat down.  "How's it going?"

Annabeth looked toward the bar where he had been sitting.  The woman he had been with was now gone.  "Fine."

"Good," said Doug.

"You know, Patsy told me not to let you hang out here too late.  She said not to let you overdo."

"I'm in no danger of that," said Doug, an edge creeping into his voice.  "How's Flora?"

"Who?"

"Flora.  Weren't you two engaged?"

"For about fifteen minutes."

"Then it's Amy now?"

"Amy?"  George looked off into the distance.  "Oh...Amy.  We're just friends."

Annabeth watched the interaction between the two men.  There was something quite fierce about Doug, something she'd never noticed before.

"Feeling well this evening?" George asked Annabeth, making her blush.

"Yes, thanks, I'm fine.  And you?"

"Actually I was thinking about you.  That newel post on your staircase.  I'm trying to duplicate one similar to that--one that was badly replaced--and I wanted to take another look at yours."

"Well, sure."

"Great."

They sat like that for a couple of hours, exchanging pointless remarks, the two men determined to remain at the table, Annabeth trying to be polite but wondering how to manage the situation.  Didn't it seem as though George wanted to be alone with her?  What was Doug doing?  What had he intended to ask her?  Out of her depth, she floundered along, hoping for an inspiration that would diffuse the tension.

Finally Doug took charge, "It's late.  Let me walk you to your car, Annabeth."

He rose from his seat, tossed some money on the table, and reached to help her out of her chair.

"I'll be happy to do the honors," said George nonchalantly.

"Not necessary at all.  We're old friends."

"Well, I'll walk along with you.  It's a nice night."

When Annabeth drove up to her house, there was a car parked in front of it.  The owner sat casually on one of her porch rockers, a lit cigarette in his hand.

"How did you get here before me?" she asked incredulously.

"Motivation," he said pressing her tightly to him.

Annabeth's breath exited her throat sharply as she leaned into him.  Briefly she remembered the remarks Doug had made, for surely he had been bringing up all those women for a reason, but as George leaned in to kiss her, the thoughts in her mind scrambled and she whispered, "Come inside."

13

Annabeth awakened and looked over at George.  He was lying on his back, his mouth open, and he was snoring.  Thinking how nice it was to wake up with a man, Annabeth smiled and then wriggled over to snuggle against his side, resting her head gently against his shoulder.  She lay peacefully, listening to him snore until his breath fluttered and he awakened too, saying "Hi, baby."

He called her baby!  Wasn't that cute?  "Morning," she said, twisting toward him and kissing his cheek.  "I work pretty late," she said, "but still if you want you could come over after work.  I could make you supper."

"Oh, that sounds great.  I'm sure you're a fantastic cook."

"I'm not bad."

George pulled her close, his hands on her skin too distracting to allow her to complete her train of thought.

After they'd made love, she'd given him breakfast, and waved George on his way, Annabeth stood under a hot shower, her eyes closed, the steamy water pouring down her shoulders and back.  It really was good, wasn't it?  It wasn't a fluke.  No, it was great.  Well, she thought it was  great and it seemed like it was great for him, too.  She looked down at her body, which was rosy and glowing from the hot water. And he was coming back tonight.  A little tingle flowed over her.  She had a boyfriend!

The afternoon at work was filled with daydreams and sweet sighs.  With each scoop of ice cream, Annabeth thought of George and the nights they'd shared, the morning that just ended with her in his arms.  She smiled a bit to herself, caught up in the newness of the sweet romance she was envisioning, the night that was to come and the closeness they would build together.  There's so much she didn't know about him, everything actually!  He had good hands, she knew that.  Annabeth quivered a little, thinking of the specifics of what she did know.  And now they would learn about each other, and she could have the girls meet him, and they would see she was just rebuilding her life, not acting like a slut.  She glanced at her watch.  It was early.  It would be hours.  And then she would be in his arms again.  Annabeth reminisced briefly about the days when she and R.J. had first met, and she felt a bit guilty, but only for a moment, because her desire to see and be with George was just the same as she had once felt about her husband.  It was over with R.J..  He had moved on and so had she.  How about that--she had someone else too.

When Doug walked in, she offered him her warmest smile.  "What a nice surprise," she said.

He seated himself at the far end of the counter, away from the teenage couple who were busy feeding each other ice cream and giggling.   "You're looking happy," he said.

"I guess I am," she said smiling.  "In fact, I think I ought to treat you to an ice cream.  Name your poison!"

"All right.  How about a chocolate cone.  Small."

"I was thinking hot fudge.  Whipped cream.  Nuts."

"Okay, sure.  I oughta steal you out of here, set you to selling cars."

"I imagine I'd do very well as long as I started out by offering to treat the customers to whatever they wanted."

Doug laughed,  "Don't sell yourself short.  You wouldn't have to give it away.  You could make a fair deal."

"Me?  Nah!  Nobody would buy a car from a cream puff like me."

"With the right training..."

Annabeth smiled at Doug.  His faith in her was always touching, and a bit of a surprise.  "You know," she confided shyly, "I have a date tonight."

For some reason he winced.  "Oh?"

"George.  He's really only the second boyfriend I've ever had," she continued, "And you introduced us."

His eyes narrowed and he said, "You don't know him all that well do you?"

She shook her head, blushing.  "I guess I'm acting like a silly teenager, but I sort of feel that way."

"Be careful.  I'd hate to see you hurt."

"Why would I get hurt?"

"Just don't put your faith in someone who's not able to live up to it."

"What do you mean?"

"You're new at the dating game is all, and I want you to be careful, go slowly, don't be too trusting."  His voice became more intense, although he spoke softly, "Promise me, Annabeth.  Be careful."

"Don't worry, I will."

Doug's comments pushed far to the back of her mind, Annabeth raced home after work, hurriedly baked a batch of brownies, put together some cold salads, jumped into the shower, applied fresh makeup, and dressed in something pretty and casual.  She glanced at the clock.  It was ten-thirty.  He would be along any minute!  Flipping on the stereo, she sat on the couch, ruffling the cat's soft fur and waiting for her date to begin.  The time passed slowly as she waited, and Annabeth let her mind wander.

"Let's drive cross country this summer," enthused George.

"Sure, honey, why not.  We can tour a lot of old homes."

"Yes, wouldn't that be just the best."  He reached out to enfold her hand.  Draping his arm around her back, he hugged her tightly.  "We could have another honeymoon."

"It would be pretty hard to beat the one we already had," she said, smiling.

"You know, we ought to take Jack Jr. along with us.  If Sally and Jackson wouldn't mind."

"Oh, hon, that would be fun, wouldn't it.  I wish you and I had had kids together."

"Your girls are plenty for me, and now we have grandchildren."

Her reverie fading into sleep, Annabeth wriggled down on the sofa and dozed off, the cat draped across her abdomen and a soft smile still on her face.  In her dreams she floated smoothly on a raft, clear water all around her, the sky above a cloudless blue.  Off in the distance a ship's bell rang, louder and louder.  Was she floating on the ocean?  Annabeth looked about.  There were no waves.  And she could not see the ship, but the bell was clanging.  Feeling the cat awaken and jump off her stomach, Annabeth roused, then realized that it wasn't a ship at all, but her doorbell.  She leapt up from the couch so quickly her head spun.  "Oh," she said, pressing her hand to her temple.  What time was it?  Two in the morning?  How was that possible?

"I'm coming," she said, and walked to the door, glancing first into the peephole.  It was George!  Annabeth flung the door open, smiling.  "Hi!"

"Hi, baby," he said, and took her in his arms, pressing her body against the back of the door.

"I thought you'd forgotten me."

"Of course not.  I was just busy."

"Are you hungry?  Do you want anything?"

"I want you," he said, "Right now."

Early the next morning, the phone rang, awakening Annabeth, who grabbed it before the second ring so that George would not be disturbed.  "Hello," she said softly into the phone.

Becky's voice crackled with electricity as always.  "Hi!  All ready for the next show?"

Annabeth spoke softly, as George slept beside her, snoring loudly.  "Becky, hello!  Yes, I am!  How are you?"

"Gee, is it too early?"

"No, of course not."

Becky chuckled, then said  "You know I've wanted to have you over for supper for a long time.  Why don't you come on Friday.  And bring your boyfriend if you want."

Annabeth's eyes opened wide.  She had never mentioned a boyfriend.  Could Becky hear George snoring?  "I am seeing someone," she said, "But I don't know if he's free.  I'd love to come, though.  And I'll ask him."

"Great!  See you then."

Annabeth snuggled back down against George, who awakened and pulled her close.  She smiled at him, thinking of Becky calling him her boyfriend.  They lay peacefully for a while, Annabeth wondering if they would be making love again and glancing at George from time to time, but once he was more fully awake, he checked the clock and shook his head trying to rouse himself completely.

Giving Annabeth's shoulder a squeeze, he turned and rose from the bed. "Early meeting," he said.

She nodded to him, reached for her robe and rose as well, planning to make him some breakfast while he showered.  "Um, hon?"

"Yes?"

"Would you like to come to supper with me at a friend's house on Friday night?"

He nodded affably, then replied, "Sure, why not?"

Later Annabeth prepared a sundae for two teenagers to share and she thought what fun it was to be dating.  The work she did daily was not challenging, nor was it fun, but now, a song hummed gently under her breath, thoughts of the boyfriend that she imagined George to be, she was happy and she moved behind the ice cream counter in a spirit of contentment and joy.

"Don't you look beautiful today," said Grady as he strode through the door and up to the ice cream counter.

Annabeth looked up at the sound of his voice and smiled involuntarily.  "Thank you.  What can I get you?"

Grady sat at the same stool he had chosen on the last visit.  "Chocolate shake as usual."

Annabeth set the drink in front of him along with a check, then stepped slightly back from the counter.

"Avoiding me already.  And I just got here," said Grady, sighing with mock desperation, then taking a giant gulp of his drink.

Annabeth reached over, took the metal shake canister and poured the remainder into the glass, smiling slightly, to show she was not being mean.

Grady grasped her wrist before she could move back again.  "I bet you thought I had given up on you, didn't you?" he asked, then released her hand.

Looking around the store for an excuse to leave, Annabeth found none, so she remained in the conversation although she didn't reply to the question put to her.

Taking a new tack, Grady asked, "How are you?"

She smiled then and answered, "Good.  How are you?"

"Lonely.  Have dinner with me."

Annabeth thought for a long moment, still uneasy around this man, still bewildered by his interest.  Then she spoke, "I can't Grady, I'm sorry.  I'm seeing someone now."

His face darkened into a scowl, the disappointment greater than anything that made sense to Annabeth.  "First you're married, then you're not ready to date, then you're involved.  What's the matter Annabeth--why aren't I good enough for you?  Doug say something to you about me?"

"No, of course not."  Her voice was calm but inside she felt a little shocked.  Deciding to be honest, she opened up a little and said, "The truth is you make me a little nervous.  I don't see why you would want to date me, why you've been so persistent.  You're a football hero and all.  And we don't even know each other."

"If you go out with me, we'll get to know each other.  And I promise to be good."

"I'm sure you'd be a perfect gentleman, but I really am seeing someone."

"You can date more than one person at a time.  Why tie yourself down?"

"Oh I could never do that," she said so seriously that he sighed once again.  "I think you're very attractive," she said honestly, "But I can't imagine what we'd have in common.  You're used to exciting women and I'm really very dull."

"Let me be the judge of that.  Listen to me, Annabeth," he said sincerely, "You have a standing offer.  If ever you change your mind, give me a call and I'll buy you dinner."  He reached in his pocket, tossed a ten-dollar bill on the counter and winked at her.  "It would be fun."  With that he turned and walked through the door.

Annabeth shook her head, thinking of Grady.  What was it about him that disturbed her so?  He must have an ulterior motive.  Otherwise he'd never even notice her.  But what was it?  She didn't know, but now and then during the course of the next few days she would puzzle over it a bit and then let go of the idea.  By Friday Grady was no longer on Annabeth's mind.  She had called George to remind him of their dinner date at Becky's house, and although he had sounded surprised to hear from her, he assured Annabeth that he was planning to attend and would pick her up at six in the evening, which was more than enough time to drive to Becky's house.

Annabeth examined her own reflection in the hall mirror as she passed it on her way down the stairs.  She nodded, pleased with the way her makeup enhanced her features.  It was almost as good as the makeup in the Glamour Poses photo.  She glanced at her watch as she reached the bottom step.  Five-forty five.  Perfect.  There was plenty of time to relax.  Annabeth took a seat briefly in the living room, then jumped up to walk into the kitchen to check on the dessert she had prepared to bring along.  Perfect.  Returning to the living room, once more she sat on the couch, checking her watch again.

By six-fifteen she was pacing in the hallway, glancing at her watch every few seconds.  Where was he?  They would be late!  Reaching for the phone, she first dialed George's office, but there was no answer.  In his house an answering machine picked up, and Annabeth hung up silently, feeling that it was pointless to leave a message.  Then thinking better of it, she re-dialed and left a brief message.  What if he were hurt?  Perhaps he'd had a car accident on the way to her home?  Should she just stay there and wait to hear?  Annabeth shook her head, knowing that it was unlikely that George was in any danger.  She reached for the phone one more time and dialed Becky, who answered on the first ring.

"Becky, I'm sorry," Annabeth blurted out.  "George is late.  I'm worried something may have happened to him."

"Oh no," said Becky.  "I hope not."

"He said he'd definitely be here."

"Did you want to cancel then, or just leave it loose until you know?"

"Oh Becky, I don't know."  Annabeth envisioned her friend and all the work she'd no doubt done as well as the food that would spoil and she felt guilty.  But what was she to do?

"Do you have call forwarding?"

"No, not even an answering machine."

"Hmm.  This is terrible.  If something had happened, would someone be likely to notify you?"

"Probably not."

"Do you want me to come over there and wait with you?"

"Oh, Becky!" Annabeth exclaimed, "You are just so nice.  Here I am ruining your dinner party and you're being so nice."

"Listen, I'm going to make a plate for this man of mine and then I'll bring some food and come over to your house.  That way you'll still get your dinner and you won't have to sit alone and worry."

"Well, gee, I don't know what to say!  Thank you so much.  But I can't ask you to feed your husband and leave him home alone when he was expecting to attend a dinner party."  Annabeth paused for a moment and her mind cleared.  "Listen, this is silly.  George probably forgot and when I see him I'll clobber him, but I'm just going to get in the car and drive to your house.  Is that okay?"

"Yes, of course it is.  And hon," Becky paused briefly and then continued, "I'm sure he's fine.  Probably just a mix-up."

When, a little while later, Annabeth pulled up into Becky's driveway, she took a deep breath, opened the door and walked to the house.  Becky was right.  It was surely just a mix-up.

"Hey!" said Becky, opening the door and enfolding her in a hug.  "You poor thing.  Come on in."  She removed the dessert from Annabeth's hand, cooing, "Oh this looks fantastic.  Come meet Shep and then I'll put this in the dining room."

Annabeth followed her friend into the living room, where Becky's husband rose to greet her.

"It's so nice to meet you," he said warmly.  "Now how about a glass of wine--or would you prefer some iced tea?"

Annabeth looked toward where Shep had been sitting, and spying his glass and its contents, she answered, "Oh, iced tea is just great."

Shep laughed and said, "Another bon vivante, I see."

"We can eat anytime but why don't we sit and chat for a while before we do," said Becky, returning from the dining room and indicating that Annabeth should be seated on one of the two couches in her spacious living room.

"I hope I haven't ruined your supper by being so late," said Annabeth, and then looking up she noticed hanging over the large fireplace two beautifully framed watercolors.  They were her own.  "Oh look!" she said almost involuntarily.

"I was waiting for you to notice them," laughed Becky.  "After you insisted that I take them, I couldn't just leave them lying around, so there they are."

Annabeth raised her hand to her throat briefly, then lowered it and spoke in a soft voice, "I'm just so touched."

Becky smiled first at Annabeth then at her husband.  "See," she said winking at Shep who returned her grin, "I told you she was insanely modest."

"So how many shows do you girls intend to do in the next few weeks?" asked Shep.  "At this time of the year, my wife is a lean, mean, moneymaking machine.  Makes me want to retire."

Becky laughed.  "He called me lean!  You're a witness."  She smiled again at her husband, then reached over to the coffee table in front of her and pulled out a calendar on which she had noted the various dates.  Pointing to a few specific weeks, she said, "Now these are the best shows, so if you have to choose, these are the ones not to miss.  Here, I Xeroxed the page."

Annabeth accepted the photocopy and scrutinized it as Becky flipped to the next page of the calendar and handed her another Xerox.  "That's a pretty calendar," commented Annabeth idly as she glanced up briefly.

Becky nodded.  "It is, isn't it.  That's what you should be doing, not painting on bowls and trays.  I wonder what you have to do to get them to consider your work?"

"Oh go on!" exclaimed Annabeth, blushing.

"Look on the back," said Shep, "Must be a publisher's name."

Becky flipped the calendar over, then noted the name.  "Here, give me that a sec," and she reached for the copies that Annabeth still held in her hand.  Without her having to say a word, Shep rose, removed a pen that was still clipped to the local paper on top of the completed crossword puzzle and handed it to his wife.  Becky then carefully wrote down the name of the publisher and their address.  "Now you call these people.  I mean it."

Annabeth blushed again, then tucked the pages into her purse after agreeing to try to make the shows that Becky had indicated.

They adjourned then to the dining room, where Annabeth was amazed to see two more of her paintings.  "Did you frame them all?" she asked in a low voice.

"Just eight," said Becky.

"Gosh," whispered Annabeth.

Becky served supper then, and they sat at the table for several hours, eating, talking, and laughing like the old friends Annabeth hoped they would ultimately become.  Eventually they all retreated to the kitchen to clean up, something that took very little time.  Watching Becky and Shep interact, Annabeth thought how much they reminded her of Maggie and Hugh, and how little of R.J. and herself.  She could not imagine R.J. agreeing to entertain a woman friend of hers and being so supportive and charming.  Of course they had socialized hundreds of times over the years, but so often R.J. had been surly or absent.  Not all marriages were like her own, she realized.

"Oh, my!" exclaimed Annabeth, "Look at the time.  We'll never get that early start tomorrow this way.  I better get going."  After warm hugs and confirmations of tomorrow's departure time, Annabeth drove back toward her house, still thinking about Becky and Shep, and about R.J. and herself.  She knew, deep under the surface, that there was something to be realized, a lesson to be learned, but no matter how she dug, Annabeth could not quite define it.

Arriving at her door, the thoughts and memories gnawed away at her until she recognized George's car parked in front of her house.  She exited her own car and silently walked up the steps to the front porch where he sat.  He was clearly uninjured.

"Hi, babe," he said, grinning at Annabeth.

"What happened to you?" Her voice was calm and controlled and it betrayed no emotion, although she was certain her face looked disapproving.

"What do you mean?"

"We had a date tonight for supper with my friends."

"I called you."

Annabeth listened silently.

"The machine didn't pick up."

"I don't have a machine."

George nodded, "It was an emergency."  He watched Annabeth's face as he spoke,  "Someone I sold a house to last month.  Termites.  They just discovered them and were pissed off.  I had to go over there and calm them down.  They threatened to sue."  The ire in his voice grew as the details of the story fell into place, "Oh baby, I'm so sorry."  He walked toward Annabeth then and enfolded her in his arms, and despite herself, her rigidity turned to softness and she began to hug him back.

After a long interlude of lovemaking, Annabeth snuggled against George, then glanced at the clock.  "Oh it's so late.  I have to get up in less than five hours."

"Don't be silly.  Let's sleep in."

"Art show tomorrow."

"Oh I had no idea."  George leaned over and kissed Annabeth, then reached for his clothes and started dressing.

"You can still stay over."

"I wouldn't want to make any more work for you.  I'll stay over the next time."

"You could help us load my stuff into Becky's van in the morning."

George looked at the clock once again, then said, "Oh no, I wouldn't want your friend to think I'd been here all night.  Wouldn't want to compromise your reputation."

Seeing him fully dressed, Annabeth resigned herself to sleeping alone, and reached for her robe to see him to the door.

"No, no.  You stay right here.  You need your sleep.  I'll see the door is locked and let myself out."  George reached down, kissed Annabeth briefly, then lumbered out of the room and down the stairs.

"He said that?" laughed Becky after hearing Annabeth repeat the details of her involvement with George during a lull in the art show.  "Compromise your reputation?  With me? After Sally had walked in on you?"

Annabeth nodded, laughing with her friend and relieved to have been able to share the complete story with someone.

Becky shook her head, a look of disapproval on her face.  "Just how involved with this guy are you?"

Annabeth paused to help a customer, then considered the question.  "Gosh I don't know.  He's only my second boyfriend ever."

"I hope you won't get mad at me for saying this, but if I were you, I'd start looking for number three."

"Oh, I don't know.  He's not bad."

"Forget not bad.  Concentrate on good.  I'm going to discuss it with Shep.  I bet he knows someone who's perfect for you.  And since he's an accountant he knows where the money is too."

Annabeth laughed.  "Sure, I'll become a golddigger."

Becky nodded.  "Good.  That's the idea.  Talk, dark, handsome, rich, sexy, smart, funny…." Her voice trailed off as she spoke, the romance of the moment capturing her imagination, causing her eyes to glaze over a bit, but then Becky regained her focus and mumbled, "Um, yeah, what were we saying?" causing them to dissolve in a merry fit of giggles.

Later that night, after the show was over, after she had marveled over her profits, after a long, steamy shower, Annabeth lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking of what Becky had said to her.  Then she thought of George and the nights she'd spent so happily lying in his arms.  There was something comfortable and familiar about him, something safe and unintimidating.  And he was such a good lover.  What if there were no number three?  Annabeth tossed on the bed, her back and shoulders aching from the long day, then she blushed, alone in her room, thinking so callously of men as numbers.  Besides, she cared for George.  He was her boyfriend.

14

Annabeth reached for a sweater hanging on the back of her chair at the kitchen table. There was a chill in the air; maybe it was fall at last.  She wrapped herself in the old sweater, a garment she thought of as her ratty artist's sweater and continued painting garlands of flowers on the frame of a mirror until the chiming of the doorbell caused her to jump.  Glancing at the clock, she shrugged her shoulders, smoothed her hair, then walked to the door.  R.J.!

He swept into the room with confidence, then smiled at her as though nothing were wrong at all.

Without a second thought, Annabeth returned her husband's grin.  "How are you?" she asked.

"I been thinking about you all day," he replied sincerely. "Just seems kinda terrible things been so bad between us."

Annabeth watched R.J. as he spoke, confused by his change of attitude.

"Aren't you gonna ask me to sit down?  Not even one of your homemade cookies?"

"Well, sure.  Want some coffee?  I don't have any beer."

"I don't drink beer all day long you know."

Annabeth walked toward the kitchen and R.J. followed.  As she prepared the coffee and a plate of cookies, he took the time to examine what she had been painting.  "This is beautiful," he said.

