THE MOMENT OF CRISIS

For awhile now, MC Jillian McAvoy has shut herself off from the real world.  Now as she plunges further into her dark interior space, is there hope for reconnecting?  Excerpted from Defining Moments.

I didn’t go to bed that night.  Often I didn’t bother, usually just hung out in my office.  Sometimes I would lie down on the office sofa for awhile with my eyes closed.  This night, I stayed in front of the computer, clicking on various sites.  I must have dozed off, though, because I had the feeling of being abruptly pulled back to my little universe.  Something was very wrong.  I had tried to open my web browser, but nothing had happened.
    

I started toward the desk phone across the room.  I’d purposely placed it on the long library style table that held reference books and various paraphernalia, so it would be hard to reach.  Less distracting.  And when I picked up the receiver and didn’t hear a dial tone, I looked down at the cord.  Had I pulled it from the wall?  But it was there, plugged in.  Something was definitely wrong with the connection of the Internet and the phone.  I had the same provider for both.  
    

I grabbed my cell phone out of my bag nearby, but saw that it, too, was dead.
    

And then, suddenly, as if some other world had taken over mine, the lights blinked out and the computer turned black.  Oh, no!
    

Frantic, I stumbled toward the front door and looked outside, swinging my gaze from house to house, wondering if there was some major power outage.  Or maybe the world was coming to an end.
    

I didn’t see anyone else out and about, and I scarcely noticed that the sky was still dark with dawn.  Nobody else seemed to be around, but I noticed a boy on a bicycle…was he throwing papers?  I called out to him, as if for help, sinking down in the middle of the street.

Enjoying Beautiful Interiors

Martha Scott Cummings is very much in touch with how she must start over.  She isn’t all that happy about it, but the reality is very much a part of each day for her.  Excerpted from Interior Designs.

When I woke up, my thoughts sifted through my mind slowly, like pieces of a dream.  I could feel the sun through the spaces in the blinds, and I gradually saw my surroundings—my pink and white floral Laura Ashley spread, the matching shams, and other assorted pillows—and that normally blissful feeling started to descend.  And then everything stopped.  Something jarred me fully awake, I sat up slowly, and the heavy cloak of despair fell down around my shoulders.  My now-familiar life began to take shape.

When had my world really morphed into this despair that seemed to follow me into every waking moment?  Why did my sleep bring me my only peace these days?

Just as the self-pity threatened to turn my day gray, I jumped out of bed and headed for the shower.  No time for dark thoughts, I reminded myself.  I still had a daughter to care for and a business to run.  Nothing could turn my world completely upside down—just because I’d been abandoned by the man I’d thought would be mine forever….

Stop those thoughts, I told myself, and tried to find something positive in the beautiful surroundings. Usually I found serenity in the carefully constructed world I had designed for myself, just as I did for my clients every day of my life; today would be no different.  My gaze swept the room, noting with satisfaction that everything seemed orderly.  I was one of those housewives—oops, wrong term these days!—who joyfully cleaned and restored order, if only to bring back the original design I had envisioned.  

When things are askew, nothing looks beautiful….Were those my mother’s words?

I laughed, hoping the sound would remind me that my life wasn’t over.  

In the shower, I allowed myself to enjoy the hot pulsating massage of the water, feeling the steam gradually taking away the cloak of despair, while my mind slowly filled up with thoughts of the beauty I could create in the world around me.  

Someone had told me once, a long time ago, that pleasing visual images could do wonders for the mood.

I had barely finished my shower, wrapping myself in the luxurious toweling robe, when ten-year-old Meadow’s voice outside my room brought me back to reality.  “Mommy, where’s my blue sweater?  You knew I wanted to wear it today!”

Was that an accusatory tone in her sweet voice?  When had she turned so shrill?

“It’s in your armoire,” I called out in what I hoped was a cheerful tone.  “Just a minute and I’ll help you look.”

