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A FEW DAYS LATER, MARCY collected the mail and passed on a sealed envelope to Winston. His name was written on the front in calligraphy. He almost dismissed it as junk mail, but then he noticed that the ink didn’t appear computer generated. Someone had actually taken the time to spell out his name in flourishes.
Marcy peered over his shoulder. “What is it? An invitation?”
Winston pulled out a cream card with fancy black script—and also unleashed a cascade of multi-colored confetti. “At least there wasn’t any glitter,” he said.
“Not like you’d clean it up.” She gestured at the cluttered space around them.
He’d been meaning to move all those piles of bills, receipts, and video game cheat manuals. But his sister had taken over the usual storage room.
“So what does it say?” Marcy asked.
Winston peered at the words. They seemed to swim on the paper. Soon enough, he’d need reading glasses. He pulled the paper farther from his eyes. “It’s for a Halloween bash . . . on Magnolia Lane.”
“The street with the neighborhood watch meeting,” Marcy said. “They must have changed their minds.”
Jazzman would be ecstatic. Winston mentally patted himself on the back for changing Bill’s mind. “I think I’ll ask Kristy to go with me,” he said. She’d love to see the pianist again—and maybe spend some extra time together.
“Of course you should ask her, too,” Marcy said while picking up the confetti from the carpet.
“Too?” He narrowed his eyes at her.
She placed her hands on her hips. “I have to go. Heather will be beside herself if your ‘wife’ doesn’t show up.”
Winston groaned. He’d have to clear that business up fast.
“Besides, it’s a masquerade.” She pointed at a line of small print on the invitation.
“But you don’t like costumes.” He remembered that Marcy loathed trick-or-treating as a kid. Well, the dressing-up part anyway. She loved being his “chaperone,” and then taking a huge portion of his candy stash for managing him. Winston had always made a costume from scraps scrounged at home—his parents couldn’t afford and didn’t want to buy one. Once, he’d been Tin Man, using the dented rejects from his mom’s leftovers at the cannery. He’d smashed them flat and painstakingly duct-taped the pieces together.
Marcy tapped a surprisingly unmanicured finger against her bottom lip. “Sometimes it’s nice to change into someone else for a while.”
“But you so love yourself.” Narcissus could be his sister’s middle name.
She glared at him. “Why don’t you call Kristy now?” Marcy slammed the cell phone into his hand.
“I’ll do one better.” Winston pocketed his phone and took out the keys to his Accord.
* * *
KRISTY’S HOUSE, AS always, was pristine when he entered. She had elegant nature prints on her muted ivory walls. Everything appeared neat and tidy, and he smelled a touch of lemon in the air.
“Done looking around? The apartment’s the same as when you last saw it.” Kristy pulled him into a warm hug.
“It’s been too long.” He was about to kiss her on the cheek when a giant gray fluff ball attached itself to his leg. “Hi, Blueberry.” He stroked the chubby cat on the back.
Blueberry bristled. Maybe he was unsatisfied with not being greeted first. “You’re looking good,” Winston said to the feline, and the cat seemed to settle down.
“I’ve been working hard to reduce his hypertension,” Kristy said, and Blueberry purred and preened.
“What brings you around?” She offered him a stool near the breakfast counter.
He sat down and waited for her to move closer to him, but she remained standing. “Um, there’s this dance . . .” What, was he in high school again, asking for a prom date? For the record, no one had said yes. He’d told his parents that prom was overrated, and watched Star Trek reruns the whole night.
Kristy saw the invitation in his hand and took it from him. A few stray pieces of confetti floated down. “Oh, a block party. It’ll be wonderful for you to know your neighbors more.”
He wiped a sweaty palm against his cargo shorts. “Will you go with me?”
“I would love to . . .” Her eyes glanced over to her tidy fridge, which had two items on it. She only kept the most recent postcards and letters from her family there. “When is it exactly?”
“On Halloween.”
She bit her lip. “I think that’ll work.”
“It’s a dress-up event,” he said. “We could go as a dynamic duo. Batman and Robin. Or Hans Solo and Chewbacca.”
She cocked her head at him and wrinkled her nose.
“Or, maybe, Sherlock and Watson.” That got a smile since they’d met during his big case at the Sweet Breeze senior home. But then it faded. Did she still miss her old workplace? Winston continued, “And Jazzman will be there—playing.”
“It’ll be wonderful to see him again,” she said, enthused once more. For a brief moment, Winston was jealous of the old man. Hadn’t the senior once described Kristy as hotsy-totsy? Well, she was Winston’s dame, and he’d let everyone at the party know.