"Thank you," she replied, genuinely touched.  It was the first time he had ever commented about the things she painted although he'd been surrounded by them for so many years.  Setting the coffee and cookies on the table, she took a seat facing R.J..

"I really admire your creativeness.  It's wonderful to be talented like you are."  R.J. smiled once again, then reached his hand casually across the table and pressed it on top of Annabeth's.  He bit into a chocolate chip cookie, the smile still on his face.  "These are still my favorite too!  Almost like you knew we was getting' together today."

R.J. squeezed her hand tightly as they talked, causing familiar sensations to flutter inside her.  Not knowing what to think or say to this man who'd been so important a part of her life, Annabeth mumbled, "Everything all right, dear?"

R.J. stood and walked around the small table, Annabeth's hand still in his, and he tugged on it, causing her to rise.  "A man can want a hug from his wife without somethin' being wrong, can't I?"  Wrapping his arms tightly around Annabeth, R.J. held her until he felt the tension in her spine relax, until she was hugging him back just as tightly.  Then he leaned down and kissed her.

Hesitating only an instant, Annabeth, being without guile or a nature even remotely suspicious, wrapped her arms more tightly around her husband's back and leaned into the kiss, losing herself in the comfort of it, the familiarity, and returning emotionally to a time when everything in her life made sense.  Over and over he kissed her, and over and over she responded, feeling her head begin to swirl from the intensity of the moment.  His body pressed against hers with an urgency that she found dizzying, causing Annabeth to let go of all rancor, and being unable to think straight or to concentrate, she just responded to the raw emotion she felt.

R.J. ran his hand along her torso in the hurried way he always did, then down her hip and back across her breast.  Leaning more heavily on her, his weight pressing against her, he moaned, "Come upstairs."

Annabeth lay in R.J.'s arms, kissing him again and again, the debris of months of pain and alienation brushed aside in one grand gesture of reconciliation.  For just a second she pulled back from his lips, whispering feverishly, "Oh, I've missed you so.  Oh, I love…," but before she could complete the sentence, his mouth was upon hers again, and he was pulling her skirt up in the frenzied way he always made love.

Feeling him on top of her, Annabeth clung tightly to R.J.'s back and together they rocked and pounded each other to a suitable conclusion, then lay panting and limp.  Barely able to say a word, yet unable to remain silent, Annabeth spoke softly, and lovingly, "I never thought we'd do this again."  She reached over and kissed R.J.'s damp cheek in a manner very gentle and tender, and surprisingly he shivered then, and glanced once more at the clock.

Annabeth knew he was yearning to sleep, as he always did after sex, but instead of drifting off, he spoke, "This house gotta lotta memories in it.  A lotta laughs.  Good times."  Annabeth smiled at him and nodded, agreeing. "It's an old place though.  No dishwasher.  Lotta maintenance.  Termites." Annabeth tensed but he continued, "No place to start over."  Annabeth turned her head toward R.J. and scrutinized his face closely, not daring to hope that what she was hearing was true.

He patted her shoulder then went on, "The best thing about this place is it's old.  Probably a historic landmark.  And the location is pretty.  Secluded."  Annabeth gazed at R.J., the hope clearly visible on her face.  He looked away and bit his lip once again, then continued speaking, "You gotta sign this paper, putting me in charge of selling the house.  Then I got a surprise for you."  Sliding his arm from beneath Annabeth's head, R.J. reached for his pants which lay crumpled at the foot of the bed, and from them he pulled a folded sheet of paper and a pen.  "Sign this and I promise everything will work out perfect."

Annabeth looked at the paper, and seeing what it was, she recoiled.  Pressing against R.J.'s chest she moved somberly to rise from the bed, shaking her head.

R.J. jumped up and clutched at Annabeth.  "No, no, you don't understand.  Okay, get dressed.  I wanna show you something."  R.J. glanced at the clock once again.  "Come on, hurry!"

Annabeth, her hand clutched tightly by R.J.,  stared out the window as they drove, first toward town, past Hawkins Ford, then down a side street about a mile from the main road.  R.J. pulled the car into the driveway of what appeared to be a brand new brick house, squeezing Annabeth's hand and saying, "This is the kinda house you start over in."

She looked out at the yard, a barren stretch of dirt, no shrubbery yet, no flowers, and in her mind she saw what could be put there.  In a vision blooming with green and pink, Annabeth saw the lawn lush and perfect, azaleas covered with vibrant buds, flower beds bursting with life, and she smiled at the potential that lay before her.  Following behind R.J., who somehow had a key, she admired the sparkling new kitchen with its modern appliances, so unlike her own, the three huge bedrooms, walk-in closets, a roomy den, and at each new sight he squeezed her hand.  This was what R.J. now wanted?  To begin again with her--in this spotlessly new house?

"It's a great house, isn't it?" he asked, smiling at her, leading her back to the kitchen.

She could envision the furniture arranged to maximize the space, could see dinner parties in the gracious dining room, fires blazing in the hearth, muscle-relaxing soaks in the Jacuzzi tub, even perhaps the two of them in it together, and she smiled and nodded.  "It's beautiful."

"See.  I told you.  And all you gotta do is sign this paper and everything will be all right."

"And you're planning to move back home then?  You want to come back?"

R.J. placed his arm around Annabeth's shoulder and he repeated, "Everything will be all right."

Annabeth took the document from him and she began to read it, using that time to let the thoughts churning in her mind settle.  R.J. was coming home!  They wouldn't be divorced after all.  A happy ending.  The girls would be so pleased.  And they'd move to this beautiful house.  A real family again.  All as it should be.  Wasn't this amazing?  As she reached for the pen he'd handed her, R.J. drew in a deep breath, but a noise at the door startled them both.

He leapt away from her then, but maintained the nonchalance in his voice when he said, "Go on and sign, sweetheart.  I'll go check on it.  Probably nothin'."  Once again he glanced at his watch as he hurried away from her.

Annabeth, hearing voices, walked toward the front of the house and paused, not wanting to interrupt a discussion. R.J. was talking to another man, "A buyer at the amount we discussed?"  Annabeth listened, realizing they were discussing the sale of her house.  She smiled to herself. Imagine that R.J., doing all this to surprise her.

The other man said, "Yes, it's a good deal.  And then you and that sexy young bride of yours can move in here."

Annabeth gasped, pressing her hand to her mouth, the shock of recognition like a blow to her heart.  She took her time, breathed deeply and composed herself.  Her heart continued to pound, even after her breath was steady, and her thoughts were clear at last.  Walking into the room then and smiling at the stranger, Annabeth said, "I'm Mrs. Welner," then before R.J. could speak, she walked closer to him, as if to step into his arms for a hug.  Feeling him raising his arms to hold her as if on instinct, Annabeth moved closer, wrapping her arms around R.J.'s neck, and then without a plan, without a thought, acting on impulse herself, Annabeth swiftly raised her knee and slammed it into her husband's groin, then stepped back quickly as he crumpled to the floor.  Once again she smiled at the man, whose mouth was agape, and she said, "But I'm divorcing him."  Then she turned and walked out the front door, not looking back.  She trod across the barren dirt that would someday be somebody's lawn, leaving her footprints in the soft earth.

Annabeth pressed her hand to her chest.  Her heart raced; she could feel it pounding against her hand.  Walking faster, she strode down the lane, back toward the highway, the tears streaming from her eyes.  What had she done to deserve such  deception?  But for that interruption, she would have signed away her house.  Now weeping violently, she stumbled on, walking as fast as possible while the sobs wracked her body.

After fifteen minutes of swift walking, Annabeth was out of breath and stopped.  Spotting a tree stump, she sat on it, holding her face in her hands and she wept without restraint, all alone there beside the quiet lane, no cars in either direction to embarrass her.  No thoughts intruded on her pain for quite some time as she sat there, letting all the emotions ricochet through her as she wept.  Eventually she had no more tears and a bitterness surfaced which Annabeth could not avoid acknowledging.  There was no excuse for what he did today, no excuse at all, and no matter what the future brought, she would never open her heart to him again.  This thought should have been comforting, but it was not, and more tears slowly filled her eyes and trailed down her cheeks.  She was no longer weeping, just suffused with sadness.  It was heartbreaking that he would betray her so cruelly.  It was her fault, after all, she knew it was over, knew he was gone.  She was a fool not to see through him.  At least now she knew for sure that her marriage was over completely and forever.  It was the past. But she still had George.  Maybe he would become her future.  This thought calmed her a bit, so Annabeth sniffled, then reached in her purse for a tissue, to mop up her face. She glanced in a tiny mirror.  She looked a wreck and wished she didn't have to see anyone, but what choice was there?  She'd have to stop in and see if Doug could give her a lift home.

Rising from the tree stump with another sniffle and a huge sigh, Annabeth pressed on, and within another ten minutes, she'd arrived at the dealership and walked into Doug's office.

Instantly seeing that something was wrong, Doug leapt from his desk chair, walked to the doorway where Annabeth stood and put an arm around her shoulder.  He guided her gently to a chair, then closed his office door.  Taking a seat in the chair beside Annabeth rather than behind the desk, Doug took her hand in his and spoke softly.  "Tell me everything if you want to."

Annabeth opened her mouth to speak, but she couldn't manage the words, so she clenched her jaw shut, willing herself not to cry in front of Doug.

"If that George has hurt you, I'll…"

Annabeth's eyes widened, hearing the intensity in Doug's voice, and it was his depth of emotion that steadied her, that made her able to compose herself at last and speak.  "No, no, George and I are fine, closer than ever.  I just had a terrible scene with my husband.  I need a ride home.  Or I could call a cab."

Doug's brows gathered together and his dark eyes flashed.  He squeezed Annabeth's hand even more tightly, saying, "Of course I'll take you home."

Annabeth noticed Doug watching her out of the corner of his eye as they drove.  He was so thoughtful and kind, so nice to worry about her.  In moments they arrived  at her house and he turned off the ignition and walked to her side of the car to help her to the door.  Although she wanted more than anything to be alone, Annabeth knew that she could not fail to invite Doug into her house, not after all his concern and courtesy.  "Come in why don't you?" she invited, "Unless I've taken up too much of your time already."

"I would love to come in and visit with you," Doug said, smiling gently, "But I think what you need is to be alone now."

Releasing a huge sign, Annabeth replied, "Oh thank you for understanding.  I would love to show you my house though--sometime soon."

Doug opened his arms and enfolded Annabeth in them, saying nothing, and she stood there, feeling safe and protected for a long moment.  He started to speak a couple of times but restrained himself, finally saying, "I'll always be your friend."

Annabeth stepped back a bit from his embrace and smiled up at him.  "Thanks.  I feel that way about you too."

Annabeth entered the house and returned to her seat at the kitchen table.  She tried to reach for the paintbrush to complete the mirror, but she could not summon the will to do it.  Instead she sat quietly, thinking about her life, about R.J.'s actions.  Why was it she'd loved him so much, and why was she so willing to take him back?  Her heart weighed down with the sadness of betrayal, she thought of the events of the day, of this man who'd been her husband and someone she'd loved so deeply.  He did often take the easy way out, but after all the years, after everything they'd shared, after Richard, his birth and death, after the girls, even with him wanting a divorce, even then, but how after all, how could he do that, not to her but to anyone?  No, how could he do that to her?  Annabeth's eyes filled with tears, the bewilderment as strong as any love ever in her heart and for a long time she sat at the table blankly, raw and empty and trying to comprehend R.J. and his awful treachery.  None of it made any sense to her, so eventually she stopped questioning herself and thought instead of George.  A smile crossed her lips then.  Maybe she could just let go of R.J. at last; she had George now, didn't she?

Later that week, Quentin Asprey walked confidently into the courtroom, Annabeth trailing  behind him.

Reviewing the document before him, the judge spoke, "We are here to determine support for Mrs. Welner.  And to agree upon a suitable division of assets before the final hearing.  He nodded toward the attorneys.  "Are you ready now?"

Asprey rose and walked toward the judge with more confidence than any television lawyer had ever mustered.  "Here is a document from the U.S. Vending Machine Association, your honor.  It details clearly the amount of income likely from the number of machines listed by Mr. Welner.  As you can see there's a huge discrepancy."  Would this tactic work?  Annabeth wondered why statistics would mean anything in light of reality and real numbers.

R.J., instead of gulping and offering to pay up, remained firm and so did his attorney who rose, "Your honor these statistics are meaningless.  Just as average attorney's fees mean nothing specific to any one of us.  You have Mr. Welner's tax returns for seven years.  They are consistent with his financial statement."

The judge nodded as Asprey continued, "Your honor, this is a cash business, much like waitressing.  We are certain that a substantial portion of Mr. Welner's income has never been declared."

Sennet's eyes began to bulge.  Taking a deep breath, he said, "We resent that allegation, your honor and if these slanderous remarks don't cease a lawsuit against Mrs. Welner and her attorney will be forthcoming."

The judge held up his hand.  "I see these statistics, however I can't base anything on general statistics.  Do you have other proof?"

Asprey shook his head.

"I'm going to grant increased maintenance."  Annabeth sat, nervous and ill at ease in the midst of all this drama.  Why had her dad and Hugh placed such faith in Asprey?  He seemed to be doing her no good at all.  She listened carefully as the judge ordered an amount only slightly higher than before and continued, "Should Mrs. Welner need to rent a house, she could find one about on par for that.  If you're going to keep the house, Mrs. Welner, as it says here you want to do, then please make arrangements with your husband and his attorney.  The rest of your joint assets have already been divided, and for that the court thanks you.  If, by the time of the final hearing you have not come to a reasonable agreement, then I will order the house sold and the profits divided.  Final hearing set for January thirty-first."

Annabeth swallowed hard, hearing the judge's words.  There was something so final about these proceedings, about seeing her life reorganized by this judge, this stranger, someone she didn't even know who had control over her future.  He would sign a piece of paper in a few weeks and she would be divorced, her past would no longer connect with her future.  It was so sad.   At least she could get a mortgage, well probably she could.  Maybe she would need to kick in a large sum, but not as much as she'd originally thought.  Her marriage would end, maybe she'd save her house, but she'd be living in it all alone.  Her whole life, her history was over, and she felt so lost.

Annabeth drifted through the days that followed, a sense of intense need always below the surface, yet unobservable to those around her.  She worked and smiled at everyone around her, she painted knick knacks, yet always in the back of her mind was the thought that although R.J. had become the past, George would be her future, and it was that vision that guided her.  She wouldn't be alone, she thought again and again, she would be with George and they would be happy together.

When, a few days later, George had pounded on her door after midnight and had swept her into bed as he always did, and she lay contented, her head on his shoulder, Annabeth worked up her courage and asked him, "Hon do I mean anything to you?"  She held her breath, awaiting his reply, which was slow to come, primarily because he was yawning and about to fall asleep.

"Of course you do.  You're a great piece of ass."  He squeezed her shoulder and managed a limp smile as he offered this praise.

Annabeth secretly thrilled to hear herself described that way, but she pressed on with her line of inquiry.  "So we do have some sort of future then?"

"I would love nothing better than to make love to you every night," he replied, yawning deeply once again.  "I wish I could do it again right now, but I'm too sleepy.  You'll forgive me won't you?"

Annabeth snuggled closer to him, smiling.  He wanted to make love to her forever.  That was her answer, wasn't it?  "Hon?"

George looked toward her, his eyes still partially open.

"Then would you meet my daughter and her fiancé?  Come to supper here and meet them?  It would mean a lot to me."

George nodded, then he began to snore.

There was an improbable rush on the ice cream counter the night of Annabeth's supper for George and Sally and Jackson, and she was unable to leave right away.  Trips to the bakery and the liquor store delayed her further, but Annabeth was not worried, since Sally had promised to go home right after work, and even if George were on time, which he never had been so far, Sally could easily let him in.  Thus although Annabeth felt badly when she pulled up in front of her house and saw both Sally's and George's cars, she didn't worry.

Walking quietly in the sneakers she wore to cushion her feet at work, Annabeth made her way to the back of the house where Sally and George would no doubt be busy chatting and assembling a salad.  This was going to be such fun!  Not only did she have a boyfriend, but they could host dinner parties and enjoy life together.

Neither George nor Sally saw Annabeth immediately, because they stood in the kitchen in an embrace, which Annabeth at first assumed to be a friendly father-daughter type hug.  Annabeth smiled until she saw George's hand slide down her daughter's back and squeeze Sally's backside, at which point Sally jumped and pushed George away and Annabeth gasped, causing the other two to turn and see her.

Sally, her face filled with revulsion, turned and fled the room as her mother followed her.  "Wait," said Annabeth.

"That guy's a major creep," said Sally.

Annabeth gulped.

"You are kicking him out, aren't you?"

Annabeth nodded.

Sally walked into her mother's arms.  "Thank God.  I was afraid for a minute you were going to make an excuse for him.  I'll come back with Jackson in an hour or so--is that okay?"

Annabeth nodded, then closed the door behind her daughter and went to confront George.  "What kind of person are you?" she asked quietly.

George looked sincerely at Annabeth.  "I didn't want to tell you this," he said haltingly, examining her face for any sign of relenting, "But I suffer from Sam Malone's disease."

That name sounded familiar to Annabeth, but she couldn't quite place it.  "What?" she asked.

"It's an--um--sexual problem.  It's not my fault.  Really.  I just can't help it around women.  I get turned on."

Annabeth was tempted for an instant to take pity on George until her rational self interceded.  Suddenly she remembered who Sam Malone was--that character on television.  Her voice still quiet, but filled with scorn, sounded confident, although she did not feel that way, and she said, "Get out of here George, and don't come back."

Instead of turning tail and running, he attempted to take a step toward Annabeth, but she raised her hand and said again, "Get out.  Now."

Her visions of the future shattered, Annabeth sank down in one of her kitchen chairs.  Holding onto the emotions exploding inside her, Annabeth would not allow herself to break down and weep.  Sally and Jackson would soon be back and she couldn't reveal to them the dire sense of foreboding she felt.  She was all alone, without anyone, all alone.  She tried to envision her future as bright, but instead all she saw was blankness, an empty life with no one to care for her and no one for her to love.  It must be her fault.  It was her.  Something was really wrong with her.  A pallor settled over her like a heavy fog, and each day she dragged along, unable to meet life with the grace that had always been expected of her.  She continued working at her job, but it took all her strength to do so, and there was nothing left over.  She could not paint.  Each night she retreated to her bed early and clung to the covers, a sense of terror in her heart.

Charles noticed her glumness and each day he'd ask her what was wrong, but Annabeth refused to admit anything until his prodding weakened her resolve.  She needed someone to talk to, someone to listen to her, so finally Annabeth opened up and shared the story about George, in a very watered-down version.

"He actually said Sam Malone's disease?" asked Charles, laughing.  Annabeth laughed too, although her heart was not in it.  "You know," continued Charles, "You deserve a lot better than a creep like that.  The right man would want to give you the world."  He reached his hand toward Annabeth and patted her shoulder in a fatherly way.  "You need a little pampering after all you've been through, and tonight I'm taking you out for the nicest supper we can find."

Unable to reject her employer's kind offer, Annabeth soon found herself sitting across from Charles in a restaurant several miles away from the center of town, one she had never visited before.

"I hope you like it here,"  he said, "I've only been here once myself, but it seems quite a bit nicer than the Rusty Lantern."

Annabeth nodded at Charles, "Yes, it's lovely."

The waitress arrived with a basket of warm biscuits and some water and smiled at them, asking in a polite way, "Are you ready or should I give you a little more time?"

"Annabeth," asked Charles, "Do you like champagne?"

Annabeth blushed and then admitted, "I've only tasted it once in my life."

"You know," he continued, "I don't think I've had it but once myself."  He shook his head wryly although there wasn't much mystery to why someone with his lifestyle, or Annabeth's either for that matter, had drunk little champagne.  "Bring us a bottle of your best.  And how about some oysters too?  Okay with you?" he asked Annabeth, who agreed because there was no way to refuse politely.  The waitress nodded and went off to retrieve their order as Charles discussed dinner.  "I love lobster, do you?"

"Oh I don't know.  It's way overpriced I think."

"But you do like it?"  Annabeth nodded, although reluctantly, and Charles ordered lobster when the waitress returned with the champagne and oysters.

"That comes with a baked potato and salad.  Is that okay?  We do have rice pilaf if you prefer.  Pepper parmesan is the house dressing."

Charles looked toward Annabeth who said "Rice pilaf I think.  If it's no trouble.  And the house dressing is just fine."

"No trouble at all," answered the waitress, nodding.

"Potato for me.  And house dressing," ordered Charles.

There was time for pleasant conversation while they ate their salads, and Charles smiled frequently at Annabeth as they talked about nothing.  "I'm happy to have you all to myself," he said in a confidential tone after they'd each consumed a glass of champagne.  "There's something about you that has really touched me," he revealed after the second glass.  "A woman like you could fill a man's life with hope and happiness," he said after the third glass.

Annabeth blushed after each comment, although as the champagne worked its magic in her bloodstream, it became easier and more pleasant to hear the compliments that Charles was lavishing on her.  They had talked about many things in the months since she had come to work for him, and some of the things they had shared had been quite personal.  Now it seemed almost as though they had an intimate relationship.

"I know I seem like a dull guy, old, boring…" said Charles, his voice trailing off, as he expressed his own regrets to himself as much as to Annabeth.

"No you don't," interjected Annabeth with sympathy, "Not at all."

Charles split the remainder of the champagne between the two glasses and continued wistfully, "I've led such an ordinary life here in Gull's Perch.  The farthest away from home I've ever gone is to Atlanta when I went to pharmacy school, and you know how long ago that was."  Charles looked deeply into Annabeth's eyes as he spoke, and continued, "I was a husband at twenty-four.  My whole life.  Now I'm a fuddy-duddy grandfather.  But, Annabeth, none of that is really me, do you understand?"

"You feel that you've been lost somewhere in your life?"

His voice rose excitedly, "Yes!  That's exactly it.  I live this life but it isn't me.  There's a lot more to me, and nobody ever sees it.  Sometimes I feel this fire in me, this passion, and I know I could be romantic, somebody's Sir Galahad, I know I could, but I don't think I ever will be."  Charles drained the remainder of the champagne in his glass, his eyes a bit more watery than usual, and continued speaking softly, "Sometimes I think I do nothing more than march in place, that everything that was ever going to happen to me has happened already.  The only event left to experience is death."

Annabeth, touched by the pain in his voice, rose out of the misery in which she was suffused and spoke with kindness and empathy, "Oh no, that's not so.  There is always a chance for new things, for excitement and fulfillment."

Charles, a flicker of hope in his eyes, reached out his hand and grasped hers tightly.  "Do you really think so?"

"Of course I do."  She answered with strength and conviction, and what she said made sense, although it did not occur to her then that the advice she was giving pertained to herself just as strongly as to Charles.  "You have to reach for what you want in life, have to just go and get it, don't you think?"