A few moments later, we had uncovered the missing sweater, settled Meadow’s backpack and other school belongings on her shoulder, and descended the stairs together.

Normally I was in the kitchen ahead of her, but lately, my days seemed to force their own mold around me.

My coffee had trickled its last drops into the pot and the aroma guided me toward the room.  Turning on lights, I looked around, as if to mentally review my surroundings, and thus my life.  I loved this room, which had been the center of my world for many years.  Okay, so it had lost some of its luster, but I could change that.  Wasn’t I the Domestic Diva?  I chuckled to myself, my mood almost restored by my rediscovered sense of humor, and briskly put together Meadow’s breakfast.

She turned on the little kitchen TV to watch a show she now loved, something about preteen girls; the familiar sounds of the girls laughing and talking felt like a backdrop to a play that was unfolding around me.

By the time I served up scrambled eggs, toast, and orange juice, Meadow had seated herself, her backpack slung across her chair, and she barely even looked at her plate as she ate.

I took the opportunity to sip my coffee standing up, and gazed out at the beautiful yard, noting the first signs of spring announcing their presence, almost as if they knew I needed something to remind me that life began anew.  

A MAN ON THE EDGE

Sometimes when faced with a crisis of epic proportions, a man must seek alternatives…must somehow satisfy the question of “reasonable doubt.”  Excerpted from Interior Designs.

Zach Lowenstein had always had his secrets.  A secret life, even; one he seldom shared with the women in his “harem,” as he liked to think of them.  His investigator had told him that any one of the women he’d ever “screwed,” both literally and figuratively, could have possibly framed him.  “You know what they say about ‘a woman scorned,’ so let’s put our heads together and come up with some possibilities.”

Jake Lansing had come highly recommended, as an investigator and as a pit bull who hung in there until he caught his “man,” or “woman.”  He sort of blended into the crowd, which made him very effective at following his targeted individuals.  Of medium height, he sported a large belly and bulbous eyes; but otherwise, he was scarcely noticeable in a group.

Today he was meeting Zach in a neighborhood bar, and as they downed their shots and beers, Jake watched his client, as if assessing him.  Yes, he had concluded that Zach had not treated women very well, which was one of the reasons that someone like Sydney had been stalking him.  But there were a large number of other women who could have wanted to kill that woman and frame Zach.  He hadn’t overlooked the possibility that a seemingly inconsequential man had wanted to exact revenge against Zach, as well.  Perhaps a jealous boyfriend.

In one of their first meetings, Jake had jotted down many names, and in the process of checking them out, he had eliminated some and added a few more.

“So what about those two women from the interior design firm?”  Jake’s question punctured Zach’s solemn thoughts.

“I have been wondering about them, but I’ve pretty much ruled out Martha.  She’s too classy…well, maybe I’m being hasty, here, but I didn’t sense any real hostility from her after we stopped seeing each other.  Even though she’d discovered some of my duplicity…”  He sighed, then, almost as if he were regretting some of his actions.

“What about the other one?”

“I saw her the other day, and she was as jumpy as a rabbit about to fall down a hole.  And I had told her about Sydney, but I don’t think I mentioned her by name.  So how would she have known?”

“Good point,” Jake mused.  “But let’s not cross her off the list just yet.  Now…what about the drug connection?  Didn’t you say that Sydney was really into her substances?  And I know that there was another woman from your past who was murdered, rather suspiciously.  That case was never solved.”

“Oh, you must mean Miranda Templeton.  You know, funny thing about that one…Martha knew her, too.  In fact, I think they had a rather intriguing history together.”  His thoughts wandered, then, remembering how that intensely attractive girl had consumed a great deal of his time.  And how the news of her murder had plunged into him like a knife.  It was one of those things you never forgot, especially if you wondered if your own actions had in any way contributed.  He had certainly introduced her to some of the sleazy drug connections.

“Well, we’ll follow all possible leads,” Jake summarized.  “And if you think of anyone or anything else, don’t hesitate to call.”