Charles, his face flushed, said excitedly  "You're right, of course. I should be more assertive."

Annabeth nodded at Charles and smiled, a pleasant glow from the champagne warming her and the chance to focus on somebody else's problems lifting her out of her own for a brief moment.  When the waitress brought two plates, lobsters with baked potatoes, Annabeth accepted hers and almost spoke up about the missing rice, but instead she shrugged, as usual, feeling it was not worth the effort.  "This is delicious," she said to her host after the first bite.

Charles dunked his sliver of lobster into the drawn butter then absentmindedly rubbed the morsel across his lips before depositing it in his mouth.  "Mmm," he agreed "It is good."  Then continuing his train of thought, he said, "I know I'm not a ladies' man."

"That's not such a bad thing," commented Annabeth wryly, thinking of R.J. and George.

"I want to have passion in my life, you know.  I want it more than anything.  It's been so long…"

Annabeth smiled softly, and in her mind she thought back to the passion she'd shared most recently and the way she now felt as a result of succumbing to it.  Charles, in watching her, saw the flicker of light cross her eyes and the light in his own eyes grew brighter.  He reached into his pocket for his cellular phone and turned it off, then smiled at Annabeth, who remained silent.

When the waitress came to clear their plates and to ask about dessert, Annabeth declined but Charles ordered coconut cake for himself.  "You must have half of mine," he insisted, and when the cake arrived, he speared a bite on his fork and fed it to her, watching her mouth as the food was inserted.  Charles flushed a deep shade of crimson then smiled at Annabeth, and without stopping to taste the cake himself, he fed her another bite, his hand trembling.

"I'm eating all your cake," protested Annabeth, but when he fed her the third bite she did not refuse it.  By the fifth bite, something in her relaxed and yielded to him, and before half the slice was consumed she had become docile, opening her mouth for each bite and swallowing it obediently as he fed her.

"I'm a giver, you know," said Charles, "Not a taker."

Annabeth looked deeply into his eyes as he spoke, then meekly opened her mouth for the last bite of cake.

Charles paid the bill then said, "I'm going to drive you home."  A peaceful sensation settled over Annabeth, and she felt calm and unworried for the first time since the scenes with George and R.J.  She kept reminding herself that after all she had a right to some happiness, and that thought continued to play softly in her mind like faint music from a neighbor's stereo.

Charles followed Annabeth into her house, waited while she fed the cat, and then looking around appraisingly for a mere second, he took her hand and pulled her gently toward the stairs, whispering almost inaudibly, "More than anything in my life, I want to make love to you tonight."

Annabeth relaxed and let herself be led, her hand in his, her footsteps following softly behind his.  Soon they lay on the bed and Charles was kissing her with tenderness and urgency. Her mind, always a blur during sex, almost ceased to function, but for the soft phrase appearing from below the surface now and then, an echo of comfort and hope, she had a right to some happiness.

Charles, blushing and fumbling, sighing and whispering, "I want to do everything, everything I never got to do," managed to undress her gently, and to undress himself as well.  When they were there naked together he stammered, "I wish…if only I were…it's been so long…I probably can't…."  He rose on his elbow to gaze at her body, and she lay there softly smiling up at him, willing and available, then he reached over and clutched her hard to him, and she knew he wanted her to become the receptacle for his long buried passions, the vehicle that would somehow transport him out of the humdrum life he led and into one that delivered the thrills that would make him feel alive at last.

Annabeth, sensitive to electricity and weather conditions, felt the power of Charles' yearning, and in its transfer to her, it ignited a passion that allowed her to reach for him tenderly and hold him close.  She felt his hands on her, exploring her skin in a way that was almost religious, and the oceans inside her churned in response.

She had suddenly become the goddess he yearned to make of her, welcoming him as he pulled himself on top of her, pressed himself into her, hearing him whisper "I want to do this for a long time, forever," but being out of practice and not in the best of shape physically, he lost control and finished far too quickly, at once sighing in despair and moaning in pleasure.  Annabeth, her body able always to flow in the moment, did not mind the haste, and in feeling Charles' release found her own and was content.  She breathed deeply, letting her heart return to its proper rhythm as Charles remained on top of her, clinging tightly to her, his breath as labored as her own.

When he had regained his equilibrium, Charles slid down, resting his head in the valley between Annabeth's breasts and he began to speak, his voice hoarse and halting yet sure.  "Wonderful," he said, "That was wonderful."

"Yes," she said, "It was.  Thank you."

Charles raised his head and looked her in the eye.  "You've given me my whole future and you're thanking me?  Thank you."  Annabeth smiled without speaking, allowing him to continue, "Marry me Annabeth.  With you I can be the person I always wanted to be.  I would do everything I could to make you happy, to take care of you, to give you everything you need, you know that."

Charles snuggled back down against her breast, lost in the comfort of the moment.  Annabeth relaxed as she lay there, her hand stroking Charles' hair and her mind floated free for just an instant until the thoughts therein gained focus.  She tried to concentrate, to will to herself a vision of the future, but her mind was a blur.  She needed to think, and after the evening's events, that took effort.  The fear that had been gnawing at her demanded her attention and she faced it squarely.  She was terrified of being alone.  Then, in a moment of clarity, she asked herself why and waited for the answer to emerge.  Casting her mind back over the past, over all of her life that she had so far lived, she saw herself taking care of everyone around her, almost from her earliest memory, and it was the needs of everyone else that had defined her.  She thought of R.J. and how she had loved him, but could not understand why.  She had cared for George and envisioned a future with him although their relationship consisted of nothing more than sex.  Now here she was in bed with yet another man, one who was offering her the future she had always wanted.

Annabeth wrapped her arms tightly around Charles who lay quietly, savoring the moment, and giving her the time to consider his offer.  Annabeth remembered her early romance with her husband and admitted to herself for the first time that she had married him, yes because she was pregnant, but really because she expected no one else to come along.  He was there and she had gone with him, just as she had gone to bed with George and now with Charles--not so much out of her own desire but because they'd asked her.  Had she ever made one choice of her own in all her life, she asked herself, knowing too well what the answer was.

Looking down at Charles lying so intimately with her, Annabeth knew absolutely that she did not love him.  She liked him, and she suspected that in time she could feel devotion.  Was that enough?  Enough to exchange for a guarantee that she would not be alone?  A yearning so strong that it almost overpowered her rose in her heart and Annabeth was tempted to yield, to accept his offer, to trade her future and all the fearful uncertainty it contained for the guarantee that he'd promised of companionship and devotion.  How comforting was the idea of that safety, of knowing that he would always be there for her, with her, loving and caring for her.

"Charles," she said, trembling and speaking so quietly her voice was almost inaudible, "You're a wonderful lover.  Tonight was beautiful, just beautiful."

Hearing her speak, Charles sat up and rested his head against the pillow.  He smiled, then blushed at her praise.  Annabeth reached out and took his hand in hers, feeling  him tremble with anticipation.

"But I can't marry you.  First of all, you're not even free to make that offer, but that's not the real point.  The real point is I'm not free to accept any offer.  I need to find out who I am--just me--and what I really want--and I need to go get it for myself."  Although she had made that statement, Annabeth couldn't quite believe it, and despite the fact that it felt right, it took some time for her to adjust, so she remained silent as her own words were absorbed into her consciousness.

"But you told me to be bold, to reach out and make love to you.  To get what I wanted."

"I said to get what you wanted, yes.  I didn't mean me."

Charles scowled, then tried to salvage something.  "We can date.  I'll leave Sara. I should have done it long ago anyway, there's nothing there.  Nothing for a long, long time."

Annabeth shook her head, wanting not to be unkind, but needing to be honest.  "I can't tell you what to do about your marriage.  But I also can't promise to date you.  I slept with you for the wrong reasons."

"And now you're sorry?"  Charles' voice cracked as he spoke.

Annabeth smiled and shook her head, "No, of course not.  You were wonderful. It was wonderful.  I'm not sorry.  I just all of a sudden realized that I have to get my own life in order."

"I'll wait for you.  It'll be hard to work with you every day, wanting to be with you every night, but I can wait if I have to."

Her heart perfectly in focus at last, Annabeth said, "No, I can't let you wait."

Charles, all his new expectations dashed, became enraged.  "I'm just not good enough for you, is that it?"  He reached for his clothes, glancing at the clock. "This--tonight--meant nothing."

"No, it was wonderful.  I meant that."

"Then why would you want not to continue?"

"I almost said yes.  But I just can't.  I don't know why."

Charles, now fully dressed, glanced again at Annabeth, who was wrapping herself in a robe.  "I feel as though I've been tricked, cheated of all my dreams," he said and sank back down on the bed.

Taking a big gulp, Annabeth answered, "I'm sure you can make your dreams come true--if you really want them," and then seeing the misery on his face, she continued, "I should probably not come back to work.  I don't belong behind an ice cream counter anyway, and it would be easier for you if I weren't there."

"Fine--have it any way you want."

The last words she said to him were "I'm sorry," but he did not turn back to look at her when he left her front door and walked to his car.  It was but a moment and then the sound of the car faded and the night was once again silent.  Annabeth looked up at the sky.  Where before it had been a brilliant electric blue with a faint pink glow along the horizon, now it was inky, partitioned by a sliver of a moon and Venus, dwarfing all the other stars.  She sank down into one of the porch rockers and gazed for a long while at the heavens.

He would have come through for her; she could have trusted him.  He would have given her everything she'd ever wanted and more.  Maybe he was her last chance. Facing that fact was hard and from her eyes a steady stream of tears began to flow, but she did not sob. Instead Annabeth sat there, thinking about her past, and about the future, the blank slate that she would have to fill on her own.  She had quit her job. What would she do with her time? How would the rest of her life take form?  Annabeth did not know.  Now she couldn't get the mortgage to save her house.  They wouldn't count her crafts earnings for two years and she didn't have two years. Would her painting be enough to sustain her?  For a brief moment she thought of going to see Charles at work and accepting his offer, if he still wanted her, yet something in her knew she could not.

At the end of that deserted street, on her lonely porch she sat, and all she heard was the scraping of the chair's rockers against the base of the porch.  Each movement caused a little squeak and it was a comforting sound whose rhythms soothed her.  She looked out at the night, at the bayou flowing near the house, at the trees surrounding it and Annabeth's breath remained steady for a long, comforting moment.  Eventually she grew chilly in the evening air, and she rose to walk back inside, gazing wistfully up at the moon and the evening star.

There was always something comforting about entering the door of her home, but tonight the house was just still.  Annabeth looked around.  In every corner it seemed that a ghost from the past sprung up, playing out a scene from long ago, from the life she had led which now was over.  There was where the girls had tea parties, and there where Sally slipped and broke her arm, there where Laurel had the first of many fights with her father, there where R.J. had kissed her under some mistletoe, there where they'd carved the Halloween pumpkins, hid the Easter baskets, spread the Christmas presents, photographed the girls in their prom gowns, where they'd lived and laughed and been a family.

It was all gone now, completed and done, she thought, then realized, no it wasn't gone at all, it was alive in her, in all of them, as real in memory as it was in fact.  She cast her eyes about the house, a place she'd loved since the first moment she'd seen it and Annabeth came to a realization.  It wasn't the house she wanted to preserve, but the life she led there, a life she would never lead again.  The house contained nothing more than things, the stuff of a lifetime but not the lifetime itself.  "Oh!"  she spoke aloud to the empty rooms,  "I could leave this house or keep it, what matters is in me, not inside these walls."

15

"She should have done this years ago.   Annabeth climbed the attic stairs, determined to start at the top and work down.  There was probably a ton of stuff up there for no reason at all anymore, stuff she should have dumped ages ago.  The stairs creaked in their familiar way, but Annabeth didn't take notice.  A box of large plastic bags in her hand, she was ready to confront whatever lay upstairs.  She would keep just the treasures and the fondest of memories, and let go of all the rest.  That way the past was no burden and there was room for the future.

Annabeth surveyed the attic.  It was chockablock with the castoffs of everyone in the family, items too good to part with, too useless to be kept downstairs.  Where to begin?  There were many boxes, a couple of filing cabinets, the huge table she had painted, its designs covered by the things piled on top of it, a couple of trunks, also painted but now rather dusty, and a huge decorated armoire with a couple of drawers at the bottom and elaborately painted doors and which featured mermaids swimming inside and out.  Thinking clothes would be easier to manage, she walked first to the armoire and gently opened its doors.

"Oh my," sighed Annabeth, flooded with memories.  Halloween costumes she had sewn for the girls--one silver lamé costume looked like it belonged in Las Vegas!  Annabeth touched it, marveling at the work she had done, at the image of Laurel ringing doorbells in it.  Sally's majorette outfit--and the baton!  And smaller yet, the tutus the girls had both worn for a ballet recital.  Annabeth allowed her hands to float over the garments, knowing that they were ordinary things, yet in seeing and touching them again, she felt herself transported back through time, back to the days when she was oh so much younger and life was simple.  She was the mom and they were young girls and it was all so terribly sweet and poignant, time floating past so swiftly there was no sense of its fleeting ways, just life being lived in the moment and passing to the next, no time for reflection, but all the time in the world for love and good feelings, for the girls to flourish and for Annabeth to nurture them, day after day, year after year.

"Oh no," she sighed softly, her heart awash in tenderness, "I can never part with these things.  No, never."  There should be a time every day, every hour, when we stop life from whizzing by and just pause to appreciate these moments that will never come again, but they flow so fast, so freely, one piling upon the other, leaves torn off the branches of thousands of trees and fluttering spent to the ground, each covering over the last until there are a pile of them all mingled together in rosy autumn hues, fading swiftly and soon to be blown away.

Annabeth let these sentiments flow over and through her, and she knew it was the right thing to do.  She hadn't lived in a vacuum.  She had been there day after day with her girls and she hadn't missed a moment of their youth; nor was she missing anything now; she was right there for it all, and oh so glad of it.  One by one she examined the garments and pushed them aside, leaving them in the armoire.  Dresses worn in school plays, first sewing attempts, a special outfit now long out of style but still beloved by its owner, even the simple minidress she'd worn when she and R.J. eloped, and on and on until she found the last dress, one pushed almost to the back.

Lifting it out of the armoire, Annabeth closed one door, and standing in front of the mirror, she held the dress up to herself.

I look so grown up in this, just like an adult, well maybe someone in college, at least a senior, not a junior, not at all.  Front…back…side….  Thinner too! Twirl…. Oh!  Look how it floats.  How did they do that little flip to the hem…Hmm…let me see…no, I probably can't do that at home…not without Mom to help me figure it out…

Oh…she's been gone such  a short time but it seems forever….She would have loved this dress.  Lean over…cleavage?  No!  Oh, I wanted a little cleavage.  Oh! Wicked thought…just a slight vee...that lovely sapphire I have…my eyes will really sparkle….  Oh! Twirl!  Dancing with someone…with who?  Oh  dancing…will someone ask me?  I wish I could ask them the way Maggie does…I could never...could I?  No.  What about these?  How many?  Six!  Six fit me…no this one…this is the one…I love this dress.  Careful…careful…don't want to mess it up...back on the hanger, don't catch the fabric…so soft...plastic shoulder cover thingy…get it on straight…keep the dress perfect….  I have the credit card, right…silly…I checked five minutes ago...credit card…just like a grown up.  Oh!  I love this dress.  Hope Dad doesn't think it's too expensive…no, he won't…he'll say my eyes sparkle and I look thinner…no…Mom would have said that…maybe…no she would have said sort of thinner, not bad… Mom …Mom….Oh…Mom…Hold it high, no silly, it's not long, it's above my knee, it won't drag.  "I love this dress," silly talking outloud to myself.

"Annabeth!" Maggie squealing at me from the next stall….  "I didn't know you were coming today.  We could have come together."

"I thought you were babysitting."  Wait 'till she sees my dress.  She'll love it.  Opening the door...walking  out…"Look, Maggie, for the spring dance."

"No!  Can't be!"  Maggie holding up her dress--the same dress.

I was here first.  I love this dress.  Look at Maggie, she loves it too.  Oh…no…oh…..  I have the blue eyes.  Hers are brown.  She could wear pink.

"I have to have this dress," Maggie, whining at me.  "When the Hawk dances with me, I want my skirt to twirl and swirl."

"I have the blue eyes."

"Look over there.  They have tons of blue dresses.  Though I think we shouldn't both be wearing the same color since we'll be standing next to each other."

"Let's flip for it.  Have a quarter?"  I don't want to be fair about it, but what can I do…here's a quarter…flip…oh please….

"Heads," Maggie, always so confident, so sure, so strong….

Oh…please…opening my hand…Tails!  I win!

Maggie snatching the quarter and flipping it over, looking for the head side.  "You win I guess.  He probably won't even notice me in any of these other dresses."

"Come on, I'll help you look."

Annabeth snapped back to attention, her reverie fading.  She folded the pale yellow dress and dropped it into one of the big black bags, remembering Maggie's joy when she had finally said, "Oh Maggie, you get the dress.  I like this yellow one just as well."  Maggie had thrown her arms around Annabeth and sworn allegiance for all the rest of time.

How long afterwards when her father announced he was bringing someone to dinner?  Not too long.

"You don't have to cook every day.  We never have any fun any more.  All you do is housework."  Maggie complaining, wanting to go out, have fun.

"I promised Dad, says he's bringing home some intern at his office.  Help me, peel a carrot, come on."

Maggie scowling but helping.  "I hate to cook.  Just open a can.  All the same you know."

"I promised my dad."

The dinner was perfect, what was it I cooked…can't remember… meat… chicken...can't remember.  Watching Dad come in the door with Hugh, tall, nice boy, older than me, of course an intern at the firm.

"Look," Maggie squealing, "Cute!  Let me stay to dinner, please."

"Sure, why not."

Maggie flirting at the table with Hugh…don't they look cute together…he's cute…he likes her….  I'm glad for them….Look at the way she twinkles and laughs and tosses her head.  Could I do that with someone?  No…maybe…no…I don't think so.  Giggle…like tee hee hee…like in the movies…I could tee hee hee…no….

Dad cornering me in the kitchen later…why did I let Maggie stay…Hugh was for me to meet and me laughing at him, the old matchmaker.  "You won't find a better catch than Hugh McGraw," said Dad so sternly.

Fish…I'd made fish…that's right….

Stepping back from the armoire for a moment, Annabeth opened the top box of a pile in the corner.  Books.  How to Shrink Your Gut in Thirty Days.  How to Get Rich in Thirty Days.  How to Run a Successful Restaurant.  R.J. At last there was something she could discard in toto.  Grasping the box carefully, Annabeth carried it down the stairs, her arms aching by the time she reached the first floor landing.

Determined to press onward, Annabeth climbed up again, but before she had reached the door to the attic the phone began to ring, so she turned quickly and walked into her bedroom, now panting.

"Hello?"

"Got another boyfriend?" asked Laurel in a way which was far too amused and sophisticated for Annabeth's taste.

"Cleaning out the attic."

"Talk about a fun project."

"It's actually kind of nostalgic."

"I'm glad you're having fun.  I'll be there next Wednesday for Thanksgiving, sometime in the afternoon.  Okay with you?"

Annabeth thought of Laurel with pleasure as she climbed back up the stairs, but this time before she reached the top, the doorbell rang, forcing her to climb down yet again.  "I'll probably lose ten pounds," she mumbled, "Or drop dead."

Doug Hawkins smiled in a concerned way as she opened the door.  "I stopped by Gleason's and they told me you quit."

"How nice of you to come checking on me.  Come on in for some coffee."

Doug returned Annabeth's smile and followed her into the kitchen.  "I see what you mean about all the work you've done in here.  It's charming.  So special.  So you."

He touched her shoulder gently as she gestured toward the kitchen table, where he took a seat.  It was just a few steps from the table to the stove, from the stove to the counter, from the counter to the table, but Annabeth could feel Doug watching her walk.  She set the coffee cups on the table, a plate of cookies taken from a ceramic jar, and then she sat facing him.  Doug looked deeply into Annabeth's eyes and she met his gaze, but then demurely glanced away, until he spoke,  "So you've retired from the ice cream game?"

"It's kind of a long story."

"I have plenty of time."  Once more Doug's gaze did not waver, and Annabeth, getting up her nerve, met his glance.  For a moment their eyes were locked, and in that short space of time a beam of light opened between them, a connection they had not quite made before, and Annabeth knew they both felt safe.

"I was a slut," she said, "Well there was more to it than that."

"You weren't a slut.  What happened?"

"Well, you know I slept with George."  Doug listened intently, nodding, as Annabeth continued, "And it made no sense for me to do it.  I pretended it was a relationship, but really it was just…um.…"

"Screwing?"

Annabeth blushed, but determined to tell the truth, to have it out so Doug could help her make sense of everything, she said, "Yes, screwing.  I mean he seduced me sort of at first, but I didn't resist.  I didn't even wait to get to know him.  We just…" and here her voice faded slightly, "Screwed."

"Go on," said Doug, no disapproval in his voice or on his face.

"I thought it meant something, but it didn't.  And the thing is, I never really even knew him.  What sense does it make to do that, to think you have a boyfriend when really you're just…."

"Getting laid?"

Annabeth nodded, this time the words coming more easily, "Yes, getting laid.  And the thing is, it was great, just as good as with R.J., and he was my husband.  I didn't even feel I had to hurry to be…um…satisfied."

"Good sex is a nice thing."

"Screwing isn't making love, but it feels like love, at least it did to me."

"And this makes you a slut?"

"I slept with Charles.  I don't know why.  He wanted to.  He asked me to marry him.  Wanted to give me everything that matters to me.  But I said no.  And then I quit."

"What was it that he was going to give you that matters so much to you?"

"Well, I don't actually know.  I don't think he knows me that well.  He would have stood by me I think.  I wouldn't have been alone."

"Being alone can be frightening.  Do you love Charles?"

Annabeth's face looked tortured briefly as she answered, "No.  I'm not even attracted to him.  I think he's a nice man, though."

"Why do you think you slept with him?"

"Because I'm a slut.  I sleep with everyone who asks me.  And the sex is great.  Even Charles was great, well, it was nice, lovely, satisfying.  Oh, I don't know."

"So the problem is really this: you do things and you don't know why, but you're guilty about them."

Annabeth considered this.  "I'm not so guilty.  I enjoyed the sex.  Oh, I am a slut."

"Let's deal with the slut issue first.  You had sex with two men and your husband--that's all, right?  No affairs while married?  No sex before R.J.?

Annabeth looked shocked, "Of course not."

"And it turned out that these men were incredible studs."

"Yes."

Doug laughed.  "Everyone is some woman's bohunk I guess, but I doubt that either Charles or George is the stud of all time.  Maybe it's you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you, not that you're a slut but that you're a sexual person, that your sexual energy is strong, just like your creative energy is strong, and your nurturing energy is strong, and you kind of got swept away.  Like any artist.  Picasso was a regular satyr they say."

Annabeth laughed then, "Okay, so that makes me an artist, not a slut?"

"It makes you human.  Now let's think about this some more.  Why do you suppose you slept with men you're not attracted to--other than the fact that they're bohunks."  Doug laughed once more and, feeling more carefree, Annabeth joined in.

She thought for a long time about his question and couldn't answer it, so finally she just said what was on the top of her mind all along,  "Because they asked me."

"And do you do everything people ask you to do?"

Annabeth nodded, "Yes," then hearing herself, her eyes opened wide with recognition.  "My goodness, yes I have always done what everyone asked me, whether I wanted to or not, actually I don't even think about whether I want to, I just do it."

"Maybe it's time you stopped."

"Yes," she said, her voice becoming excited, "I'll stop and think from now on and if I don't want to do something, I'll say no."

"Good for you!"  Doug smiled at Annabeth, warmth and tenderness in his eyes.

"And no more men.  I'm not sleeping with anyone.  Not till I want to."

"Come on, Annabeth, let's go upstairs and screw.  You know you want it."

Annabeth, feeling startled, looked at Doug.  What was he saying?  What was that expression behind his eyes?  Wait--she was being silly; he was just teasing her.  "Sorry, Doug, but no thanks.  Maybe another time."

Doug laughed nonchalantly at the polite refusal.  "Why wait, you sweet thing?  It's inevitable."  He stared deeply into her eyes, his own eyes blacker and more sparkling than she had ever seen them.

Her breath catching in her throat, Annabeth replied, "Sorry, Doug."  She could get the hang of this!  Wasn't it nice of Doug to let her practice saying no on him.

"It's just as well," he said with mock seriousness, "After those imitation hunks, you'd probably faint with a real one like me."

"No, I'd bewitch you.  Be glad I let you off the hook."

Together they dissolved in laughter, his hand reaching out automatically to enfold hers across the table.

"Say, Doug?"

"Changing your mind already.  I'm too much man for you."

"Actually I was wondering if you had plans for Thanksgiving.  My dad and his wife and the girls and Sally's fiancé Jackson will be coming here.  I'd love for you to join us.  If you don't have something better to do of course."

"I'd love to come here.  It's so nice of you to invite me.  No doubt so you can seduce me afterwards."

"Nope, I'm a reformed slut."

"But you could backslide at any time."

"You wish."  Doug and Annabeth laughed together for a long time.

Annabeth smiled from time to time, thinking of Doug, later in the afternoon when he had gone and she was back in the attic.  Opening the first drawer in the armoire, she removed a blanket from R.J.'s old boat, and gave it a shake, a faint dusting of sand falling from it, even after all these years.

R.J. making the boat go way too fast and smiling at me, "You like it when we race, don't you baby?"  Only the second date and he calls me baby…so cute.  Gull's Island, not too far, and jumping into the water from the boat, R.J. sliding his hands down my back, down my hips, kissing me there in the water…the Gulf so warm…the salty aroma…the smell of life beginning…my shorts loose…his hand sliding up the leg…oh I am weak…I will fall down.  R.J. kissing me, pressing me tight to him…the feel of him against me…the Gulf undulating with life…ribbons of green in the water…life…things growing…his mouth on my mouth….the taste of him…the smell of the Gulf.  Lying on the blanket on the sand…no…nobody is around…his hands on my skin…oh...to be touched…to touch…oh his mouth on me…birds circling overhead…the sound of their cries…the smell of the Gulf… the feel of life…of the lifeforce….  Opening to R.J….all open like a flower…like the waves that crash on the sand…the sand under the blanket…soft against my back…R.J. on top of me…racing like the boat…breathing… heart racing like the boat…the water coming closer….wave…a big one  over my arm, my side…holding tight to R.J., oh yes…like the Gulf…warm and filled with life.

Flushed, her breath coming rapidly, Annabeth snapped back to reality, loosened her grip on the blanket, which she had been clutching to her chest, her arms wrapped around it in an embrace.  Allowing the sadness to wash over her briefly, she stood silently for a long moment, then straightened her back, folded the blanket and dropped it into the black plastic bag.

"Look at this," she said, marveling.  Under the blanket lay a sheaf of drawings of her house, done years ago from many angles.  And there was a garden, like the one she had wanted to plant.  "Oh my."  Annabeth flipped from one drawing to the next, pausing for a while to note the details.  "They're good, they're not bad at all."  She thought for a while, looking at the sketches, and felt sentimental for a while, but then her thoughts turned to other drawings she might do, a series of sketches of country houses with gardens.  Just what she needed--more work.  Now there was the attic to clean, knick knacks to paint for shows before Christmas, Thanksgiving to prepare.  "There's plenty of time for everything.  Talking outloud to myself again.  Crazy lady in an attic."

The drawer was deep and below her drawings lay a sign, Welner's Waffles, something she had lettered for R.J. to have made professionally, although he never needed it.

"You think I want to be some working stiff all my life?  Of course not.  There's more to me than that."  R.J. so earnest, so determined.

A restaurant is a really hard business, but R.J. is so clever and charismatic.

"Yeah, a waffle house, that's what I'm thinking."

"But there are waffle houses all over the place.  Why not some chic little bistro?  Get musicians in, make it a hangout?"

"What, with six or seven tables?  And some high-priced New Orleans chef?"  R.J. looking at me like I'm out of my mind.

"People like that sort of thing."

"Yeah, if they really liked it, there'd be one in town.  I'm thinking a waffle house, I told you.  Then a chain of waffle houses.  Welner Waffles on every corner.  The trouble with you, Annabeth, is you think small.  You can't think small and get anywhere in this world."

Dropping the sign into a trash bag, Annabeth shook her head.  How many times had R.J. said that to her?  How many times had he complained that her dreams were ordinary?  Too many.  There was a fire in him, though, something very appealing about it, R.J. always dreaming, always wanting to fulfill those dreams.  It was so exciting to hear, to be swept along on them.  But how many of his dreams had he actually fulfilled?  Annabeth shook her head again.  So few.  All talk and no action, that's what R.J. was.  And she'd loved him so.

Annabeth looked down to see the cat winding around her leg.  She reached a loving hand down to pet his soft fur.  "Dinner time already, is it?  You're a hungry boy?"  She reached down, scooped him up, then held him close to her chest in a hug, his cheek automatically rubbing against her own.  Then, setting him down, she rose and followed the racing cat down the stairs, a filled plastic bag in her hand.

Later that evening, after she'd worked some more upstairs, Annabeth, strangely filled with unending energy, sat at her kitchen table, painting the cottages she'd envisioned, taking her time, enjoying her work.  She didn't have small dreams.  She didn't think small.  And her painting was improving.  Annabeth followed the same routine each day.  Mornings she worked on knick knacks, afternoons she cleaned out the attic, and in the evenings, she sat at the kitchen table, working on the series of cottages.

The following week was devoted to Thanksgiving preparations.  She shopped for all the ingredients, readied the house, and cooked.  On Wednesday Annabeth made pies, as she had for years, some for her feast, some for Julie, who always took them along to Bobby's family in Mobile.  On Thursday morning, she rose early, made stuffing and popped the turkey in the oven.  Soon Laurel, who'd arrived the day before, joined her in the kitchen and began to help.

They worked side by side for a couple of hours, the conversation pleasant and casual, until Laurel squealed, "Oh my gosh!" and ran upstairs.  Thinking there was a crisis, Annabeth was about to race after her when the doorbell rang.  By the time Laurel came downstairs, Annabeth was busy pouring drinks for the other four members of her family.

"Have you seen this yet?" asked Laurel as she walked into the living room.  She held the issue of Southern Style which featured her apartment, and like a child at show and tell, she began turning the pages, holding the magazine up for all to see at once, and describing each element in detail.

"How wonderful it looks," commented Sally.

"Beautiful," said Ginger.

"Imaginative," said Will.

Everyone nodded in agreement as Annabeth smiled.  How nice that her family was being so supportive and appreciative for a change.

"Gee, I have an old cabinet in the garage--I bet you could do wonders with it," said Ginger, but before Annabeth could answer the doorbell rang again and she went to let Doug in.

"Oh, wow," she said, taking from him a huge bouquet of roses.  How nice of you."

He followed her into the kitchen, still carrying a basket filled with fragrant biscuits and a bottle of white wine as well, both of which he set down on the counter as she retrieved a vase for the flowers.

"Mmm, biscuits," she said, recognizing the smell.

"Not much of a contribution," he said, "But they are home made,"

Breathing deeply to inhale the aroma of the biscuits, Annabeth enthused, "These smell wonderful!"

"Thanks!  My not so secret recipe."

"You cook?  I'm so impressed.  And they look perfect!"

"Now you'll really want to drag me upstairs and seduce me," he said in a lowered voice, looking so deeply into Annabeth's eyes that her knees began to buckle.

Breaking open one of the steaming biscuits, Annabeth popped a piece into her mouth, saying "Mmm," then inserted another morsel into Doug's mouth, her fingers brushing across his lips and creating a spark of static electricity, causing them both to jump back, then to laugh.  "Come on, meet the family, before your electricity makes me weak in the knees."

"You mean it hasn't already?  I must be slipping," he chuckled, as he followed her into the living room.

The introductions done, they adjourned to the dining room.

"Hawkins," said Will, "Like Hawkins Ford, that's right, I remember you coming back to town.  Weren't you the boy who helped my daughter with her algebra?"

"Yes," Doug grinned, "That's me."

"I was going to come to see you about a new car."  For a few minutes Will monopolized the conversation, asking Doug about various vehicles and the deal he might get and listening thoughtfully to the answers Doug gave until Laurel interrupted.

"Mr. Hawkins, did you see the magazine spread of my apartment and all Mom's artwork," Laurel asked, wanting a change from the boring subject of automobiles.

"Call me Doug, and no, I didn't."

Despite Annabeth's protests that the magazine could wait, Laurel retrieved it from the living room and handed it to Doug.

"Well," he said, turning the pages slowly, taking in each detail, "Isn't this wonderful.  What a beautiful apartment.  Although I think your mother's talent is wasted on furniture.  She should be painting on canvas and selling to galleries."

Laurel and Sally both nodded in approval as he spoke.  "You're good at math, huh?" asked Sally.  "I'm having this problem in my bookkeeping class."

Doug listened carefully to Sally's problem then explained clearly what she needed to know.

"Oh," she said, "I never looked at it that way.  Thanks."

Annabeth sat back in her chair, eating quietly, listening to the conversation which wasn't anything remarkable or even that interesting compared to the witty banter that some families must surely enjoy, but it was so different.  Normally on holidays, R.J. monopolized the table talk, and usually he was boasting about some plan that he was about to put into effect while Will sat silently glaring, a disapproving look on his face.  Tonight everyone was talking, and it all seemed so harmonious.  Doug fit right in and she was glad she'd included him.

Later, her father took Annabeth aside and whispered, "About time you found someone like him.  You keep this one."

And Ginger managed to corner her in the kitchen and say, her eyes glowing, "What an excellent sense of humor.  He laughed at my dinosaur joke, you heard him.  And that beard.  So sexy!"

Sally said, "He sure is smart.  And so warm and friendly.  Thank God you dumped that sleazeball."

Jackson said, "Great dinner.  I'm stuffed.  And Doug is a great guy.  He knows every sports statistic there is."

Laurel whispered, "The way he looks at you.  Makes me want a boyfriend."

Each time Annabeth paused, thinking about the comments made by her family and wondering why they were so confused.  Doug was her friend, just a friend, well a good friend, but a friend.  Later when she saw him to the door, she commented, "You made a lot of conquests tonight.  Everyone loved you."

Doug wrapped his arms around Annabeth in a long, warm hug, then loosened his grip slightly, still holding her in his arms and said, "It was nice to be part of a family again."

"Yes, you fit right in."

He hugged her one more time, then said, "Thanks so much for inviting me.  It really was wonderful."  Then he turned to walk through the door.

"You mean you're leaving without propositioning me?"  Annabeth laughed.

Swiftly, Doug turned, pulled her tightly to him, and leaned down, his mouth just inches from her own.  "Come home with me Annabeth," he whispered, his warm breath making her lips tingle, "I want you now, say yes, come home with me."

Feeling his mouth so close to hers, his arms so strong around her back, Annabeth's head started to swirl, those old feelings rising up inside her, and she leaned in even more tightly, and parted her lips, ready to kiss Doug, who leaned in toward her, tantalizing her, making her want that kiss more than she thought possible.  It was an instant, a space of time so brief, a distance between them so infinitesimal, the electricity unbearable, the magnetic pull impossible to resist, until Doug stood back and grinned wickedly at her.  "You were going to give in.  I'm good!"

Annabeth's eyes opened wide in pretend shock, her blood still moving a bit too fast, but a smile on her face.  "Yeah, Doug, keep thinking that.  Don't you wish!"

Doug laughed at her protests, then leaned in and whispered in her ear, "I can have you anytime I want."

"Ha!" Her eyes met his with defiance and good natured humor, and she waved as he walked through the door to his car, then turned around and sank back against the closed front door, pressing her hand to her throat and trying to catch her breath.  Oh!  He was good!

16

"Daddy what were you thinking," whispered Sally to her father as he and Linna walked through the door and into the living room.

"You're plannin' a wedding.  She wanted to help.  She has great ideas.  So much style.  You should be glad I brung her."

Not betraying any of her feelings, Annabeth placed on the coffee table a large painted tray containing a carafe of hot fruit punch, some glass mugs, and a platter of cookies.  Sally and Jackson sat on the couch, her small hand clenched in his huge one.  Next to them sat Linna, holding an enormous three-ring binder of the type used by high school students.  In an overstuffed chair, sat R.J., surprisingly sober and dressed in clean clothes.  Annabeth sat in a straight chair once she had poured the cranberry-orange punch into the glass mugs.

"Now, don't worry, Daddy, we're not planning anything elaborate," said Sally, looking nervously at each of her parents in turn.  It was touching the way Sally always came to her rescue, but surprisingly Annabeth didn't feel so badly to see R.J. or his little girlfriend.

"We just want a simple afternoon wedding," said Jackson.

"Yes, maybe right here in a tent outside, just punch and cake really.  Maybe a few hors d'oeuvres.  That's really it."

Linna looked around the room, took a breath and smiled, beginning to speak in her usual high-pitched, nasal whine.  "I have a lot of wedding information right here."  She held up the notebook as both Annabeth's and Sally's eyes widened.  "I've wanted a big wedding all my life," she continued, hearing no protests, "And I've been collecting this information since eighth grade."

"We really just want something simple," insisted Sally, "More like a party than some flashy event."  Jackson nodded in agreement and squeezed her hand.

"Of course you don't want anything too elaborate.  I mean nothing like Di and Charles with all those horses or the quarter-million dollar wedding of Delta Burke and Gerald McRaney."  She flipped in the book to a category titled celebrity weddings and showed all present photos and other documentation.

"Something simple," Sally said.

Linna nodded.  "But of course you'll want a wedding dress.  Every girl wants that."  She sighed a poignant sigh then looked down happily at her left hand. On it was a rather large diamond ring and Annabeth wondered if R.J. really had sprung for a diamond that large or was it zirconium.  Even zirconium was more than he'd given her….

Sally nodded, reaching into her purse for a clipping of the sort of dress she had in mind, but before she could speak, Linna had turned to the wedding gowns section of her notebook and was busy sharing information.  "You have to go to Atlanta or New Orleans you know, though New York would be better.  Los Angeles even better.  Now look at this gown.  The beading is exquisite, don't you think."  Nobody in the room flinched, although all but Linna realized she had pronounced exquisite ex-kwis-ITE.

"That's very fancy," said Sally.

Linna nodded, "No not so much.  About five thousand I think."

"Dollars?" asked R.J., then he became silent.

"Well, Buzz, a wedding is a once in a lifetime thing.  It has to be just right, doesn't it Sal?"

Sally, growing irritated, said, "Just something simple, Lin."

Linna smiled, clearly pleased. She had missed Sally's disdain and mistakenly thought she'd been accepted.  There was something kind of poignant about her and it was impossible for Annabeth to hate her.  She smiled brightly then continued, "I just know you wouldn't be caught dead in one of those tacky five-hundred dollar wedding gowns at the mall."

"Actually I was thinking of something like this, Lin, if you don't think it's too tacky."  Sally held up a clipping of a simple gown, tailored and straight, a bit of lace at the throat, no beading.

R.J., in the grandiose manner he used when trying to impress someone, spoke up, "That's a beautiful dress, but why not get somethin' a little better."

Linna beamed on hearing this then looked around her.  "After all, you're important people in this town.  You live in this beautiful house, practically a historic landmark and all.  You can't get married in some crappy gown."

"And me spending more is all right with you, Daddy?  I mean you are going to pay for the wedding, right?  Mom certainly can't."

Annabeth, still silent, blushed on hearing this.

"You betcha I'm paying.  My baby gets married.  Just call me Daddy Warbucks," said R.J., smiling at Linna, who returned his grin.  Annabeth probably should have felt jealous; it had been a long time since her husband had smiled at her like that, but R.J. and Linna just seemed too comical for jealousy.

"Now, for the food," said Linna.  "You can't expect people to come on out to a big event like this--and you know they will all be in new clothes--so you have to give them a nice meal.  Maybe have it catered.  Of course in big cities people get married in hotel ballrooms, but we don't do that here."

"Maybe that's because we don't have any hotels with ballrooms," said Jackson.

"A shame isn't it?" asked Linna, oblivious to everything.

"Well, you hire a caterer then.  Have a nice buffet."  R.J. nodded like the generous dad he had never been.  "Whatever you decide is fine with me."

"Remember, Sal, I'm here for you.  Whatever you need, just give me a call," offered Linna.

Annabeth watched Linna silently, noting how earnest she was, how she yearned to belong, to be somebody.  Linna must make R.J. feel important in a way she never had.  What next?  Would Linna start talking about how much she wanted to be a grandmother--to Annabeth's grandchildren?

"Don't worry, Mom," said Sally after her father had left, "I'll make sure that Daddy never brings her here again."

"Oh don't worry about it.  You just plan a wonderful wedding.  Sal."  Annabeth broke down then and began laughing, and so did Sally and Jackson.

She had so much on her mind, yet Annabeth was most obsessed with the attic and she couldn't wait to get up there every day.  She opened the bottom drawer of the armoire.  There, wrapped in tissue paper and gently folded was a baby blanket.  Hand crocheted of blue yarn, and trimmed in ecru ribbons, it was in perfect condition.  There was not a stain on it, no pulls in the yarn, no sign of use or abuse.  Annabeth held the blanket to her face, burying her nose in its softness, taking a deep breath, yearning for one sniff, one olfactory memory of the soft, sweet baby smell that had once been on it, but if it had a scent at all, it was of the special laundry soap used for babies' clothes.  She stood for a long while, inhaling the scent of the blanket, feeling the softness against her cheek, a gentle river of tears falling from her eyes and being absorbed into the yarn.

Mother Welner with her arms around me, holding me hugging me, a mother holding me, been so long, three years.  "I had three sons, one dead in Vietnam, one gone away, and R.J., no daughters, now I have you."  Mother Welner hugging me, looking at me, think she knows about the baby?  She'll find out.  "I wanted a daughter all my life," Mother Welner, her arm around me, "Someone just like you, pretty, quality, a stabilizing influence."

"My mother died three years ago."  So hard to say that without tears in my eyes.

Mother Welner hugging me, "So you need me just as much as I need you."  Mother Welner tugging me toward the back of the house, toward her bedroom, Buzz watching and smiling.  He thinks we're silly.  "R.J., go get us some lemonade," Mother Welner ordering Buzz around and he does what she says.  He must want to make a good impression on me.  Is that possible?

Mother Welner gently pushing me down on the end of the bed, "Here, sit," and reaching in a drawer at the bottom of her double dresser.  A little lap blanket of some sort, looks homemade, so pretty.  "My mother-in-law gave me this.  She made it herself, for R.J., and now it's for you."

It seems so small for a man.  It barely covers my lap, oh I see, it's a baby blanket.  Blushing, and she sees my embarrassment.  So she knows.  I feel like such a slut.  Pregnant.  Not married.  My mom would have died.

Mother Welner taking my hand in hers, watching me, so quiet.  "You'd probably never have agreed to marry him if you weren't pregnant.  Quality girl like you.  Father a lawyer."  Blushing.  Listening to her talk.  "He pretends he's a pilot or he was a pilot, what is it?  Named Buzz."  Buzz pretending, she's saying, he isn't a pilot.  Is his uniform make believe then?  "He's a mechanic, works on the planes, for the Air Force, you know don't you?" Mother Welner looking into my eyes.

Stuttering.  So confused.  Uncomfortable.  "I didn't know but I don't care.  I really love Buzz--um--R.J.--ma'am."

Mother Welner hugging me, so tight, so long.  "I love him too."

Five boxes of junk, hauled down from the attic and piled up for the trash men to take away.  Annabeth stood back and nodded.  She was getting rid of a ton of crap and it felt so good.  She walked into the kitchen and sank down at the table.  Her back ached, her arms ached, her feet ached, but Annabeth felt wonderful.  All she did was work, and she'd never felt so satisfied.  She was never hungry; she rarely ate, instead it was enough to gobble some fruit and race back to whatever work she was doing.  Must be adrenaline.  She reached for her datebook, noting all the information for shows she'd attended with Becky and for all the shows yet to attend.  She was making a lot of progress.  And plenty of money.  She could live on her own income;  that plus what she got from R.J. was more than enough to live just fine.  It felt great to be making her own money; someday maybe she wouldn't need money from R.J. at all.  But Christmas was coming soon and there wouldn't be many shows after that.  Would she still have enough money then?

Reaching for her paints, Annabeth resumed work on her series of cottages.  She had done so many already and there were many more in her head.  She closed her eyes briefly, envisioning exactly what she intended to paint, then like a slide show, she saw the next painting and the next.  It was odd, but she didn't think about knick knacks as much any more; she thought about paintings, about the cottages with all their flowers, but also about other things, homey little pictures, cheerful people, families, things to make you feel good when you looked at them.  It was comforting to paint them, the world the way it ought to be, what she didn't have any longer.  She dipped the brush into the paint and in broad strokes, outlined the cottage, then the places where flowers would blossom.  Then there was the detail to add, to bring it all to life.

Back in the attic the next day, Annabeth removed from the armoire drawer a black teddy and laughingly held it up to herself.  It was a size petite, something she had never been, for even if she were thinner, she was never quite that short.  It was trimmed in red ribbons, really quite sheer and not at all subtle.  Although there are teddies that are glamorous and sensual, this wasn't one of them; this was merely provocative.  Annabeth looked in the mirror, the teddy pressed to her body.  Imagine wearing that!  She had been cleaning out R.J.'s closet when she'd found the thing, not long after he'd begun his route.