Zach watched the investigator swagger out of the bar, almost as if he’d just been there for the booze.

He certainly hoped that Jake would find someone they could point to during the trial to raise reasonable doubt.  Otherwise, he might as well kiss the good life good-bye.

MEMORIES

Sometimes Ernestine’s lonely days were filled with memories of the past.  Back when her head was in the clouds and her thoughts were full of romantic wishes.  An excerpt from Defining Moments….

Thinking about romance always catapulted Ernestine back to that time.  And to the moment she had first set her eyes upon Jack Holleran.

They had talked and danced that first evening, and she had fought the feelings he stirred up in her.

She knew she couldn’t compare this handsome young man to her husband.  Her wonderful husband who had actually left before they’d really begun.  If she’d had more time with Winston, she was sure that she wouldn’t have been tempted by Jack.

But she knew that her rationalizations were just that.

When the evening ended, Jack had kissed her. It hadn’t been a lengthy kiss, and in retrospect, she could almost describe it as a kiss between friends.  On the lips, of course.  But still…

She tried not to think about him after that, but when he called a few days later, she’d agreed to meet him for drinks.  And she didn’t take Betsy with her.

So what happened next could only be a betrayal of massive proportions.

Visiting My Gram

As Martha continues her interior journey, her thoughts traipse back to a time in her childhood and the nostalgic moments with her Gram.  Excerpted from Interior Designs.

***

I thought about what my mother said to me during that lunch.  How she had disappointed her mother when she got pregnant as a teenager.  I couldn’t even imagine Grandma Rita as someone who had such expectations of perfection for her daughter.  

Visiting my Grandma Rita was a high point in my life as a kid; even as a teenager, I still loved going into her home and discovering (or rediscovering) the world she had created there.

My grandmother was full of stories, and her home was stuffed with beautiful things that I loved.  We always went in the back door, though, which, now that I thought about it, was kind of strange.  We drove up a curving driveway that kept circling around until we ended up at the back door.  I didn’t even think of the house as having a front door—not for many years, anyway.

We entered through the back porch, with its old-style washer; years later, a dryer would appear.  Beyond the porch stood the kitchen, with its 1940s appliances and one of those booth-like eating areas, all in red and white.  I remember curling up there, while Grandma served me Cream of Wheat, one of my all-time favorites, with cream instead of milk.

When we went into the living room, I always headed straight for that big comfy window seat; next to it, magazine racks contained every imaginable magazine.  Something that had always been missing from my own home, because Marie thought magazines added too much clutter.

My favorites were Ladies’ Home Journal, Good Housekeeping, and those glossy decorating magazines that depicted every possible room arrangement.  Beautifully arranged rooms with furniture I dreamed about.  Someday, I once told myself, I will have rooms just like these.

At night, I curled up on the sleeping porch.  Now that I think about it, the front door opened onto this porch, but I don’t think I’d ever come into the house this way.   

Remembering how I felt at Grandma Rita’s made me want to visit her.  Soon.

When was the last time I’d even called her on the telephone?  I realized that I’d been so self-absorbed, so self-pitying, that I’d cast aside the people and things I loved the most.

I hadn’t even had lunch with any of my friends in recent weeks.  But then again, who were my friends?

There were those people I invited to parties, but they were probably a few categories below friendship.  Acquaintances, actually.  These thoughts only took my mood down another several notches, or degrees, bordering on cold and alone.  

I could definitely change some of what I saw in this landscape that was my life.  Beginning with a nice long visit with Gran, who would serve up tea, maybe even some Cream of Wheat, and bring out her favorite magazines.

In this excerpt from “Interior Designs,” Maeve is contemplating her newly single fate.

After her conversation with Martha, Maeve finished up her home visits for the day and circled back to the office.  Now that she was considering her options, she realized that she’d overlooked one very obvious possibility:  Brody Emerson!