What a jumble; dirty clothes, clean clothes; shoes; he's worse than the girls.  Look at this--why doesn't he just toss this crap?  I've asked him about it a million times.  He'd never miss them if I just ditched these old things.  I just ironed this shirt and here it is on the bottom of the closet.  So careless!  There!  Better!  All the shoes in order, clothes neat again. What's this?  Fancy box…hmm….  I shouldn't look maybe.  Just a peek.  What?  Ah look, a teddy.  Must be a present.  Oh I've spoiled his surprise.  Smiling.  After all these years.  So romantic, even if it is kind of tacky.  So see-through!  Maybe if the lights were very dim.  Let's see.  Oh…it's tiny!  What size is this?  Petite!  I've been a fourteen for years.  Petite!  Imagine trying to squeeze into that!  R.J., so cute of him to do this, even if it is the wrong size.  Think he just thinks of me as that small or thinks it'll be sexy to see me squeeze into it?

"Annabeth!  What are you doing?"  R.J. walking into the bedroom suddenly.

Flinging my arms around his neck.  "Oh honey, that's so sweet of you!  I love it, really, it's beautiful."

R.J. gulping, funny look in his eyes, so uncomfortable I spoiled his surprise.  "I'm glad you like it."  R.J. patting me on the backside like he always does.

"It's a petite!  Did you think I was that tiny?"

R.J. scowling, stammering, looking out the window, back at me, away from me, mumbling, "Damn salesgirl.  I told her your size.  Lemme take it back."

Blushing shyly, "For a moment I thought you planned it that way--so it's tight and sexy."

R.J. kissing me, pushing me toward the bed, not talking, not answering.  Not talking, pushing me down, fast and hard like he always does.  Concentrate.  Oh there it is, I can do it.  Oh there it is.  Oh there.

"No man has ever cooked supper for me," said Annabeth to Doug, hours later when they stood together in his kitchen, preparing a meal.  "Your house is beautiful.  So gracious here right on the water.  And what a kitchen."

"I work too hard and don't cook often, but when I do, I like nice equipment."  Doug winked at her, squeezed her hand, then said playfully, "Like you, baby."

Annabeth smiled, but her look was distant.  Seeing him observe her, she knew what his next question would be, so she answered it before it was asked, "I've been cleaning out the attic."

"Oh?"

Feeling sad and nostalgic about R.J., yet conflicted; something was there under the surface and Doug could help her unravel it, she was certain, so Annabeth continued, "I found this black teddy."

"Yes?"

"Years ago, I had been cleaning out R.J.'s closet--I used to do it every month or so--he's a terrible slob.  Anyway, at the very bottom in a fancy box was this black teddy with red ribbons."

Doug's expression gave nothing away.  He listened intently, but made no remark.

"It was a size petite."  She laughed.  "I was never a petite.  Always too fat.  And too tall."

"You're not fat at all.  In fact I was thinking that you seem to be losing weight."

"Well, I'm no petite.  That's like a size four."

"I know."

"Anyway I thought it was so sweet of R.J.  I held it up to myself and thought how sweet it was of him to be hiding this gift for me.  Things couldn't have been so bad between us.  It wasn't even my birthday or an anniversary or anything."

"Hmm," said Doug.

"And he walked in and found me with it.  Looked so embarrassed.  Then he pushed me down on the bed and made love to me.  So fast.  He was always so fast."

"And I suppose the sex was great?"

Annabeth nodded.  "I concentrate, and it's always fine."

Doug smiled then became serious.  "What did he say about the size?"

"Oh he got all flustered then blamed the salesgirl.  Probably didn't want me to think he was some sort of bozo who didn't know what sizes mean."

"Could be," said Doug, clearly implying that there was more.

"He looked around the room, out the window, you know, like people do when they're feeling awkward."  Annabeth watched Doug's reaction to her story.  His expression was guarded, but in his eyes was a message, something she could see, but couldn't quite make out.  "Oh!  You think he lied?  That he picked the wrong size himself, with no help from a salesgirl?"

"Maybe," said Doug, his face still betraying no opinion.

"You just think he lied, don't you?"  Annabeth suddenly faced the truth.  "That teddy was never for me."

Doug's hand reached out to squeeze Annabeth's.  Looking deeply into her eyes, he gave her a quiet smile, something that comforted her.

"And he made love to me then to take my mind off it, to distract me from the truth, not because he was swept away by the idea of me in the teddy.  Oh, I see.  But at least he was good at the lovemaking."

Doug looked at her once again, silently, the look in his eyes a touchstone for Annabeth, who was replaying the scene in her mind.  He sat quietly, holding her hand, allowing her to review the past and glean from it the truth as she was ready to absorb it.

"You know," she said softly, slowly, thoughtfully, "He was always in a hurry.  Maybe he was never the world's greatest lover."

Doug nodded.  "Probably not."

"I saved that teddy all these years, wrapped in tissue paper, up in the drawer of an old armoire in my attic.  I always thought maybe one day if I lost weight, but really it wasn't that I was going to wear it.  It was just a sentimental treasure.  Of my husband's devotion."  Her voice trailed off then gathered strength, "But I threw it out today, even when I didn't realize."

"Good for you."

Annabeth smiled, but there were tears in her eyes.  Doug, in seeing them, reached for his handkerchief and gently touched her face, absorbing the moisture before the tears even rolled down her cheeks.  "I'm sorry," she mumbled, feeling silly.  Doug wrapped his arms around her, pressing her against his chest, allowing her to relax against him and be supported.  When he released his grip slightly, she leaned back in his arms and looked up at him, "Thank you so much.  I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come back to be my best friend."

He said nothing but a soft "Ah," and pulled her close again.

They sat down to the table then and talked of less serious things.  Later he took her on a tour of his house and they stopped in his den, which was a large and pleasant room, containing a big oak desk with many pictures of his children on it,  a solid filing cabinet, a large bookcase filled with leather-bound books and a comfortable couch.  "I plan to put a pool table over there.  I just haven't had time to shop for one."

"What's in this box?" Annabeth asked, seeing an opened box padded with newspaper on top of the filing cabinet.

"It's my baseball collection."  He reached inside and pulled out a baseball signed by someone famous whose name Annabeth thought she may have heard, although she wasn't certain of it.  "I'm going to have a cabinet built and put them on the wall.  Sometime when I get around to it."

Annabeth nodded.  "How many do you have?"

"Seventy-eight."

"Wow."

"I used to collect model cars too, but they're all down at work."  They sat down then on the couch and talked for a bit about collecting various things until Doug took a deep breath and said, "You know I had such a crush on you in high school."

"You're kidding!"

"I figured you'd never go out with me, though, so I didn't do anything about it.  Just stayed friends.  Well…."

"I had a crush on you too, but you were too smart for me, I knew that."  And now he had Patsy for his girlfriend.

"Too smart!  You're kidding."

"No.  I never thought anyone as smart as you are would ask me out."

"I was going to ask you out.  I mentioned it to Grady and he said…um…said he was dating you."

Annabeth's eyes opened wide.  "But why?"

"Just to give me grief I guess.  We had a fight about it the day you bought your car."  Annabeth watch Doug as he continued, seeing the tension on his face.  "Remember I asked you if you had dated him?"  When she nodded he said, "And you said no, so after you went on the test drive I went out to confront Grady.  I said 'You never slept with Annabeth,' and he said 'Slept with her?  You didn't even let me sell her a car.'"  Annabeth laughed, but Doug was serious.  "Then I said, 'I mean in high school.'  And Grady laughed, 'Oh yeah, I remember, I said I was fucking her.  So what if I did?  You could never take a joke.'  And he glared at me like I was the biggest jerk alive, and the thing was, I knew it was true.  I was a jerk to listen to him then and ever since.  So I hauled off and socked him on the jaw."

"You're kidding," she said, shocked. "He asked me out a few times recently."

Doug's eyes were shaded with concern.

"But I never went.  Just didn't make sense to me that a football star would want me.  Now I see--he was trying to use me to hurt you.  I'm glad I didn't go--at least the slut thing didn't kick in then."  She smiled at him and touched his hand.

Doug shook his head.  "A smart guy wouldn't want you.  A football star wouldn't want you.  Who did you think would want you?"

They answered that question simultaneously, "R.J."

Doug squeezed her hand.  "You have to stop selling yourself short, Annabeth."  He took a deep breath, hesitated, then continued, "You need a real man, not a jerk like R.J., someone like me."

Annabeth looked deeply into Doug's eyes, seeing the twinkling that was always there plus the light that came from within, and in it she took comfort.  Of course he'd say she needed someone like him; he was a loyal friend and he had a girlfriend now--he'd been over her a long time.  But he must still feel something or he wouldn't have socked Grady.  She would have to think about this when she was alone.  He squeezed her hand then and smiled at her, making his eyes twinkle even more.  Oh!  He was teasing her again.  She smiled back then and said, "Oh you're just thinking of me in that teddy.  Swept off your feet again."

Doug tossed her a wicked grin and said, "Nope.  Not at all.  I'm thinking of you without that teddy."

"Sure.  Keep dreaming."

He leaned in then, grasping her hair in his big hand and bent her head back against the couch, his lips coming closer, closer, closer to her neck, but stopping just beside her ear.  "You weren't meant for quickies, so wake up and think about it.  Imagine how it's going to be.  Hours.  Long hours.  Come on, Annabeth, you can't think straight, can you.  Can't breathe right.  Look at you.  You're mine."

Her eyes opening, astonishment on her face, a quickening deep inside her, she struggled to right her breath, to take control, to show him she could do it.  Hours, long hours.  How she wanted to say yes.  Hours.  She was about to reach for him, to turn her face toward his, to kiss him, to let it all happen, but then she thought of Patsy and Doug together, thought of all the times she'd given in when she shouldn't have, and although she knew this was different, she leaned away, took a deep breath, and said triumphantly, "I'm no nymphomaniac!"

His voice, strong and confident, his eyes merry, Doug said, "Yes you are.  Just wait."  Then they laughed together for a long time.

The next day, Annabeth and Sally toured the Women's Club with Julie.  It was located in an old house, one deeded over by a member who had no children to claim it after her death.  On a large piece of property, there was a lot out front for cars, street parking for any overflow, and several gracious rooms inside where many local events were held.  In the back was room for a tent, and of course the best thing about the location was that it lay on the water, so there was a pleasantly salty smell in the air.

"I went to a wedding held here," commented Julie, "And it was just lovely.  They used the front two rooms, had a buffet, and the bride came down this stairway."

"Who was that?" asked Sally.

"Katie Hemming, you know her, don't you?"  Both Annabeth and Sally nodded.  "Anyway it was really lovely."

"How many people were here?" asked Annabeth.

"Hmm," said Julie considering the crowd she remembered.  "Maybe seventy.  I'm sure not a hundred."

"That seems about the right amount, I think, what with us and Jackson's group and friends from school.  Maybe a few more.  Bank people.  Law office people.  And Uncle Chip will be coming back from California with his whole family, do you think?"  Sally asked.

"Gee, I don't know," answered Annabeth.  "Chip hasn't been home but a few times since he moved out West."

"Yeah, he went out there for college and basically never came back.  Anyway you can always invite him and see if he comes," said Julie.

"How much do you think to use this place?" asked Sally.

"I'll find out for sure, but I think maybe two hundred, maybe three."

"Wow," said Sally, "I had no idea.  Maybe we should just have the tent at home.  The back yard at home is just as pretty, even if there is no dock to take pictures on."

"Is it worth looking at the Garden Club or are they about the same?"  asked Annabeth.

Julie shook her head.  "You've lived in this town all your life.  How did you manage not to get involved in the right clubs?"

Annabeth shook her head.  "Just not interested, I guess."

"Well," said Julie in a condescending voice, "As you can imagine, the garden at the Garden Club is nicer.  Of course in February, there's not much of anything to see, plant-wise anyway.  But it's a nice house, like this, more lawn, basically similar."

"Oh, Gosh!" exclaimed Sally, "I've gotta get back to work."  She hugged her mother and aunt and raced off.  "We'll decide later," she said waving.

"I'm going to need something nice to wear to the wedding," commented Julie.  "Now this is what I was thinking.  A heavy silk, something not too complicated to sew."

"To sew?" asked Annabeth.

"Sure.  There's nothing good enough to buy in this town.  You might as well sew me something, don't you think?"

Annabeth felt like groaning, then kept silent.  She didn't have time to sew a dress for Julie.  She didn't even know what she herself would wear to the wedding.  But how could she say no, after Julie'd been so helpful today and was counting on her?

"I was thinking a tailored dress, a soft skirt, not too straight, maybe some fancy trim at the throat.  Have you seen any patterns like that?"

Annabeth remained silent for a moment, then thought back to her conversation with Doug about always saying yes to everything that was asked of her.  She took a deep breath to strengthen her resolve then reached out and put an arm around Julie's shoulder.  "You're my sister and I love you so much," she began.  "I've always enjoyed sewing clothes for you, you know that."

Julie nodded happily, "Yes, you're the best."

"But I can't make you a dress for the wedding."

"What?"  Julie's voice rose three octaves.

"I just don't have time.  I'm working around the clock on my art--painting knick knacks to sell--it's the only way I have to make money now, you know.  Plus I'm cleaning out the house.  I'll probably be moving soon and I haven't even had time to look at places yet.  I just can't take on any more work now."  Annabeth looked imploringly at Julie, "Please understand."

Julie sighed, but Annabeth remained firm, praying that there would be no need for an argument.  "Okay then, guess I'll have to take a shopping trip."

That was so easy!  Annabeth thought of Julie hours later as she climbed the steps to the attic.  She should have been firmer earlier.  She could stop being a patsy.  She laughed then.  Yes!  Be an Annabeth.

In the very bottom of the armoire drawer was a long, narrow box, which Annabeth opened and immediately began to weep.  Lifting the object from the box, she examined it.  It was a baby's mobile, storybook characters suspended in air, a music box at the base that could be wound up and played while the baby fell asleep.  Biting her lip, Annabeth paused, then steeled herself and started the music.  Her mind filled in the familiar lyrics, lullaby and good night….

"You're a big boy aren't you, two months old, so big and so smart."  Cooing like that, Richard loves it, loves to hear me coo, "Big boy, yes my big boy."  Holding the baby to me, the smell of him, the feel of him, soft in my arms, baby soft and warm, molding to me, so tender, oh the feel of him, this baby of mine.  Kissing his forehead, him smiling, silly baby grin, my baby, oh my baby.  Mother I am, to be this thing, this mother, caring for this baby.  Oh to hold him to me.  All I think of is to hold him, the feel of him, the love in me like a tidal wave for this person, my baby.

"You're going to spoil him," Mother Welner teasing me and then laughing, hugging me.

Smiling at her, "Oh I hope so."

R.J. scowling, "I need some attention too."

"Of course you do."  Touching R.J. on the cheek, but I don't put the baby down.

"We could go away for a weekend, leave the baby with Ma," R.J. insisting.

No, I can't, not yet, no.  So small.  My baby.  "Soon we will, I promise."

Winter, so cold in that garage apartment.  Big boy now, seven months old.  Bundle you up.  Make it warmer in here, yes better.  Wriggling on my lap, so big so strong.

"Too warm in here," Mother Welner insisting, lowering the thermostat.  "Babies don't need to be smothered."

But I want to smother him, want to surround him with love, with myself the way he was when he was inside me.  Holding him, always holding him, oh the feel of this baby.

Mother Welner kissing him.  "He's too warm.  Doesn't need all those clothes."

"He's not too warm, he's growing.  Thermo-nuclear energy, really."

"What?"  Mother Welner bewildered.

At the table in the house, R.J. insisting, "Come on, it's just a weekend.  Ma will watch him.  You said we could months ago."  Always too cold in this house.

I don't want to go.  I want to say no or to take him with us.

"I insist," R.J. always winning.

Kissing Richard, so small, such a big boy.  Oh, my baby.  Never want to let go.  Of course he'll grow up and wriggle free but for now, I can hold him, breathe in his smell.  He does feel a little warm.

R.J. and me, all alone, how strange, no baby sounds, no need to hurry, can talk.  R.J. talking about business, wanting more, so full of ambition and dreams.  "We won't be in that garage apartment forever, you know."  Nodding, agreeing with him, thinking of Richard back with his grandmother, missing my baby.  "I'm going to start my own business, make money, working for someone else, you're a jerk.  Big dreams, baby, that's the answer."  Nodding, looking into his eyes, blazing with light, breathing fast, R.J. so excited, then kissing me, pressing me down, kissing me.

Going back to the house.  Richard!  A weekend is so long.  A new tooth I bet or rolling over differently.  I missed it.  Mother Welner at the door as we walk in, her face haggard, looks so tired.  Before I can touch her arm, ask was Richard a lot of trouble, she says, "Baby's been deathly sick all weekend."

Gasping, my heart pounding, going back to where he is, lifting him.  Deathly sick….

"I called the doctor and gave him some baby aspirins.  Probably a bad cold."  Mother Welner looking frantic.

"I always give him Tylenol."  Holding Richard, burning up, he's burning up.  Kissing him, so hot, oh my baby.  "You should have called us."

"Same thing, isn't it?"

Taking Richard to the hospital.  Deathly sick.  Waiting, cradling him, burning up, and in a hospital bed, vomiting, so strange, the look in his eyes, doesn't recognize me, deathly sick.  Pacing, cradling, trying to help him sleep, cool down, deathly sick.

Big, strong babies don't die of a virus any more.  No never.  They get better.  They come home.  They grow up and then when you tell the story of how once they were deathly sick as infants, they laugh at you and say "Sssh, Ma, you told me that a million times."

"Reyes Syndrome," the doctor explaining, maybe aspirin after a virus making it worse, I can't think, head pounding, throbbing, can't see straight.

Walking into the corridor.  Mother Welner, her eyes on mine.  My baby, all I can think of, Tylenol not aspirin.  She knows what I'm thinking.  It's her fault.  Her face, tortured, guilty.  It is her fault.  She knows it, trying to touch me, but I'm thinking you're not my mother, and I pull away, walk away, outside that hospital, some air, my baby inside, dead, gone, no more Richard, dead.

Sitting for months in that apartment, R.J. at work, Mother Welner making me tea, bringing cookies, sitting with me.  I can't look at her.  Go away, I think, go away.  You're not my mother. You're a murderer.  You murdered my baby.  I want to scream at her, but no, I say nothing, let her be, see the look on her face, the guilt, she knows she's a murderer, should be locked up, the throbbing in my head for years, 'till after Laurel was born and was safe, far away from Mother Welner.

Tears streaming from her eyes, Annabeth sank down to the floor, buried her head in her hands and wept until she had no more tears left.  A thought, a treacherous thought, found its way into her consciousness.  Mother Welner loved Richard too.  She didn't do it on purpose.  It probably wasn't even her fault; he might have died anyway.  But there was guilt on her face.  She thought it was her fault.  No wonder she hated Annabeth.  It had to be her fault because…because…because…if it wasn't Mother Welner's fault, it must have been…no she couldn't…she couldn't…yes…if it wasn't Mother Welner's fault it must have been hers.

"Oh," said Annabeth aloud, "Oh,"  pressing her hand to her throat, struggling to right her breath.  "Sometimes people get sick and die, like my mother did.  Nobody's fault, just happens."  She thought about the years of migraines, the hatred she felt for her mother-in-law, and the hatred that was returned to her for decades.  She didn't know, Mother Welner didn't know.  How could she know he would get so sick, that Mother Welner wouldn't know what to do?  Nobody could know and she didn't know either.  She didn't murder Richard.  He died, he just died.  Yes, but if Annabeth been there…if she hadn't left him.   She shook her head, trying to clear her mind.  Reaching into the armoire, Annabeth removed the baby blanket, so carefully wrapped in tissue paper and stored in a sturdy department store box and then walked down the stairs and out the front door.

She drove first to a florist, bought a bouquet of pink roses intertwined with baby's breath, and then another bouquet, just the same, only red.  It was a short drive to the cemetery, one of two in town.  The sorrow as intense as it was all those years ago, Annabeth walked toward the grave.  There was a small headstone, simple lettering, a dove carved into it above his name and the dates of his so very short life.  Annabeth stood silently shivering without a coat in the chilly December air, remembering her child, the smiles, the tears, the way his life ended.  Laying the flowers down on the ground she touched the stone lightly, and in her mind she saw the life he might have led, the triumphs, the laughter, the love they might have shared. He was gone, he died, and by some stroke of fate, she was not there to prevent it.  If only she could have done something to save him.  If only….  She stood for a long moment, feeling all her sorrow, not knowing how to stop it, then she walked toward her mother's grave, and set down the other bouquet.

I got the Chicken Pox while Mom and Dad were away at that legal conference that time.  I was only four.  Gram took care of me.  She gave me baby aspirins.  And I didn't die.  "Possible complications caused by administering baby aspirins with a virus.  No real proof, though, so sorry,"  The Doctor saying no proof, just Richard sick with a deadly disease.  I didn't die from the Chicken Pox.  People stayed with me all the time and I didn't die.

The distance between the cemetery and her mother-in-law's house was short.  In a moment she was ringing the bell, and feeling as though she hadn't been at this door in years rather than only six months.

Mother Welner, standing straight and scowling at her, opened the door quickly, then said, "R.J. isn't here."

"I'd like to talk to you."

Annabeth entered the living room then and seated herself on the couch, facing Mother Welner, who sat down in her usual chair.  "I've been cleaning out the attic, and I found this."  She opened the box and removed the blanket, handing it to her mother-in-law whose face turned ashen.  "I thought I should give this back to you.  Maybe you'll want to give it to Linna if there are more children, or maybe save it for one of the girls."

Clenching her jaw, Mother Welner answered, "I don't think anyone will want it."

Annabeth struggled to know what to say next.  "I really wanted to blame someone when Richard died.  Anyone but me.  Even now I think that if I'd been here, maybe I could have done something."  Her eyes filled once more with tears.

"You had someone to blame, me."

Wanting to stop hurting, but not knowing how, Annabeth said, "You didn't know.  And the doctor said maybe it wasn't even the aspirins."

The old woman looked into her eyes.  There was no hatred there, only pain, and she replied honestly, "I should have known."

"And I should have been here."

Two mothers looked into each other's eyes, each knowing that you can do only what you can do, that you can't be there every moment, that somehow you have to trust the fates to keep your children safe, to let them live.

"I'm sorry," they both said at once.

"We should have had this talk a long time ago," said Annabeth.

Mother Welner nodded, reaching out to touch Annabeth's hand, which opened to hers.

17

"I figured you'd be tired and hungry after spending all weekend at that crafts show," said Doug.

"Ah, that's so nice of you.  I'm starving and too tired to move."

Doug walked into the house and Annabeth followed him into the kitchen where he set down some fried chicken and a big salad.  "I knew you'd have cookies."  They sat silently eating, comfortable together until Doug asked, "Show a success?"

Annabeth nodded, "Yes, it's going very well.  Only thing I didn't sell is this."  She held up an old wooden mug painted with flowers.  "Well, I sold a dozen similar ones."

Doug shook his head, reaching for the piece.  "It's so pretty too.  It's amazing how you can take old junk and turn it into art."  He glanced down at the mug then commented, "Great for pencils or cooking stuff in the kitchen.  I'll buy it.  How much?"

Annabeth laughed.  "Take it!  You think I could charge you money?"

"Nope, I'm a paying customer or nothing.  I made you pay for your car, didn't I?"

"Okay then, five bucks."

Doug shook his head, "You'll never make a profit that way.  How about fifty?"

"Are you nuts?  Make it ten."

"I'd like to see more of your work.  But I still say you should be painting on canvases."

"I have photos of everything, you know."  Doug followed Annabeth upstairs and sat on her bed as she pulled sheaves of photos from her drawer.  They leaned forward then, each lying on one side and looked at all the photos, spread on the bed between them.

"It's just amazing," commented Doug.  "You're so talented.  Charming little scenes.  Don't get mad at me here, but it's such a waste to be painting on this old junk.  Not that it's not adorable or whatever, but still I think it's a waste.  Unworthy of your talents."  Annabeth remained silent, thinking what a good friend he was as Doug reached under a couple of photos and removed the Glamour Poses shots.  "Look at these!"

Annabeth blushed, "Goodness!  I forgot those were there.  Give them to me."  She reached to snatch the photos but Doug held them away from her so he could view them.

"Don't be silly.  I want to see them.  Aren't you gorgeous!"  Doug took a long time, examining each photo carefully, seeing each detail as he did in every part of life and then he glanced casually at Annabeth, who blushed each time, then back to the photos.  Annabeth, feeling as though she had never before been seen so completely was nervous, although she didn't know why.  Doug remained silent for a long time, just looking at the photos and then at Annabeth, then he said in a voice that was very quiet, "Could I have one of these?"

She only replied, "Sure," but the way his request had touched her was reflected in the tenderness on her face.

They looked deeply into each other's eyes, heat and understanding passing between them, each wishing the other would come another step closer until Doug broke the tension by saying, "I see you've finally lured me up here into your bed."

Back in familiar territory, Annabeth smiled, saying confidently, "Yes, and you're at my mercy now."

Doug laughed sardonically, then leaning up, pressed her flat against the bed, his hands on her shoulders, his lips inches from her own as he spoke, "Don't you ever think that.  Right now you're wondering, 'Will he do it?  Can't I just give in? I want it so bad.  I want him so bad.'"

About to nod and agree, Annabeth took a deep breath.  She looked intently into Doug's eyes and saw him smiling at her.  Instead of the usual taunting, the tests that she knew he gave to help her learn to take charge, there was something else in his eyes. What was it?

Doug loosened his hold on her and sat up, reached for her hand and helped her to an upright position, then they both stood, and he held her in his arms for just a moment.  "You need to rest now," he said.

"Um, Doug?"  He looked deeply into her eyes, waiting for Annabeth to continue.  "Are you coming for Christmas dinner next week?"

"Am I invited?"

"Silly!  Of course you're invited."

Doug paused a moment before answering.  "Do you think I'm a terrible father?  Not going to see my kids on Christmas.  They both have plans already.  Betsy with her in-laws and Philip with his mother.  They don't even mind I'm not coming.  Must be my fault."

"I could never think you're terrible at anything, Doug.  Are you upset you're not included in their Christmas?"

He nodded, then looked into her eyes, "I'm upset, but I'm glad I'm included in yours.  Oh--there's this guy--leased a lot of cars--invited me to a New Year's party.  I said I'd get back to him.  I know it won't be much fun, but would you come with me?"

"Why won't it be fun?"

"Dunno--business thing.  You don't have to if you don't want to."

"What about Patsy?"  Annabeth held her breath as she asked this question, not knowing why she was so apprehensive about what the answer might be.  "Won't she want you with her then?"

"I broke up with her a while back."

"What happened?  I mean if you want to tell me."

"It wasn't very dramatic at all.  I just realized it was never going to amount to anything.  It was just a fling.  Just fun, casual, and I told her.  She was upset, I guess, but nothing too bad."

"No woman could lose you without being upset."

"The thing I liked about her was that she was easy."

"A slut like me?"

Doug laughed.  "No, I mean she was easy--I knew she'd never reject or hurt me.  She was safe."  Once again he looked deeply into her eyes, searching for something Annabeth couldn't identify, then Doug hugged her, holding her for just a bit too long.  "So you'll come with me?"

"Sure I will!  It's the first New Year's date I've ever had!"

Later Annabeth lay back on her bed, counting her money from the show and thinking about the evening she'd spent with her old friend.  Wasn't it sweet of him to ask for her photo.  And he was so shy in doing it, too.  R.J. would never have done that.  In all the years of their marriage he'd never had a photo of her in his wallet or on his desk and it had never occurred to Annabeth to give him one.  And that look in Doug's eyes.  Had she seen it before?

The next morning, she was back at work in the attic, digging through a pile of boxes containing her old art materials.  The extra brushes and paints she set aside to bring downstairs, but at the bottom of the box was the catalog for the New Orleans Art Institute and wedged inside it was an application which was only partially completed.

Look at this!  And this!  The classes!  New Orleans, me in a big city, just like a grown up.  These kids are real artists.  Mr. King saying "No, look," drawing on my picture, silly, try to do it his way.  My pictures aren't real art, he said that.  But that was a long time ago.  Wish they had art in school, another teacher to ask.  More teachers in New Orleans.  I could learn to be a real artist.  Maybe I could.  Dad.  Ask Dad.

"Dad, um, Dad?"  He's busy reading papers, always busy.  Tapping his shoulder, sitting down on the ottoman in front of his chair.  "Dad."  I shouldn't be bothering him, his work's too important.  Looking up at me, finally.  "Um, Dad I was thinking after high school, maybe I could go to art school.  Like college but art.  See, New Orleans, not too far."

"What?"  Dad looking worried.  Must be too expensive.  "Art school?  All the way to New Orleans?  Who'll take care of the kids?"  Dad looking off into the distance, faraway look.

"I thought I could learn to be a real artist."

"Aren't you just going to get married some day?  Be a mother and a wife?"

Nodding at Dad, of course I'll get married, be a wife, but still I could be…"

"Nothing to fall back on, art, not like you could fall back on that."

Annabeth tossed the catalog and application into the pile of things to discard and sat back thinking about her father.  It was then she'd decided to be a wife and mother, not something she'd wanted all her life.  It was her father's comments, plus her insecurity about being a real artist and that made her believe all she could be was a wife.  She paused for a moment, her mind empty of thoughts, her heart flooded with feelings and then she formed an opinion.  It was lousy of her father to do that, selfish.  He didn't even look at her; he never looked at her; he still didn't look at her.  He didn't even bother to handle the divorce himself.  She was glad.  Annabeth held her hand to her throat, then continued her train of thought, glad, yes glad.  Glad she'd run off with R.J. like that and showed her father.  Except…except…he still didn't give a damn.

Annabeth raced down the stairs, her feet gathering speed as she moved and she walked into the kitchen where the pile of paintings lay.  She paused a moment, took a deep breath, then lifted the pages, sheet by sheet, examining each one as though it were the first time she'd see them.  Slowly she poured over her work, stopping to note special details, searching for flaws until she'd reached the last sheet, then said aloud, "They are good.  They are."  She thought of Doug, telling her to paint on canvas, to stop wasting her talent on junk.  Then, taking another deep breath, she reached in a drawer for the phone number Becky had given her weeks ago and dialed the calendar company.

"Hello," she said, "I'm an artist and I'd like to submit some sketches for consideration for a calendar."  After noting all the details on a sheet of paper, Annabeth sat and thought.  Maybe they wouldn't want her sketches, maybe it wouldn't lead anywhere, but at least she had tried and it was a beginning.  She had done something difficult, had been courageous and Annabeth was proud of herself.  When the phone rang, she half expected it to be the calendar people calling to say yes, which of course was silly.  She hadn't even sent the sketches yet.

"Can you make me five pies this year instead of four?"  It was Julie.

"Julie, do you know how to bake a pie?"

"No, you always bake the pies."

"Well, it's time you learned.  Instead of me making the pies this year all by myself, I want you to come over here and help with them.  That way you can learn how to do it."

"I don't know if I'll have time."

"You'll have to make time, or there won't be any pies.  Besides, it can be a fun thing for us to do together."

"You're getting so bossy."

Annabeth laughed.  "We'll have fun."

She climbed back up to the attic then and finished sorting through the art materials and was ready to bring down a box of things she wanted to discard when an old steel filing box caught her eye.  Opening the top, Annabeth withdrew a number of papers, some having to do with her husband, some with Mother Welner.  "Look at this.  Hmm.  Look at this."  She stopped and carefully examined the papers, then placed them back in the box.  Could R.J. really have made that much money?  He always had a pocket full of cash.  Should she call her father about this?  What was the use of that?  She thought back to the conversation she'd witnessed between R.J. and his mother in the courtroom.  This must be what Mother Welner was so worried about.  No wonder.

Doug arrived early on Christmas morning, before Laurel was awake and way before the others were due to arrive.  He carried several bundles as well as some of his homemade biscuits and a ham he'd smoked himself the night before.

"Don't you look like Santa Claus," Annabeth commented, smiling, "And me still in my robe."

"I wanted us to be alone so I could give you these."  After setting the food down, Doug lifted the other packages and followed Annabeth into her living room, where they both were seated on the sofa.  He set a medium-size package on the coffee table, topped by a smaller one.  And a huge parcel he held in front of her.  It was easily four feet square.  "Open this one," he commanded.

"Let me get yours first."  She rose, reached under the tree which sat in the front window and removed one large box, which she lifted with difficulty, and another smaller one.

"Wow!" he said, filled with boyish excitement.  "I didn't expect anything at all.  Go on, you go first."

Annabeth smiled with anticipation, then tore into the wrappings covering the huge parcel.  It was filled with blank canvases in an assortment of sizes.  She grinned, sighed, bit her lip, then reached to hug Doug.  "This is great.  I was planning to take your advice you know."

"Well, I know artists really stretch their own, but I figured these would be a start and you wouldn't have to do any work before you got going.  Now open that box right there--it's part of this gift."

Annabeth obeyed, revealing a tool-kit type box filled with tubes of paint in every color.  Her eyes opened wide.  "Oh Doug!"

"I didn't know if you wanted oil or acrylic, so we can change these if they're wrong."

"They're perfect.  Oh thank you!  Now you open that box."

"Wow, heavy!"  Doug hoisted the box easily, noting its weight.  He marveled as he unwrapped it, "Look at this.  Oh!"

"I had Rum build it."

"For my baseballs.  It's perfect."  It was a natural maple cabinet, polished to a high luster and containing several shelves on which the baseballs would fit perfectly.  Glass doors closed tightly, keeping the inside dust-free.  "But you didn't paint on it."

"I didn't want to do it in case you'd rather have it plain, but…"  Annabeth rose and pulled a panel from behind the Christmas tree.  She removed the pull out shelves and neatly fit the panel in place.  It contained scenes from great moments in baseball.

"Will you look at that!  Babe Ruth.  Hank Aaron."  Doug shook his head in amazement.

Annabeth looked sheepish for a moment.  "Research.  I didn't know who any of these guys were.  Had to get a book on it from the library."

Doug set the cabinet down gently then reached over and hugged Annabeth.  "It's the best present I ever got."

"Ah," she sighed with pleasure.

"Now you.  Open up that one."

"This is heavy too.  Weren't you the busy bee!"  Inside the wrapping was a box and in the box lay a black leather book.  "A big book?" she asked, lifting it out.  It had handles and a zipper which Annabeth opened.  "A portfolio!  It's wonderful!"  Then she saw what was inside it.  Blow ups of all her photos.  It was a portfolio of her work.  "Oh," she said, "Oh," pressing her hand to her throat and afraid to go on, lest she start to weep.  She reached that hand to Doug, squeezing his arm.  "Oh Doug.  It's so wonderful.  I just can't tell you what this means to me.  Thank you so much.  How did you get these anyway?"

"Sally helped me."

"Look, you even have shots of the big pieces in the attic.  You're amazing."

Doug smiled, thrilled that she was so touched.   "There's this crafts gallery I know of in Atlanta.  I thought maybe you could go see them.  I mean I'd take you."

Annabeth nodded.  "Really?"

"Sure.  Anytime you want.  No more shows for a while, right?"  As Annabeth nodded, he continued,  "So craft galleries are a good idea."

"If my stuff is good enough.  I didn't have much luck with the gallery in New Orleans."

"Did you actually go see them?  With pictures I mean."

Annabeth shook her head.  "No."

"So what're you talking about.  Go see them!  Now can I open this one?"  Annabeth nodded and watched as he tore into his other box.  "Sexy," exclaimed Doug as he pulled out a navy silk bathrobe.

"You said you didn't have a robe."

Doug held the robe up to himself.  "What do you think?"

Annabeth pursed her lips as someone about to whistle or moan with pleasure aloud and said, "Gorgeous!"

"Really?"

Not realizing the question was sincere, she answered, "You bet."

"Oh," he said, "I almost forgot."  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small rectangular box which he offered to Annabeth.  "Had to get something personal."

Her mouth hung open as she saw what was in the box.

"You're always stroking your throat when you have a realization or are touched by something meaningful, so I thought you might enjoy having a special necklace there.  Called diamonds by the yard, though there are only three of them."

"Only three!  My God!  It's the most beautiful necklace I've ever seen."  It was a fine gold chain with three bezel-set diamonds evenly spaced within the links.  Annabeth held the necklace to her throat and then leaned toward Doug who fastened it for her.  She pressed her hand to her throat then, aware for the first time of the gesture and amazed that Doug knew it about her when she hadn't know it about herself.  "Oh!" she exclaimed, "I love it."  Instead of rising to go look in a mirror, she turned toward Doug, reaching in, expecting to kiss him for real at last but the moment their lips met, Laurel walked into the room, causing them to pull back away from each other.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas," replied Doug and Annabeth in unison.

The day grew busy then and Annabeth had to race upstairs to dress in a skirt that was much too loose, noting as she had often lately that her clothes were beginning to fall off of her.  There was no time to think about that however, because Doug was waiting downstairs and everyone was beginning to arrive.  There was a feast to prepare and family to entertain, gifts to give and to receive, eggnog, laughter and merriment to enjoy.  Annabeth glanced in the mirror as she raced out the bedroom door.  The diamonds at her throat sparkled.  Doug.  Wasn't he wonderful?

She raced around for the rest of the day and there wasn't a moment alone with Doug until he, the last to depart, was ready to walk out the door.  Annabeth walked out with him, waiting while he carefully placed his gifts in the car.  "It was a wonderful day," he said.

She smiled.  "Thank you again.  I love my presents.  I've never had presents I've loved as much."

"I'm glad.  I love mine too."  Doug reached down and enveloped her in a long, warm hug, and Annabeth relaxed against him, holding him tightly to her.  When he loosened his grasp slightly, Annabeth looked up, gazing into his dark eyes that always twinkled so merrily.  She leaned in then, tilting her head upwards, reaching toward him, wanting the kiss that they'd missed earlier.  Doug, sensing that she was ready, at least for a first kiss, leaned down, his lips coming closer to hers.

"Mom, where is the tin foil?  Are we out?"  Laurel looked out the door, then spotting Annabeth in Doug's arms, said "Oops," and retreated hastily inside.

They both jumped then and pulled apart.  He leaned down and kissed her gently on the cheek, then said, "You're just angling to see me in that silk robe."

"No," she said, doing him one better and remembering a similar comment he'd made a few weeks earlier, "I want to see you without it."  Then they both dissolved in laughter until they had to cling to each other to stand up straight.

A few days later, after Laurel had gone back to New Orleans, Sally entered the house and yelled up to where her mother was working.  "Mom!  Can you come down here, please!"

Annabeth, hearing the panic in her daughter's voice, raced down the stairs and entered the kitchen where Sally sat at the table.  "You're drenched."

"It just started to rain.  Nevermind that."

"What's wrong?"

"Daddy," said Sally.  "He gave me this," she placed six one-hundred dollar bills on the table.  "Said to make it do for the wedding.  Said he had some big deal cooking and couldn't spare any more cash."

"After you made all those plans.  The caterer.  The Woman's Club."

"Thank goodness I didn't put down a deposit on a dress.  Think we could have the wedding here--cheap I mean.  I could get a dress that's not bad at that place downtown."

Annabeth nodded, "We could do it."  Her blue eyes turned steely then, "But we're not going to.  Where's that list of everything?"

Sally pulled the list from her bag and handed it over.  "I don't know what we were thinking.  Daddy's idea to have a dinner buffet.  Flowers.  A cake.  Oh it's all so expensive.  What if we just had the family here?  I don't even need a wedding gown.  Just a waste of money."

Annabeth pressed her hand over her daughter's.  "This is what we're going to do.  You've already given a deposit on the Woman's Club, right?"

Sally nodded miserably.  "Maybe they'll give it back."

"And the caterer?"

"It's due this week.  They reserved the time for me, but I haven't paid yet."

"You take that money and pay off the Women's Club and give the caterer the deposit we discussed.  I'll cover the difference.  And New Year's Day we'll drive to New Orleans.  I have someone to see there anyway, and we can stay with Laurel for a few days.  We'll find you a nice gown there.  And I can get some new clothes too.  Everything I own is way too big now."  Annabeth continued as Sally's mouth hung open watching her act so determined, so in charge.  "I wish we could go sooner, but I have to be here for New Year's Eve."

"But Mom, you don't have any money.  I can't let you do that."

"I have plenty of money.  You're going to have a nice wedding."

"Maybe I could pay you back over time."

Annabeth squeezed Sally's hand.  "Don't be silly.  Now--is there anything else?  I want to finish that attic."

Sally leapt up and hugged Annabeth tightly.  "Thanks, Mom.  You're the best."

Annabeth walked Sally to the door.  It was still pouring, but there was no sign of lightning.  "Drive carefully," she admonished, hugging Sally once again.

Her daughter gone, Annabeth once more climbed the stairs to the attic. The rain pounded against the roof, but there were no leaks.  The sound was strong but pleasant and the rhythms of the falling raindrops soothed Annabeth.  Glancing out the tiny window below the eaves, Annabeth watched the rain dance against the panes of glass for a long moment before turning back to the attic.  Instead of launching right into her work, she stopped and surveyed the scene.  It was nearly clean.  There was nothing there she didn't know about, and nothing she didn't need or want.  The debris was gone.  A big black garbage bag sat in an empty corner.  It contained only a few things, ancient maps belonging to R.J. and old diet books of hers.  Annabeth walked through the room.  It was orderly.  In it now were the treasures of the past, nothing she needed on a daily basis, yet nothing that should be discarded.  It was a good feeling.  She had tackled a mammoth task and had succeeded.

Annabeth walked to the huge table that now was no longer covered over with boxes.  She'd painted that the first year they'd been in the house.  But for one dent, its surface was smooth to her hand, the colors as vivid as ever, the designs as perfect as when she'd first created them.  Her eyes followed the designs, the swirls of color melting together as visions and sounds from the past rose up around her.

"Ma's buyin' us a table, a real table so we don't gotta use that ratty old thing."  R.J. talking, scowling, "Save this thing?  Looks like something a kid did."  R.J. slamming his beer down on the table she'd just finished, making a dent in the top.  "If only you were perfectly thin, like I am," her mother talking.  "I need," Julie whining.  "Pay attention to me," R.J. demanding.  "Nothing to fall back on," her father ignoring her.  "I want," Maggie taking.  R.J. demanding, cheating on her, being loved, not giving back.  Not a great lover, not much of a husband, nobody much at all.

Again and again the memories unfolded in her mind, tiny visions of scenes long past, emotions, still captured in her heart.  And as the scenes played out for one last time, the emotions emerged and Annabeth released them forever.  "I've been giving and sacrificing all my life.  It's time I took care of myself."  She stood quietly for a long time, thinking of what she'd said aloud to the empty room.  Why had she loved R.J. so much?  And then the realization hit her.  It wasn't because of R.J. that she'd loved him so, it was because of her, because that was the way she loved.  It said more about her than about him.  She was a loving person; she gave, and now it was time she gave some to herself.  And to people that deserved it, like the girls, like….  Life with R.J….so many excuses, year after year, loving and giving and starving with R.J..   Annabeth held her hand to her throat, and she felt the tiny diamonds nestled there, then spoke once more, "R.J. was never good enough for me.  I deserve better."  A rush like the wind from a thousand storms emerged from her heart, the truth, mingled with relief and self-awareness surged through her and at last Annabeth was in touch with everything that she had done, all she had lived, the people in her life and the life she had built when she was unaware of all the things she should have known, until this very moment.

Glancing once more out the tiny window, Annabeth noted that the rain had stopped.  A few drops left on the glass rolled down its slick surface and gathered in a glistening pool of water on the ground below.  Turning for the last time to the attic, Annabeth nodded.  "Good job," she said.  In one hand she grasped the garbage bag and in the other the metal filing box, and walking confidently, she moved out the door and all the way down the stairs to her comfortable kitchen.

The phone book was propped on a corner of the counter and Annabeth reached for it, flipped it open, easily located the number and dialed.  "Hello?  I want to make an appointment, please."  She paused a moment, then replied to the question asked of her.  "Divorce investigation."  She nodded although nobody could see her.  "Perfect," she agreed, "I'll see you in fifteen minutes."  Removing the pertinent documents from the filing box, Annabeth stashed them in her purse, grasped the bag of garbage, which she dropped in the can by her house, then drove downtown to the detective's office.

It was a one room affair, neat and brightly lit, with a desk, a chair, a huge filing cabinet, even a jar of candy on the desk.  "Looks nothing like a Bogart movie, does it?" asked Herb Midwood, smiling to put Annabeth at ease.  He was a medium-sized man of about fifty, and his hair was thinning.  He wore gold-rimmed glasses, but behind them his eyes were shrewd and clear.

"I found these papers in my attic.  I think my husband lied on the financial statement he handed in to the judge.  And maybe even on our taxes.  Could I get in trouble for that?"

Herb reach for the documents, then held up two hands in a calming gesture.  "Let's go over all the facts," he said confidently, reaching for a yellow legal pad.

An hour later, Annabeth left the detective's office, certain that he knew what he was doing and would be valuable.  She drove to the mall and wandered through it, knowing she needed to buy something for New Year's Eve.  There wasn't much of a selection in size sixteen, but maybe she could squeeze into a fourteen since she was now a little thinner.  Annabeth carried the few dresses that pleased her into a dressing room, stripped and tried on the first one.  She looked in the mirror in amazement, "It's huge!"  Then she stopped and actually looked at her face.  "I'm thinner.  Much thinner."  She dropped the garment to the floor then turned this way and that, examining her body.  "Look at that," she said.  Bending over, Annabeth lifted the dress from the floor.  It was the fourteen, not the sixteen!  Dressing hurriedly, Annabeth handed the large garments to the salesgirl, then returned to the racks again.  This time she selected some pieces from the twelves and tens and returned to the dressing room.  She slipped into one dress, a black velvet sheath with sheer sleeves and a scooped neck.  It fit perfectly.  "This is a ten!" Annabeth exclaimed.  Still a bit dazed, she paid for the dress, bought new underwear and stockings to go with it, then walked out to her car.