As her thoughts turned in his direction, she wondered why she hadn’t run into him lately.  Had he been avoiding her, since things had been left up in the air between them after their last lunch?

He probably didn’t even know that her marriage had ended.  Would it make a difference?

Almost as if her thoughts had conjured him up, there he stood, at the back door getting ready to sprint toward the parking lot.  “Wow, I was wonderin’ where you’d been lately.  How’re things?”

He halted abruptly and grinned, reminding her again of what she found so appealing about him.  That boyish, yet sexy charm, conveyed by a simple smile.  “I was on vacation for awhile, and then my caseload just got out of hand.  I guess that happens when we go away for awhile.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” she replied, falling into step beside him.  She’d decided not to go up to her office after all.

“Are you finding your groove now?”

She laughed at the expression, but nodded.  “Oh, yeah, but there’s always that one case that niggles at the mind…somethin’ that irks me and reminds me that we’re not really in control here.”

They chatted about work for a few minutes, standing next to her car.  Then, almost as if he were considering something, he stared at her.  Finally he said:  “Do you have to get home right away?  Or would you consider having a drink with me?”

She recalled that Buzz would have the kids all weekend, so she nodded.  Casually.  She hoped that he didn’t think she was overeager.

“Okay, then,” he went on.  “How about that Irish pub by Courthouse Plaza?”

“Sounds good,” she purred, and then thought she should tone things down a bit.

When they were seated in the pub, facing each other, Maeve wondered what they would even have to talk about.  Would their conversations be limited to work stuff?

But before she could feel that familiar awkwardness descending, Brody leaned in and said:  “I heard that you’re getting a divorce.  Is that right?”

She nodded.  “I guess I’ve known it was comin’ for awhile, but I was in denial.  Now, except for the part where I’m tryin’ to find my place in the world of singles, I’m actually glad about it.  Shakin’ off old patterns can be a good thing.”

“I guess that would be difficult,” he mused.  “I came close to marriage once, but it just didn’t work out.  Probably for the best, since I wasn’t sure what I wanted in my career yet.  I think it’s important to be who you want to be before becoming a part of a couple.  Oh,” he added, with consternation furrowing his brown, “I didn’t mean you made a mistake.  That’s just how it is for me.”

She laughed.  “Well, maybe I did.  I’m glad I traveled that particular journey, though, since it’s made me who I am now.  And I love the kids.”

“I’ve thought about having kids someday…after I find the right woman, of course.”

She wondered if he was just saying that, but decided not to analyze it too much.

He sipped his beer, and then when the server came back, glanced over and asked:  “Would you like something to eat?  Or do you have to be somewhere?”

“That sounds good,” she murmured, “and no, the kids are with their dad.  I would enjoy windin’ down after my week, like other single folks do.”

Their conversation seemed to flow easily, then, and by the time she glanced at her watch, she realized that a couple of hours had passed.

He noticed her checking the time, and asked the question she knew she’d been waiting for.  “Would you like to see my place?  I think I could show you some etchings, or something,” he laughed.

“Sure, why not?  I’ll follow you in my car.”

RELEASING SOME SECRETS

Two good friends are curled up in front of a fire, sharing secrets.

Martha is finally releasing some of the secrets of how her marriage fell apart—almost as if she’s blowing them into the great beyond—and as they drink and share, a burden seems to lighten.

From Interior Designs.

“I paid her to break up with him,” I whispered.  “And it worked—for awhile.  She moved out of the love nest, went to Sacramento to stay with her mother, and then moved to San Francisco.  She was staying in a boarding house run by a retired social worker.  Hey, there’s a career for you, Maeve,” I interjected, trying again for amusement.

She didn’t smile, though.  Studying me curiously for a minute, she asked:  “How did you keep such close tabs on her?”

“Oh,” I shrugged.  “A private detective came in real handy.  But then, when they picked up where they left off, I had to go for broke.  When he bought the beach house in Santa Cruz,” I added, my bitterness showing.

“Wow!”  Maeve leaned in conspiratorially.  “Are you sure this really happened, or is it one of those Lifetime movies?  I think I saw that one!”

Chuckling, and grateful for Maeve’s humor, I continued:  “Oh, it was real, all right.  I even went there and saw for myself.  Did a little reconnaissance at this little bar where she worked, on and off.  A bar with the real interesting moniker Anchors Aweigh.  It was a dive, of course.”  I thought about my visit there, and about the hunky guy who was the bartender.  “You know, Maeve, by then Amber was pregnant again.  You did know she already had a kid, didn’t you?  Did I tell you that?”

Again, Maeve was shaking her head, her eyes widening.  “Not Hal’s?”

“No, she was already pregnant when they met.  Imagine being dumped for a fat pregnant chick.”  I laughed really hard this time, rolling a bit on the floor.

Maeve stared at me, as if worried that I was losing my marbles.

“So…the second one was his?”

“No, that’s the best part,” I giggled.  “She didn’t know that he’d had a vasectomy—woo-hoo, imagine her surprise!—but I think she was hoping he would think it was his baby.  I didn’t know about the vasectomy for a long time, either.”  My dark expression was back.  “Want to know how I found out?”

When I’d finished telling the tale of how I’d discovered this tidbit, Maeve yawned slightly.

“Am I boring you?”  I felt hurt, suddenly.

“Oh, no!  I’ve just had way too much to drink.  But I don’t want to go to bed yet.  This is really getting exciting.  It’s better than a movie of the week.”

I noticed that she had forgotten to use her Texas accent.  Maybe she lost it when she drank.

“Okay, then,” I continued, as if I had turned another page, or started a new chapter.  “The drama continues.  I threatened her when I saw her at the beach house.  I knew, by then, that Hal had put the house in her name, but I tried to appeal to her sense of what was right…and just sign it back to him.  Or to me.”  I laughed harshly.  “Boy did I ever miscalculate.  She wasn’t even slightly moved by what I said.  I guess she’d accepted that she and Hal were over…he’d told her about his vasectomy by then.  She was hugely pregnant, and not looking too well.”  I sat there silently for a moment.  “I’m kind of ashamed of everything I did to break them up.  Especially since they never stayed apart very long.  But the worst of it was what happened to Miranda Templeton.”

“Miranda who?”  Maeve seemed alert by now.

“She was a friend of Amber’s, the one who’d sent the e-mails.  We’d met a couple of times, to discuss information she could give me—for money.”  My face turned grim as I remembered.

“Some friend,” Maeve observed.  “I guess she and Amber had a fallin’ out, too, then.  Gives new meaning to the term ‘keep your enemies close.’  So what happened with Miranda?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to go there,” I sighed.

“Well, maybe we should take a break, watch a movie, or I could even tell you some of my secrets….”

I perked up right away.  Oh, I would be so happy to shift myself off the hot seat for awhile.  A breather would be a good thing.  “Yes, that’s a great idea.”

So we settled in for more chatting.

Today I am exploring one of the characters in my WIP Interior Designs.

Who is Maeve Kinkaid?

In the novel, she is a best friend (or sidekick) to Martha (MC).  The two have been BFFs since early days in the Catholic School they attended.

Martha likes to think of Maeve as the feisty, courageous, and adventurous one of the two of them.  Where Martha is concerned about how she appears to others and doesn’t want to be ruffle any feathers, Maeve is just as happy to stir things up a bit.

As students, the two of them often ended up in the principal’s office, but for pranks that Maeve instigated.

Maeve’s red hair and green eyes, along with her Texas drawl, add up to a fun-loving person who would give an arm and a leg to support those she cares about, however.  As the mother of three, she has been married for several years to her high school sweetheart.  Nowadays, though, Maeve thinks ruefully of her husband Buzz as an overgrown “frat boy.”  His charms are wearing thin.

In this excerpt, Martha and Maeve begin sharing secrets.