"Wow!" exclaimed Doug when he arrived to pick her up for the party.  He took her by the hand, turned her one way then another, and said again, "Wow!"

"It's your necklace that makes the dress," answered Annabeth shyly.

"It's you, not the dress."

Annabeth blushed, then said, "You look wonderful too.  So dashing in that dark suit."

"Not like an undertaker?"  Doug laughed.

They drove silently for a long time until Annabeth began telling Doug about Sally, the crisis, and the wedding plans.  "So we're going to New Orleans tomorrow.  Just a few days--Sally will have to be back at work."

Doug shook his head.  "R.J.," he said then stopped.

"You know I realized something.  My mother was critical and competitive--then dead.  Dad ignores everyone.  I married R.J. to shock Dad--did you know that?"

"Figured something like that.  Couldn't have been…" Doug stopped mid-sentence.

"And I loved him all those years, but he was never really good enough for me.  I just saw the good, maybe it was there, but there wasn't enough of it.  I just figured he was all I deserved."

Doug's eyes twinkled as he looked at Annabeth.  "That was a lot to realize.  Took courage to figure all that out.  I'm proud of you."

She smiled back at him, then reached for his hand.  "Thanks," she said  "It was partly because of all the talks with you that I was able to learn all this."

He squeezed her hand tightly, then pulled into a parking spot in front of a big house.  "This is it."

Doug introduced her around, then they mingled together for a couple of hours, enjoying conversation with a variety of people, very few of whom Annabeth knew, although some of the faces were familiar.  When, a bit before midnight, their host dragged Doug off for some business talk about leasing several more cars for his salesmen, Annabeth set aside her champagne flute and walked into the kitchen for a glass of ice water.

"Well, well, well," said Grady, lounging against the counter, an unlit cigarette in his hand.

Annabeth tensed immediately upon hearing his voice.  The wolf whistle he let loose made her even more uncomfortable.

"Don't you look like hot stuff tonight," he said, winking at her.  He'd obviously been drinking.

Annabeth looked at the man before her, taking a deep breath and trying to maintain her poise.  What was it about him that unnerved her so?  He was tall and attractive, although there were lines at his eyes, a downturn by his mouth.  There was something in his eyes.  Taking her time, Annabeth looked carefully.  Who was he really?

Grady took a couple of steps toward her as she scrutinized him.  He placed a hand on her shoulder, then said, "Say, I looked for you at Gleason's.  Wondered where you disappeared to.  Didn't know you'd track me down on New Year's Eve."  He glanced at his watch, "And just in time for a kiss too."

It was dissipation!  There was a look in his eyes--that he would try anything.  Desperation.  The best days of his life were long over and any thrill he could capture would be better than the future he could now envision, which was nothing more than the palest dilution of a past that Grady remembered as far more glorious than it had actually been.  This was a man who lived for his glory days, but even they were never that splendid.   At least R.J. lived for the future--not the past.  Annabeth was amazed that she'd deciphered all that from a short glance.

"How about a little kiss for the New Year," he asked, almost plaintively.

"Excuse me," said Annabeth, no longer nervous at all.  She walked past Grady and out of the kitchen.  Where was Doug?  She scanned the faces in the living room.  No.  Where was he?  She remembered seeing him led off down a hallway and determinedly, she moved in that direction, but before she exited the living room he appeared.  Walking confidently, her eyes never leaving his face, Annabeth moved toward him and into his arms.  She tilted her face up toward his and smiled.  Reaching one arm up to his neck, she lay it gently against his hairline.  The other slid around his back, drawing him closer to her.

Doug looked deeply into Annabeth's eyes, and they both smiled.  She stretched up on tiptoe, bringing her face closer to his, waiting for him to lean in a bit.  "Happy New Year," she whispered, parting her lips and never letting her gaze waver from his.  He reached down then and let his mouth close over hers, the kiss soft and long, sweet and tender, no urgency, just affection brought at last to its natural conclusion.  They stood together for a long time in that embrace, and when the New Year's siren went off, they continued kissing, the lights in the room like silver sparkles swirling around them.

"Happy New Year," he said, finally moving his lips a millimeter from her own.  Pulling herself tightly against Doug, Annabeth lingered there in his embrace, safe, warm and content.

They repeated that kiss at her door when he drove her home, then she said, "You're coming in, aren't you?"  He looked carefully at her.  Annabeth realized that he'd really wanted her all along, but had known she wasn't ready, that she had to make the first move.  She knew how to say no now, but she could also choose to say yes.  Annabeth opened the door and took Doug's hand, leading him to the stairs, when Sally yelled from the living room.

"Mom?  You home?"

Annabeth looked after the sound and saw Sally and Jackson seated on the couch.  Sally pointed to a small suitcase beside the couch.  "Thought we could get an earlier start if I stayed over.  Can Jackson stay too?"

Annabeth nodded, holding her hand up to indicate she'd be back in a moment, then she and Doug walked toward the front door together.

"Kid foiled your plans to have your way with me, didn't she?" he asked smiling, but his eyes never left her face.

"I'll be back in three days, maybe four," she said.

"Game for another trip when you get back?  To Atlanta, I mean."

Annabeth nodded.  She wondered then was he going to proposition her again or make a joke, but instead he reached down and kissed her, enfolding her in his arms tenderly.  She sank into his embrace, losing herself in the sweetness of his lips.  When he finally loosened his grasp, she reached up and touched his face tenderly, smiling deep into his eyes.

"Someone tried to make a little pass at me tonight," she confided, watching his eyes turn stormy.  "My head didn't even spin.  I just walked away.  I think I'm cured," she laughed.

"As long as you're not immune to me," he said.

"We'll see!"

His face a mask of mock indignation, Doug reached down and swatted her hard on the backside, the crackling of the sound muffled a bit by the velvet dress she wore. Annabeth gasped, causing him to laugh for a long time.  She looked at him openly, heat in her eyes, and he pressed her hard against the door, reaching down and kissing her with intensity and passion, and the flood of his longing flowed out of him and into her.  She swooned against him, her lips burning into his, then he let up, stepped back and smiled at her.

"Atlanta," he said, then he reached down and once more smacked her backside, causing her to lean limply against the door as he closed it behind him.

18

"I have a little errand to do.  You girls go on without me for a bit.  Okay?"  Annabeth, wearing a new outfit acquired that morning, grasped her portfolio in her hand.  "Just tell me where to meet you for lunch."

She had to stay calm.  She could do this.  If he hated the stuff, hated her, so what.  He was just some stranger, and she couldn't let him matter that much.  She knew the work was good; that was what mattered most.  Annabeth repeated these thoughts over and over to herself as she walked through the streets of New Orleans toward the gallery.  Sally and Laurel were shopping together in Saks.  Maybe with Laurel's discount they could get by without her spending every cent she'd saved so carefully for months and months.  And maybe….

"Excuse me," said Annabeth to the smiling salesgirl, "I'm looking for Mr. Paris Landry."

It was but a moment before she was face to face with the man who had so intimidated her over the telephone not so very long ago.  "Yes?" he said politely.

Annabeth handed him her portfolio.  "I'd like to show you my work if you have a minute.  I'm in town only a few days."  She held her gaze steady, meeting the critical look he gave her.

He was an attractive man, effeminate looking, with chiseled features and thick hair which was elegantly cut.  His tailored suit looked as though it had been made to measure, so perfectly did it hang on his frame.  He squinted toward her for a moment, but when she didn't back down, Landry reached for Annabeth's portfolio, unzipped it and started turning the pages, at first rather speedily, but as he saw the contents he slowed down until it seemed that he was taking overlong to scrutinize each photograph.  "Nice," he murmured now and then, "Charming," with greater enthusiasm, then when he got to the pages in the middle with the magazine spread, he shook his head, "I saw this layout.  It's lovely.  Wonderful, really."  He turned then toward the photos of the table and armoire in Annabeth's attic and stopped for a long while.  "These!" he exclaimed, "I have to have these.  Are they still available?"

Annabeth fought the urge to exclaim really, then said calmly, "They're personal pieces.  I hadn't really thought of selling them.  They're in Gull's Perch."

Landry's eyes lit up.  "I know at least two people who'd be interested in these right away.  And other pieces of furniture as well.  Like this…."  He flipped back to Laurel's apartment and pointed to a table and the window seat.  "Talk to me," he said, "Um, I don't even know your name.  I'm sorry."

"Annabeth Welner."

Landry reached out and shook her hand.  "Wonderful to meet you.  You will sell the table and armoire, won't you?"

Annabeth nodded slowly.  She could always make more.

"How much did you think of asking?  This is a wonderful gallery.  We buy outright, don't take things on consignment.  Much better for our artists."

Annabeth thought for a while.  What were they worth?  Those things cost probably fifty bucks twenty years ago.  She was about to say two hundred each when she thought clearly.  Two hundred was nothing.  And she didn't even really want to sell them.  Taking a deep breath, Annabeth said, "Twenty-five hundred each," and as Landry's eyes lit up, she added, "Plus transportation."

He nodded at her with respect and offered his hand.  "Probably easier if I arrange shipping."

"Yes, much."

"You know, I like these too."  He pointed to a collection of boxes with sliding lids--cigar boxes she'd reclaimed from the tobacco shop and painted.  "I'd take a dozen.  Say thirty each?"

"Okay, sure, but I can't get them to you right away.  Probably not until the end of February or the middle of March."

"No problem.  But I can have the two big pieces this week?"

Annabeth nodded then carefully spoke, "I'd need a deposit, though.  I'm seeing people at another gallery this weekend."

"I'm glad you came to us first."  Landry offered his hand one more time.  "In a year I could sell probably ten big pieces--tables, armoires, cabinets.  When do you think you might have more like that?"

"I'm not sure.  I'd have to find the piece first."

"Call me anytime.  You can always fax in a photo and we can decide on the spot."

Annabeth smiled.  "That's just great.  Thanks so much."

"Let me get you a check and a letter of agreement."

Annabeth sailed along, a check for over two thousand dollars in her purse.  Easy!  It had been easy!  She bowled him over!  Smiling to herself and chuckling from time to time, she walked toward the restaurant, stopping first at a fancy lingerie store. Atlanta.  She blushed for a moment, thinking of Doug and their upcoming trip.  Selecting a few items that seemed incredibly expensive, Annabeth walked into a luxurious dressing room and stripped.  First she tried a long blue nightgown, with the tiniest straps and a flair at the bottom.  It was perfect.  The matching robe was sheer floral, trimmed in the blue silk.  She selected another nightgown, a short poet's shirt type with a billowy lace ruffle along the plunging neckline.  In place of the no nonsense spandex bras she'd worn for years, Annabeth chose several lace designer bras with matching panties.  So beautiful.  So wicked!  She paid for her purchases, then swiftly moved toward the restaurant, her parcels in her hand.

"I sold that old armoire and dining table in the attic for five thousand dollars." she exclaimed to the girls as she took her seat at the table between them.

"Wow!" they said in unison.

They ordered simple lunches and sat talking in a relaxed way.

"I think I found the dress I want.  It's," and here Sally lowered her voice to reveal the price the way people do when they mention deadly illnesses.

"If only we still had gowns and I could get a discount," added Laurel.

"We'll get it right after we eat."  The waitress arrived then and set the food in front of them.  Annabeth, who had ordered lobster bisque and a salad, was given something she couldn't recognize.  "What's this?" she asked.

"Back bean soup," answered the server.

It looked delicious and Annabeth was about to shrug and try it, but she paused for a moment and realized she'd been shrugging off other people's mistakes all her life.  "I ordered lobster bisque."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said the waitress, who removed the soup and returned immediately with the right order.

The time passed quickly, and Annabeth enjoyed the shopping spree with her daughters.  Each time the thought of money would intrude, Annabeth reminded herself that although she seemed to be spending a lot, she'd really made a profit on the trip because of the sale of the furniture.

True to his word, Landry's truckers picked up the table and the armoire the day after Annabeth returned home, and they gave her a check for the balance of the sale.  She didn't have time to be sad or nostalgic at the loss of her treasures because the following day she and Doug were leaving for Atlanta.

"I thought you'd probably had enough of day-long car trips for a while, so I got plane tickets, if that's all right with you?" Doug asked.  "That way you can visit the gallery today, so you don't have to dread it."

"You're so thoughtful.  But you should let me pay you for the plane ticket.  After all, that's expensive.  And the trip is for me."

"Don't even think about it."

"Atlanta is huge!" she exclaimed as Doug took her on a tour in their rental car.  They drove through the inner city first, then headed out toward the fashionable Buckhead section where Doug had booked a suite at a pleasant hotel.

When they entered the room and looked around, Doug asked quizzically, "Should I have gotten two rooms instead of a suite?  That's a sofa bed in there." His voice lowered shyly, causing Annabeth to look at him with affection.

She walked closer to him, laughed briefly, then slapped his backside, causing him to laugh too.

"Woman!  Control yourself!  We have business to do."

She hugged him then and said, "Oh Doug, thank you for everything."

He hugged her back tightly, then led her out to the car.  He dropped her in front of the gallery, then motioned toward one of the many outdoor cafes in Buckhead.  "I'll be waiting at the bar."  Annabeth nodded, then her head high, she walked into the gallery, and received the same positive reception as in New Orleans.

After leaving the gallery, she resolved to buy some big old bookcases and dressers and paint them.  She could have sold those big pieces again if they weren't already sold, and for just as much money. And now she had more orders for some small things. Annabeth couldn't wait to tell Doug.  She glanced into the restaurant first, but of course, he'd said he'd be at the bar.

"Oh!" she exclaimed under her breath, pressing her hand to her throat.  Doug sat at the bar, talking animatedly to a woman whose hand lay on his arm.  They were leaning in toward each other, smiling and sharing an obviously tender moment.  Annabeth's stomach clenched as she stood there watching Doug.  A million thoughts of R.J. rose up in her mind and her head began to throb.  This was supposed to be different.  She wouldn't go through that again, not ever.  She turned to walk away, her mind a jumble, tears forming in her eyes.

Annabeth paced rapidly, covering several blocks as she tried to gather her thoughts.  She remembered R.J. and the teddy, R.J. and Linna, R.J. and countless others of whom she'd been blissfully unaware.  She thought of George.  But wait, this was Doug.  He was her best friend.  Going to be her lover.  Her….  She shook her head, breathing in the cold January air and pulling her too-thin coat tightly around her.  It wasn't just sex any more was it?  She was in love with him, really in love.  Maybe for the first time in her life. He wasn't R.J..  He deserved a chance to explain, so Annabeth walked back to the restaurant and into the bar.  Doug still sat with the woman, but when she walked in this time he spotted her, stood up, reached down and kissed his companion, then walked toward Annabeth.

Once they were seated at a table, Doug squeezed her hand.  "That was Sandra.  I never told you about her."

Biting her lip and looking into his eyes, Annabeth shook her head.  "No, you didn't."

He looked her straight in the eyes and said, "I had an affair with her.  When I was married to Robin."

The knots in Annabeth's stomach tightened as she listened to Doug talk.

"We worked together.  I knew her for more than a year before anything happened."  Doug saw the concern in Annabeth's eyes, and he continued, as honestly as he could.  "Robin never found out."

Annabeth shook her head.  "I don't think…."

"Not that that makes it all right.  I was never anyone special all my life.  Nothing with women compared to my dad and brother.  A pretty smart guy, nothing special, just ordinary.  Had this wife who ignored me most of the time and I figured I deserved it.  I was a dull guy.  Boring really, not much to look at, nothing special."

"You're nothing like that at all."

"That's what Sandra said.  We talked for hours.  She thought I was interesting.  And helpful and sensitive.  Considerate."

"You are all those things."

"Robin never thought so.  Never acted like that.  So anyway, one thing led to another.  We didn't mean for it to happen."  Taking a gulp of air, he continued, "And it was wonderful.  I got tenderness and praise.  Not just great sex but, um…recognition.  In her eyes I was a great guy.  So I began to see that I wasn't so bad.  Stopped comparing myself to Dad and Grady.  Became me."

Annabeth listened intently as Doug continued.  "I didn't want to leave Robin, though, or the kids.  They were still in high school.  Sandra helped me actually.  Said go to Robin, talk to her, try to work it out.  So I did.  Told her how I felt, what I needed, what I wanted.  And we tried.  Sandra left the firm, met a guy, married him."

"And you left Robin later?"

Doug laughed.  "She left me.  Met a doctor.  I couldn't compete with that.  Actually it was kind of a relief.  We never did make it work.  Then Dad called and I went back home."

Annabeth took a breath, then reached out her hand to Doug, covering his with her own.  "I understand, Doug, I really do.  I just think maybe we shouldn't sleep together on this trip.  I need some time to think about this.  It's not that I'm judging you or thinking badly of you.  I'd just like to wait a bit.  Is that all right?"

"I guess you are cured," he said glumly, then "Sure it's all right.  I understand.  I'm not going anywhere.  I have all the time in the world to wait for you.  I know you're worth waiting for."

She sighed then and squeezed his hand, wishing she could relent and go back to that nice hotel room with him, but knowing that she had to be sure of him and herself before beginning anything new.

In every odd moment after returning from Atlanta, Annabeth thought about Doug, trying to make sense of the infidelity.  His wife sounded awful, not loving at all, but maybe R.J. described her that way.  What if they were together and something went wrong.  Would he do it again?  Would she be hurt?  Realizing that this was the first time she'd ever stopped to consider the consequences of her actions before doing something, Annabeth was impressed with herself.  It was also the first time she'd ever thought about her own needs or safety.  It felt right at last.

Where before she was in the habit of talking to Doug every day, or every other day, nearly a week had passed with no contact.  She knew that he was giving her the space she needed and Annabeth was grateful.  When she wasn't trying to make sense of her relationship with Doug and the future they might have together, Annabeth worked with Sally on the details of the wedding.  One afternoon, Sally appeared at the door with Maggie, who carried a suit bag.

"I thought we should coordinate our clothes, and since my gown and Laurel's dress and your suit are here, I dragged Maggie over."

Annabeth looked at her old friend who was the picture of discomfort, and she smiled, trying to set Maggie at ease.  "Come on in.  Let's go upstairs and look at all the clothes why don't we.  Want something hot to drink?"

Annabeth and Maggie followed Sally who bounded up the stairs to her old room, where the wedding apparel hung, safely stored in garment bags in the now mostly-empty closet.

"Here it is," enthused Sally, holding up her gown for Maggie to admire.

"Oh," said Maggie, "Beautiful, just beautiful.  Oh try it on."

Sally slipped out of her jeans and sweater and into the gown, turning to Annabeth to do up the back.

"Beautiful," enthused Maggie and Annabeth simultaneously.

"And this is Laurel's dress.  She refused to wear a long gown, just this simple cocktail dress.  We think it's fine though, don't you?"  Laurel had chosen a seafoam blue dress of soft chiffon with a draped neckline and a swirling skirt.

Maggie nodded.  "Mine is blue too."  She opened her garment bag and removed a cobalt blue suit with a white lace blouse.

"Mom's suit is blue too," mentioned Sally.  We'll all match.  Except me."

"What?" said Maggie.

Sally removed the suit which Annabeth had bought.  It was a midnight blue velvet double-breasted suit with a slim skirt and satin collar and cuffs.  "Elegant, don't you think?"

Annabeth watched as Maggie's face fell.  "It's too much like mine.  We'll look like twins.  And mine was on sale.  I can't take it back."

Annabeth thought for a moment about her black velvet New Year's dress which would do just as well for the wedding.  Then she spoke up, "Mine came from New Orleans and I can't take it back either.  We'll just have to make do.  They're not the same at all."

"We shouldn't be in the same color," insisted Maggie.

Annabeth shrugged.

"I think it will all be fine," insisted Sally.

Maggie gathered up her dress, stormed down the stairs and out the door.

"Um, Mom," said Sally.

"Yes?"

"I drove her here.  I better go after her.  Don't worry.  I'll talk to her."

Annabeth laughed.  "Go on then, before she freezes and turns blue."  Pleased with herself yet again, she followed Sally down the stairs and walked back into the kitchen.  This not taking crap from people was getting to be a habit--a good habit.  She was tough!  She sat for a while at the table, doing very little, thinking now and then and occasionally laughing about Maggie and the look of outrage on her face when she didn't get her way.  Would Maggie have been her friend all these years if she hadn't always given in?  Briefly Annabeth hoped Maggie wasn't too mad at her, then, realizing it was a ridiculous thought in light of all that had happened,  she dissolved into peals of laughter, alone at her kitchen table.

When the phone rang, Annabeth half expected it to be Sally begging her to give in and save peace at the wedding, but instead it was Becky.

"I've found him!" she began with her usual intensity and enthusiasm.

"Found who?"

"Your future husband.  Well, Shep found him.  I told you he'd know someone perfect for you and I was right.  Dinner tomorrow night.  Actually he thinks it's a business dinner.  Shep didn't want to scare him off with talk of a date."

"Oh, Becky, I don't know.  There is someone already, but I'm trying to…"

Becky interrupted with insistence.  "Look you don't have to marry him tomorrow.  Just come to dinner.  I won't take no."

"Okay.  Just don't expect too much.  There's someone already I told you.  And Becky?"

"Yes?"

"I sent in some sketches to those calendar people."

"Good for you!  Tell me all about it tomorrow."

At least she wasn't nervous at all about meeting someone new.  Annabeth walked to Becky's door the next evening.  She'd dressed casually in a shirtwaist dress that was one of her new outfits and was carrying a home made cake.

"Wow!" said Becky as she opened the door, "You look wonderful.  And so does that."  Becky reached out and hugged Annabeth, then led her into the living room where Shep sat in his usual chair.  He rose and greeted Annabeth warmly, then showed her to a seat on the couch while Becky perched on the arm.

"Now I want you to have an open mind," insisted Becky.  "This is one great guy, right Shep?"  Her husband nodded.  "We haven't known him all that long, but only because he hasn't been in town that long.  He's perfect for you, I'm sure."

Once again Shep nodded.  "Matchmaker, matchmaker," he taunted his wife, who flapped her hand at him in mock exasperation.

"He's solid and reliable, right hon?"  Shep nodded at each question put to him by his wife.  "Decent, honest, a good man.  Right?"

"Baseball fan," added Shep who couldn't understand why the two women looked puzzled at this bit of information rather than pleased.

"Just don't get upset with me that I'm not really interested.  There's someone else, I told you, and I'm pretty sure that…"  Before she could complete the thought, the bell rang and Becky went to answer the door.  She returned in an instant, Doug Hawkins behind her.