***

While the flames leaped and crackled, settling into a dramatic backdrop for the occasion, I glanced at Maeve, suddenly shy.  “Where should we start?”

“Why don’t you?  You look as if you’re positively burstin’ with somethin’ you want to get out.  I’m afraid that you’ll split a seam.”  She laughed, just to lighten things up.

Why was I having so much trouble getting the words out?  I began.  “What have I told you about what happened between Hal and me?”

“Not much, sugar.  You’re one of those close-to-the-vest people, the direct opposite of me, I guess.  I do know just the general stuff:  that he cheated on you.  You did mention that.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of an understatement, though.  That makes it sound like an ‘oops, I made a mistake’ kind of moment.  It was more of a big departure, with him pretty much carrying on with her endlessly for a couple of years before he finally left.”

Maeve nodded, as if nothing shocked her.

I continued.  “I first found out about it when I got this mysterious e-mail.”  I described how cryptic it had been, leaving clues; how I’d checked it out finally, after initially rejecting the idea.  “Then, finally, I saw it for myself.  His mistress, all cozy in their love nest, while I was just being the domestic diva at home.  Something snapped in me, I guess.”  I couldn’t keep the somber look off my face.  “I don’t even want to have to tell you some of the things I did next.”

“Well, obviously you didn’t murder her…she’s alive and well and the new Mrs. Cummings,” she said drily.

Oh, I loved how Maeve could turn something so horrific into a comic event.  I laughed with relief, and then sipped another drink.  How many had I had by now?  We’d finished the bottle of wine; started on some martinis, which Maeve was brilliant at making; and now we were having dessert wine.  Yes, I was definitely feeling no pain—which was a good place to be for this story.

A young woman tries to figure out whether or not the man of her dreams is dreamy or more of a nightmare, in this excerpt from Interior Designs.

Caroline had nodded off on the sofa before the show had even ended.  But the phone ringing next to her ears jolted her awake.  Bleary-eyed and feeling cranky, she glanced first at the clock, noticing it was late.  Midnight.  So who would be calling and why?  Nothing good, she decided, but grabbed the phone, just to stop that incessant trilling sound.

“Hello,” she said softly, hoping that maybe it would be a wrong number.

“Hey, beautiful,” a husky, somewhat familiar voice seemed to encircle her with its sexiness.

“Wow, it’s kind of late, don’t you think?”  And then she wished almost immediately that she could retract the words.  How uncool was she?  He would think she was definitely not hip or slick enough for late night partying.

“Sorry,” he laughed.  He sounded very strange.

Uh-oh, Zach was definitely drunk.

“What are you up to?”  She tried for a lighter tone.

“Hoping you’ll let me come over with some champagne.  I just closed a really big deal and feel like celebrating.”

“Sounds like you’ve already celebrated a bit.”  Now she really sounded like someone’s school marm sister, or possibly even someone’s mother.  Eww.

But he seemingly hadn’t picked up on any of the undercurrents rippling through this conversation and started begging.  “Please!  I’ll make it worth your while.”

Glancing down at herself, Caroline realized that she was wearing her old sweats, her hair was in a high ponytail, and she had absolutely no makeup on; however, she was really good at pulling herself together.  “Where are you?  I mean, how long would it take to get here?”  She was calculating how much time she would have to perform the magic, transforming herself into someone at least semi-attractive.

“Uh, I’m over at that pub near the university.  About fifteen minutes away, I guess….”

Well, that was better than nothing.  “Okay, but drive slowly and carefully.  You don’t want a DUI,” she warned.

As soon as they hung up, she sped up the stairs to her bathroom, quickly changing into jeans, an attractive top, and then attacked her hair and makeup.  In ten minutes, she glanced in the mirror and studied herself carefully.  Yes, she guessed she would pass inspection.  Then she picked up the discarded clothes and tossed them into the closet, closing the doors discreetly.

Downstairs, she quickly straightened the living room, removing all traces of the dinner she’d eaten at the coffee table.  In the kitchen, she studied the contents of her fridge.  Okay, she was good.

The doorbell rang, and she sauntered casually toward it.  Pausing for just a second, she glanced in the hall tree mirror, fluffed her hair again, and threw the door wide.  “Hi,” she purred, gesturing for him to enter.

He grabbed her, then, picking her up and swinging her around.  Then, when he deposited her again, she noticed the champagne bottle under his arm.  True to his word, he’d brought celebratory liquid with him.  But he was definitely in a place she’d never seen before.  He was way past drunk.  She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it, or what would happen next, but it was a definite improvement over the evening up until now.

Releasing those deep dark secrets....

In the aftermath of spilling some big secrets, Martha contemplates how the disclosures might affect her friendship with Maeve.  Excerpted from Interior Designs.

Now as I faced Maeve, after spilling everything and with tears streaming down my face, I watched for her look of friendship and compassion to turn into disgust.  Would this confession of mine cost me the only real friend I had?  But she just shook her head, leaned in to hug me, and held me tight for a few minutes before speaking.  “Marty, you didn’t cause Miranda’s death.  In fact, you don’t even know if it had anything at all to do with what you uncovered.  She was a druggie, wasn’t she?  She probably crossed some dealer along the way.  It’s not uncommon.  She was probably in Chinatown to make a drug deal.  Come on, Marty, you can’t hold yourself responsible for everything bad that happens.  Just because you were desperate to save your marriage,” she added.

I thought about what she’d said long after we moved on to other conversations.

And now, waking up on Sunday morning with gritty eyelids, I faced the memories of what had transpired, and just before I started to feel the usual regret, I recalled Maeve’s reassurances and felt good.  For the first time in a long while.

Sliding out of my bed, I hastened into the bathroom, and after washing my face and brushing my teeth, I padded down the hallway.  Maeve was in the guest room, and as I knocked lightly, I could hear her stirring around.  “Good mornin’,” she called out in a very cheerful voice.

I pushed the door open and watched her brush her hair out.  Then she turned with a bright smile and said:  “What’s on the agenda for today?”  When I gestured for her to follow me, she set down her brush and eagerly moved toward the door.

With an excitement that I had only ever felt when in the company of my best friend, I almost skipped downstairs to the ready coffee pot and poured the aromatic liquid into my favorite mugs.  Maeve grabbed one, seated herself at one of the barstools, and then slowly sipped, murmuring her pleasure.  I sat on the stool next to her.

Then we both glanced at each other and said, at almost the same time:  “The Sunday paper is here!”

A ritual we both had loved over the years.  As we grabbed it, we took up residence at the kitchen table, where we spread it out around us.  We both loved the lifestyle section, but I offered it to her first, and started on the real estate ads.

“You’re not lookin’ to move, are you?” She studied the listings over my shoulder.  “Maybe I should sell my house,” she went on.

“That might be premature,” I reminded her. “You and Buzz will probably get back together.  It’s not as if he has another woman.”

Then we both stared at one another, our eyes widening.  “No,” we said together.  I knew we were thinking about Buzz’s sexual issues.

Maeve looked somber suddenly.  As if she could read my thoughts.  And then spoke:  “Maybe he only had sexual problems with me.  And maybe it was because he does have another woman.”

“Okay, let’s not even go there,” I soothed. “Like we said before, it’s because he’s been drinking too much.  We have enough real problems without manufacturing any.”

We laughed and pushed the real estate ads aside.

“Look at these new books comin’ out,” Maeve declared.

“Yeah, we’re both going to be staying home with our books from now on,” I predicted.

“It could be worse, you know.  We could be poor and destitute, with no friends.  Maybe we could even be jobless and have to live in a dingy apartment somewhere.  Imagine that,” she laughed.

Somehow we knew just how to cheer ourselves up.  And I had decided that later on today, after Maeve went home, which she would have to do eventually, I would visit Gran.