Shep stood and reached his hand toward Doug, who in surprise said, "Annabeth!  I wondered why your car was here."

"Doug," she said, smiling, and walked into his arms for a hug.

"You two know each other," said Shep and Becky at once.

"It was a nice evening, wasn't it," said Doug as he and Annabeth entered her house after the dinner was over.

"Yes, wonderful.  I'm so glad I met Becky.  And Shep is a great guy."

"Yes they're a nice couple, and determined to fix you up," said Doug, scrutinizing Annabeth carefully.

She blushed.  "I only went because Becky insisted.  I told her there was someone else, that I was deciding…"

Doug waited silently, wondering if she would go on.  He saw the hesitation in her eyes, the fear, the insecurity, and he said, "Oh, I see.  You still need time."

"Deciding," she said, "That I love you."

He wrapped his arms around her then and said, "Oh!  I love you too.  And I always will."

Hugging Doug as tightly as she could for a moment, Annabeth moved from his arms briefly, chained the front door shut and reached her hand to him.

In an instant they were upstairs in her bedroom, standing at the foot of the bed, embracing tenderly, kissing slowly, holding each other with the promise of a love that would last a lifetime.  His lips on hers were so soft, so gentle, yet so taunting, and Annabeth felt her head start to swirl.  Pressing her hands against Doug's shoulders, she pushed him down to the bed, where he sat looking at her with love in his eyes.  She stood closely, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pressing his head to her chest, holding him to her heart, where he would stay forever.

"Oh," she sighed sweetly, "Oh."

His eyes flooded with tenderness, Doug pulled her even more tightly to him, moving his face gently against her breast and kissing her through the fabric of her bodice.

Annabeth, grown bold in love, stepped back half a pace, and slowly unbuttoned the dress, revealing the sheer lace bra she wore beneath it, then she shrugged her shoulders and the dress fell at her feet.  She gazed first into Doug's eyes and then blushed briefly, looking down and away from him in sudden shyness.  He reached to pull her close, wanting to kiss her again, and she knew that he would want to kiss her every moment of the rest of his life, but first she knelt down in front of him, and wrapped her arms around him.

Her hands slid up his back, and she leaned in, kissing his neck, losing herself again and again in the taste of his skin. Her hands, alive with the sensation of a man, his strength, his skin, searched along his back, riding up and down the angles and curves, tugged at his shirt and slid beneath it.  She sighed when she was calm enough, gasped otherwise, having waited so long, yearned so long.  Sliding her hands outside the shirt toward his chest, Annabeth slowly unbuttoned it, one button at a time, kissing the skin that was revealed as the shirt opened.

Doug, his breath grown raspy, reached down and pulled her up to him, kissing her, this time with greater urgency, his lips grazing across her own in soft kisses, hard kisses, tiny nibbles, and sweet sucking motions.  He reached down then, and kissed her neck, as she had done to him, causing her to moan with pleasure.  His hands, knowing and sure, yet slow and sensual, explored her soft skin.  With a smile and a confident twist of strong fingers, Doug broke the band on her pantyhose and tore them off her body.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed, her heart pounding.

He stood then, and pressed Annabeth's back tightly to his front, his hands gently roaming over the front of her body.

"Oh, my!" she said again, this time almost unable to speak.  She pressed herself against his body, feeling him hard and strong against her.  Wanting nothing between them, she twisted swiftly in his arms, reaching for his belt and the waistband of his slacks, which she undid as he watched, his hands stroking her hair.  Feeling impatient, Annabeth tugged at the slacks, but they wouldn't move.  "Oh!" she said in frustration, until his hand guided hers to the zipper which she lowered smoothly and watched as slacks and boxers dropped to the floor.

Doug stepped smoothly out of them, and stood quietly for a moment, letting her look at him.  Then he reached for her once more and removed the lace bra and panties.  Together they fell onto the bed, kissing for a long time, losing themselves in each other, already knowing that they could flow out of themselves and into each other, that even in a kiss they could merge as one.  Uncounted moments passed, yet still they kissed, urgent in their passion, but unhurried to complete it.  Doug lifted his lips from Annabeth's for a bit and lay back against the pillow, looking at her, letting his fingers graze over all the sensitive places on her body, watching as her head twisted on her neck, her desire almost unbearable.

She sighed, and moaned, and sighed, and moaned, wondering would she survive, would she still be able to draw breath should he continue touching her like that.  If he doesn't stop I'll die.  I could die…I would die…it would be worth it….

Doug smiled, watching Annabeth, and then slid closer and began doing with his mouth all the things he'd done with his fingers.  "So beautiful, so soft, you woman, oh you woman."  He pressed her so tightly to him, and hearing her moan in pleasure, he pressed her more tightly yet.

"Now, now," she whispered, unable to speak properly, "Now."  She wanted him desperately, had wanted him so long already, had waited so long.

"Not yet," he said, and flipped her to her stomach.  First he lay still on top of her, feeling her pressing up toward him, feeling the need and yearning she didn't trouble to hide.  Then he slid down slowly, kissing her back in a thousand places, dragging his tongue along her backbone, teasing her with his lips.

"Oh!" she said, her vocabulary reduced to one syllable, "Oh!"  Just as she had so many times with him before, Annabeth struggled to gain control of her passions, and when she had done so, she twisted away and onto her side, pressing Doug flat against the bed.  "I want to kiss you too," she said, taking a hasty, irregular breath between each word.

First she slid her cheek along his chest, then turning her face slightly, she began kissing him, exploring all the places that interested her, listening as his breathing became ragged, feeling his heart pounding against his chest.  Every night and every morning.  She would want him.  Every day and every year. Her hands, both of them, working together like soft swans on an unruffled lake, explored, and she was filled with the yearning to keep touching, stroking, squeezing, until the memory of all those secret male places that had so long been denied her had once again been etched deeply in her consciousness.

She knew he could stand no more, yet wanting to continue forever, Doug struggled to control himself, and when the moment was right he was once more on top, his mouth on Annabeth's, their bodies intertwined and merging in a holy fire of passion and transcendence.  They moved together seamlessly, dancers perfectly matched, changing position now and then, slowing their motions and speeding them up again, then changing again until their every desire was satisfied.

Her eyes tightly closed, Annabeth felt herself rolling on a wave, lost control and gave herself over to it, the intensity so great she feared for a moment it would never stop, that she would never again be the mistress of her own body.  She clung to Doug then, clung tightly, sensing that he was all there was left on earth, only Doug and herself there together in her bed, there joined forever, lost in the rising and falling waves together.  Feeling Annabeth begin to quicken beneath him, feeling her quiver around him, Doug let go his restraint and moved to please himself, pleasing her as well, and together they ground along, heated, intense, yet tender, and soon the release they sought arrived, each clutching the other tightly, rocking softly, wanting not to let down, afraid to push too hard, both fragile and spent.

They lay for a long time, bodies molded together, each panting and trying to breathe.  Eventually Doug rolled onto his back then pulled Annabeth to him, cradling her head on his shoulder.  His arm held her firmly and she felt safe and warm.  Her hand reached up and lay tenderly against his cheek for a moment until he enfolded it in his, kissing her fingers briefly, then holding her hand tightly to his chest.

At the same moment they said, "I love you."  Then they smiled into each other's eyes.

"You're so beautiful," he said simply, with devotion.  "Everything I've ever wanted.  And more."

"What you do to me.  I thought I was going to die.  Oh Doug.  I almost fainted."

He kissed her forehead.

A tear formed in her eye, then rolled down Annabeth's cheek.  "This is the first time you know."  He waited for her to complete the thought.  "The first time I've ever really been in love."  She relaxed then against his shoulder and stroked his chest.

Doug laughed for a moment then said, "I thought you were going to say it was the first time you had great sex."

She nodded, "Yes, and the first time I ever really made love."

19

Annabeth sat across from Herb Midwood in his office.  "You were right," he said.  "Look at this."  Herb handed Annabeth a manila folder, which she opened.  Inside were copies of loan papers, tax documents, and many photographs of R.J.'s vending machines, some containing shots of R.J. himself.

"You followed him?"

Midwood laughed.  "I am a detective!  Now, according to this, your mother-in-law claimed to be a partner in your husband's vending machine business."

"Yes, she loaned him the money for his first machines and I guess he still gives her a certain percentage now."

"So I got copies of her taxes with the loan form she filed when she borrowed money a few years back--house needed repair or something.  Apparently she filed taxes claiming the business makes a great deal more than it does according to your husband's financial statement.  And these pictures tend to back up her version, not his."

"So we've been filing fraudulent income taxes for years?  I could get in trouble?"

"It's not impossible, but since you had no knowledge of the number of vending machines he owns, it's unlikely.  You're an injured party."

Annabeth looked at the documents before her.  Her voice grew quiet, "R.J. earns this much?"

"Probably more now."

"You did a wonderful job.  Thank you so much."  Annabeth gathered up the folder and offered Midwood her hand.

On the day of the final hearing, Annabeth dressed and applied makeup carefully, then scrutinized her image in the mirror.  Instead of the skirts she usually wore, today she was dressed in a chic black pantsuit.  She looked very businesslike, very no-nonsense.  Her hair, gathered back from her face with a tortoise clasp, was simple and sophisticated.  She looked like someone who was in charge of her own life.  The makeup was subtle, very different from the Glamour Poses colors, but still it brought out the vividness of her eyes, the angles of her cheekbones, the fullness of her lips.  Gazing at her reflection, Annabeth saw not a soft matron, but a woman in the prime of her life and she nodded, pleased with what she saw.

In a few moments, she stood in front of the courthouse, ready to confront her husband, the folder in her hand.  She could do this.  And it was about time.  When Quentin Asprey arrived, she greeted the attorney with a pleasant smile.

"Ms. Welner, good to see you.  All ready for today?"

Annabeth nodded, "Oh yes.  But you go on in without me.  I'll be along in a bit."

She spotted R.J., who arrived without his lawyer and didn't even notice her as he climbed the courthouse stairs until she spoke his name.

"Annabeth?  You look different."  His eyes opened wide as he observed her.  He was puzzled and clearly at a loss for words, and she was sure he was a little dazzled too when he stammered, "Pretty, you look very pretty."

She smiled.  "Thanks.  I want to talk."

"Look, is this about the wedding?  I done the best I could."

Annabeth paused for a moment to open the folder and offer her husband the contents.  "I have some important documents here and I want you to look at them."

R.J. reached for the papers, a scowl on his face.  When he saw what they contained, his jaw dropped.  "Pictures?  You had me followed?"

Annabeth nodded, then spoke calmly.  "This is what I want.  I want my house.  You're going to walk into that court and sign off on the house.   Then you're going to go to your daughter and tell her you'd be happy to pay for her wedding.  And you're going to give her the money, just so she knows her dad cares.  As for the maintenance, I don't want a cent from you.  Understand?"

R.J. reached out to take Annabeth by the arm, but before he could touch her, she took a pace back.  "Now, honey, be reasonable," he said.

"Reasonable?"  Annabeth looked R.J. in the eye.  "Reasonable?  Reasonable would be me asking for maintenance for years.  Reasonable would be me taking a piece of your business.  I never even thought of that.  Maybe I should be more reasonable.  Let's see--I'm entitled to half your business, well, no you're partners with your mother aren't you--so I guess I'm entitled to half of your half.  Just how much would that be?"

R.J. blanched as he looked at Annabeth.  She met his gaze and didn't waver.

Glancing at her watch, Annabeth said, "There's a one-minute time limit on this offer.  Otherwise I walk into that courtroom and hand these papers to the judge."

"You wouldn't do that to me."

"Look at me, R.J.  Can you see me?"  Annabeth paused a moment then shook her head and turned to walk into the courtroom, R.J. scurrying along behind her.

"Wait, don't."

Taking her place beside Asprey, Annabeth waited and soon enough the judge called her case.

"This is the final hearing in the matter of Welner vs. Welner."

As Annabeth leaned toward Asprey to tell him what information she possessed, R.J. stood, "Your honor, I've decided to give my wife the house.  And she's agreed to no maintenance."

"All other assets divided as previously noted?" asked the judge.

"Your honor, I ask a moment to confer with my client," interrupted Kyle Sennet.

"No need," said R.J. miserably, "Done been decided."

"Mrs. Welner, you've agreed to this--the house but no maintenance?" asked Judge Henson.

"Yes, thank you."

"All right then, so ordered.  Mrs. Welner receives the house, no maintenance, and she resumes her maiden name.  All other assets divided as agreed.  Divorce granted.  Good luck to you both."

Quentin Asprey turned to Annabeth.  "How did that happen?"

"Change of heart."

Annabeth drove home calmly, walked through the door of her house and looked around.  It had been a lot more than just a house for a long time.  All her memories were there, but now she could turn around and move away and  be just fine.  She was a lot stronger and could be happy anywhere.  Still, she was glad the house was still hers.  Annabeth walked slowly through the downstairs rooms, which were empty as usual.  The cat, feeling affectionate, wound around her feet until she scooped him up and carried him.  No echoes arose from any corner; they'd all been played out in her mind and Annabeth was at peace with her memories and her past.  "What's left now is the future," she said to the cat, who regarded her with wide eyes, "And your dinner, of course."

The following day, Sally called her.  "Only two weeks!  I'm going crazy."

"No, you're doing fine.  I think we're right on track.  The flowers are ordered, caterer ready, clothes ready.  Oops another call, just a sec."  Annabeth clicked the hook and said "Hello?"

"Hi, it's Ginger.  Can you come over today and pin up some hems for me?"

Without even a moment's thought, Annabeth replied, "No, sorry I can't.  The cleaner's downtown has a tailor.  Why not take them in there?  I'm awfully busy lately with work and the wedding so I don't think I can do any more hems."

"What!"

"I have Sally on the other line.  Talk to you another time, all right?"

"Okay, bye."

"Sorry, hon it was Ginger wanting hems."

"Dad came by this morning.  I couldn't believe it.  Gave me a bunch of money for the wedding.  Guess his deal came through."

"I'm glad.  Gosh, another call.  Think it's Ginger again?"  Once again Annabeth lowered and raised the switchhook of the phone, "Hello?"

"Annabeth Welner, please."

"Speaking."

"This is Esta Pollock at BK Publishing in New York."

"Hello!"

"We've reviewed your sketches and we love them.  We want to use them in a calendar."

"That's wonderful!"  Annabeth listened carefully as Ms. Pollock explained the terms of the offer, and although it wasn't a huge amount of money, it was fair, and a good beginning.

"I'll send you all the information in the mail.  If they sell well, we could make a better deal next year."

"Yes, that's great.  Thank you so much!"  Annabeth clicked off once again and was back with Sally.  "Guess what!  I just sold a calendar!  I'm going to have a calendar with my sketches in it."

"Mom!  That's fantastic!"

"Yes!  I'm just thrilled.  Now what can I do to help you with the wedding?"

The morning of the wedding, Doug awakened and moved over close to Annabeth as he had every morning since the first night they spent together.  He wrapped his arms tightly around her and kissed her neck.  "Happy Valentine's Day," he said.

Annabeth wriggled tightly against Doug, her back to his front, her hand on his arm as he held her close.  "The wedding!"

"Plenty of time!"  Doug reached under his pillow and retrieved a small velvet box, then handed it to Annabeth, who opened it carefully.

"Oh Doug!  Diamond earrings to match my necklace.  Oh thank you, they're beautiful."  She turned in the bed to face him, then wrapped her arms tightly around him.  "You're wonderful."  After a long hug, she reached inside her nightstand table and handed him a small box.

"A heart shaped key ring, with your keys on it." He smiled and kissed her softly.  "Thank you."

"You already have the key to my heart, so of course you should have the keys to my house."

"I was thinking we'd need to talk about where we're going to live.  I know you love this place, but my house is a lot bigger and there's room for a real studio for you.  And Sally and Jackson could live here."

Annabeth nodded.  "That's a good idea.  Let's plan on it--assuming the kids want to live here."

Annabeth clutched Doug's hand tightly as they drove to the Women's Club.  "You don't have to come in just yet you know.  It's early.  Nobody will be here for a while."

"Oh I'll hang around in case you need me.  Probably something that needs doing."

She smiled.  "Thanks."

Sally was frenzied by the time Annabeth arrived.  "I've forgotten something, I know I have.  The zipper is stuck, isn't it, not all the way up.  My shoes are stained.  Is Jackson here?"

Annabeth laughed, then touched Sally's shoulder to calm her.  "You haven't forgotten anything, the zipper is up and your shoes are clean.  And I saw Jackson downstairs.  Doug is babysitting him right now."

"Oh my gosh.  Daddy won't show up.  Or be drunk.  Then what?  Pops can walk me in.  If I don't trip on the stairs and break my nose."

Annabeth laughed again, spent some more time calming Sally, then went out to check on the caterers.  Everything was being readied in the kitchen and the food would be offered buffet-style on long tables, then guests would be seated informally at any of several large round tables set up around a dance floor in one of the main rooms.  The actual ceremony would be held in the other main room, and white folding chairs had already been set up.  Flowers were arranged perfectly and there was even a fire in the fireplace, lending a nice homey touch.  A small orchestra, which Doug had thoughtfully provided, was setting up for the reception.  And the judge, an old school friend of Hugh's, was already there.  In short, all was perfect.

The guests arrived and soon enough Annabeth was seated in the front of the room, next to Doug.  Although there was no organ, the orchestra did an excellent job.  Laurel walked down the aisle first, then Sally on her father's arm.  Oh, my baby, oh all grown up.  Oh, this life, so short, a baby in your arms and then a bride.  My heart will burst or it will break.  My girls, every moment so wonderful watching them grow and now they're gone but they will never really be gone, always be with me, near me, close by, living their own lives.  How beautiful they are and still so young.  So old and so young. Sally.  My little girl, always playing house, and now a wife.  My baby, soft and sweet for so long but like a moment.  Oh my Sally.

Annabeth dabbed at her eyes, then smiled at Doug who was watching her.  She read the tenderness and love on his face, and squeezed his hand tightly.

"You were as beautiful as a bride could be," she told Sally later as they mingled among the guests.

Sally hugged her mother.  "Oh Mom.  Thanks for everything."

"Thank you.  You and Laurel are my heart and my life."

"Ah, Mom!"  Sally hugged Annabeth, squeezing her tightly.

Hugh walked over then, hugged his new daughter-in-law, and said, "How about a dance with the mother of the bride?"

Annabeth stepped into Hugh's arms and they danced briefly until Maggie, in a pink satin dress, walked over.

"I knew it!" she exclaimed.

Hearing the tone of her voice, Annabeth and Hugh stopped dancing and the three walked toward a more quiet corner of the room.  "Knew what?" they both asked.

"That you would want Hugh back."

"What?" said Annabeth incredulously.

"Want me back?" asked Hugh, "Did I miss something?"

"Hugh was supposed to be your boyfriend and I stole him.  And now that you don't have a husband you want him back."

"Are you crazy?" asked Annabeth, then looking toward Hugh, "Not that you're not…I mean….  Is this what you've been so mad about all this time?"

Hugh looked back and forth between his wife and Annabeth, but said nothing.

Maggie nodded.

Annabeth shook her head.  "Do you know me at all?  We were friends for years, decades, and you don't know me at all.  You think I'd try to steal my best friend's husband?  You take what you want, Maggie, not me."

Maggie blushed, hearing these words.

"And what--you think I'm some object that can be stolen, not a person who chooses?"  Hugh looked at his wife, trying to feign anger, but he actually looked quite flattered at her jealousy and fear of losing him.

"Oh, God I'm sorry.  I don't know what I was thinking.  Will you forgive me?"

Annabeth nodded.  "Yes of course.  Next time why don't you say something instead of seething for half a year."  Amazing.  All this agony over some crazy idea.  Now they could be friends again, but…no it would never be the same…they could be friendly though…yes they could be that.

Maggie laughed and was about to say something when R.J. walked over.

"Dance, Annabeth?"

Not wanting to accept, but knowing she could not refuse Annabeth moved into R.J.'s arms.  Amazingly, she didn't feel anything any more.  No longing.  Not even nostalgia.

"You look beautiful.  As beautiful as Sally."

"Thank you."  R.J. pulled her closer, and Annabeth noticed the sour smell on his breath.  Had he always smelled like this?  She couldn't remember.

"It's over with Linna.  I been such a fool.  I went back there after the divorce, looked around, wondered what am I doin' there.  She's this kid.  You were right.  Mid-life crisis.  I was gonna dump her when she ups and dumps me.  Old boyfriend, little Cody's father, you know."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm gonna make it all up to you.  Gonna make it better than ever.  This can be a good thing, really, needed a kind of a shakeup, something to wake us both up, guess this is it."

Annabeth, stunned by what she was hearing, listened as R.J. talked.  Occasionally she would begin to speak but he never stopped long enough to allow her a comment.

"We had something, right from when we were kids.  Travel, you wanna travel, well I always wanted to travel, you know I did.  Travelin' was always my idea.  And there's money now, plenty of money, well you know all about that."  R.J. chuckled hoarsely, as though her were very clever indeed to jest about something so serious.  "I'm gonna come back tonight, right after the wedding, start makin' it up to you…."

"Stop it R.J., just stop.  We're divorced.  It's over.  You can't make anything up to me.  Why don't you just try to make a few things up to your daughters."

"You can't mean that.  You love me.  Always have."

"I loved you.  I don't any more."  Amazing.  She had loved him, but now it seemed like a lifetime ago.

"You can't just quit lovin' me."  He looked into her eyes imploringly, "We had a lotta good times."

Annabeth returned his gaze briefly, then slipped out of his grasp and walked away, through the crowd of friends and family.  The room was filled with music and laughter, conversation and merriment, the sounds of life being lived and celebrated, the joy of continuity, of family, of new beginnings and young people taking up the threads of life and weaving into the grand fabric their own arabesque.

Annabeth looked all around at the people in her life, people she'd loved so long and so well, and she sighed for all that had passed and for all the future yet to live.  Look at my girls, both so wonderful, such successes.  Being a mother…seeing them…so proud…so wonderful…mothering…success.  And me…less than a year….  Amazing.  Imagine if R.J. hadn't left.  Seemed like a crisis, a cataclysm…really the best thing could have happened to me.  All I did…so few months…my work…work of my own…being independent…something of my own…strong…that I could be so strong…success.   Finding Doug…my own true love…success.  The best time of my life, even with all the pain….  Now…now is the best…very best…better than a dream…more than I ever imagined…more than I could ever have wished for…the best.

She spotted him then, standing straight, and watching her, his eyes a reflection of all the emotions that had been so transparent on her face.  Doug smiled at her, and she saw in his eyes understanding, and recognition. Whatever she might think or feel, he would be there, open, ready to share it all with her.  Hurry, faster, hurry her heart sang, and in an instant she was by his side.  Doug reached for Annabeth's hand and together they walked onto the dance floor.

If you enjoyed this book, consider checking Nancy Frederick's other works, such as Touring the Afterlife.