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In spite of the gray skies threatening rain, it was a happier Erica who traipsed down the stairs late Monday morning. She found Aunt Constance in the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee to go with a generous piece of cake on her plate. Her mood seemed matched the weather.
“You came in late enough last night,” she grumbled.
“Around eleven.” Erica took the container of orange juice from the refrigerator. She forced herself to speak calmly. “You’re going to have to stop sitting up for me. I’m almost twenty-five.”
“And a widow already,” Constance said gloomily. “We never even got to meet Terry. Or his family.”
A good thing, too, Erica mused as she drank her orange juice, then busied herself with toasting an English muffin. She regained her equilibrium. Once again, she could think clearly and logically.
A residue of sadness remained, but in the deepest recesses of her heart, she wondered if she wasn’t relieved that Terry was gone. Not glad that he was dead, of course, but that he was no longer part of her ongoing life. In spite of what she’d told Doug, Terry’s past mattered. His lifestyle was so different from hers, she doubted she could have stayed with him, regardless of the love they’d had for each other. He’d put her in danger, and lied. She could only imagine what other criminal activities he'd been into. The gambling was bad enough.
Reflecting back on their whirlwind courtship, she remembered how Terry had brought up the subject of marriage only days after they’d met.
“Let’s do it, babe,” he’d murmured as he nuzzled her neck, making her dizzy with desire. “Let’s make it legal.”
She’d bolted upright on her old sofa. “You mean, get married?” she asked, both stunned and flattered.
“Of course, get married,” Terry said, grinning. “When two people feel the way we do, they want to keep it forever.”
Now she wondered why he’d been so keen on getting married, given his chaotic life, the frequent gambling trips. And her? Blood rushed to her face, recalling how needy she’d been when Terry had entered her life. In retrospect, he was the type most girls would have an affair with, not marry.
“Did you discuss your husband’s business last night?”
“Hmm?” Lost in her thoughts, Erica had missed part of her aunt’s words.
“Did the fellow you saw last night help you put Terry’s business affairs in order?”
“Er...yes. He gave me information I absolutely needed.” The last part, at least, was true, although so far, she’d avoided considering the implications of Doug’s warning.
Constance took a forkful of her cake. “Call Sherman if you need any advice. He’s been wonderful to Betty and me, helping us with legal and business advice, and not charging us a cent.” She sighed deeply. “I can tell you now, keeping up this house all these years hasn’t been easy.”
“I’m sure,” Erica mumbled absentmindedly. She was not in the mood to discuss money matters.
Neither was Aunt Constance, it seemed. She finally got back to what was really on her mind. “And I don’t mind telling you, I was restless all evening while you were out with a perfect stranger, God knows where.”
Erica bit back the retort she was about to let fly. It was a waste of energy to lash out at her aunts each time they aired their thoughts.
Constance went on. “You’re an heiress. A woman of substance. You can’t just run off, helter skelter, with some man who claims he knew your husband.”
“I know him, Aunt Constance,” Erica said, an edge to her voice.
But Constance was gazing ruefully at her now empty plate. “I shouldn’t have eaten that. Dr. Harris wants me to watch my weight and my cholesterol.” Before Erica could comment, she changed subjects again. “You’ll soon be rich and important, and don’t you forget it.”
She laughed. “Important? Come on, Aunt Constance. I’m still the same old Erica.”
“Same old Erica, eh?” Constance echoed her words. Then she brightened, a smile softening her broad, creased face. “Would you do me a favor?”
“What is it?” She was leery. Aunt Constance was capable of the most outlandish requests.
“I have a doctor’s appointment in the city on Wednesday. Just a routine examination. Monica Hartley offered to take me in, but to tell you the truth, she drives like a maniac. And I hate to ask Betty to take off from school again.”
Her mouth pursed in unspoken anger, but Erica was too disturbed by her aunt’s request to notice. A thousand times, a million perhaps, Erica had wished her aunt would vanish into thin air. But not now. Life wouldn’t be the same without booming, bossy Constance. Her aunt might drive her mad, but Erica couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.
“What’s wrong, Aunt Constance? Is it your heart?”
Aunt Constance patted the spot above her ample bosom. “My heart’s about the same it’s always been. I told you,” she said, sounding impatient, “it’s a routine visit, nothing more.”
Erica knew she’d get no more information from her. “I’d love to drive you in,” she offered. “It would be my pleasure.”
“You mean that?” Constance seemed surprised, then bestowed a glowing smile on her niece. “I didn’t want to bother you, with Terry’s death and all, but I’d rather go with you.” Her voice faltered. “I’ve been noticing something lately I want to discuss with you. Never mind, we’ll talk about it on the drive into the city.”
Erica caught the determined look in her aunt’s eye and kept her curiosity to herself. “A trip to Manhattan would do me good. I haven’t been there in years.” She sipped the last of her coffee, then stood and started clearing the table.
“Leave everything,” Constance ordered. “I’ll take care of it. Go and enjoy yourself.”
Erica kissed her and went upstairs to get dressed—torn, as usual, between feeling affection and exasperation for her aunt.
Around noon, the rest of Erica’s clothes arrived. She was touched by Mrs. Bressler’s immediate response to Aunt Betty’s call. Mrs. Bressler had included a sympathy note and a request that Erica stay in touch. Erica reached for her checkbook to reimburse her former landlady, then stopped. Mrs. Bressler would be hurt if she sent her money. Instead, Erica wrote her a note thanking her for all her kindness, and made a mental note to send her a gift later on in the week.
She laid out her clothes on the bed and grimaced. Dull, dull, dull. Everything—blouses, skirts, pants, and sweaters—were shapeless and lacking in style. She’d never realized what a penchant she had for drab colors that did nothing for her. Aunt Betty was right. A woman’s wardrobe was a reflection of who she was and deserved considerable attention.
“It’s time for a change,” she declared aloud. “I need sexy, stylish clothing in colors with pizzazz.”
She spun herself around until she fell, dizzy and laughing, onto her bed. “And I refuse to think about anything unpleasant for the rest of the day.”
She decided to spend the afternoon in town, shopping in the new boutiques on Main Street. They would have just the kind of clothes she was looking for. Hopefully, she’d find something for tonight when she went out for dinner with Jason. She didn’t want to wear the flowered dress she’d worn last night with Doug.
Doug. While she enjoyed basking in the rosy segments of their brief time together, now she pushed him quite deliberately from her thoughts. Doug was a gangster. The strong-arm man of his mysterious Mr. B. Sure, he was handsome and easy to talk to, but his life was the underworld—crime, extortion, and worse. Hadn't she learned her lesson?
She shuddered to imagine what evil deeds Doug might have committed, but they weren’t her concern. She and Doug had no connection. Dinner last night had been an act of kindness on his part. She sighed as she drove through the development. Most likely, she’d never see Doug Remsen again.
The few blocks that made up the little town were bustling with traffic and pedestrians. Every parking spot on the street was taken. Business must be booming in Manordale, she thought as she turned into the municipal lot a few blocks from a boutique called Lulu’s. The skies, which had been threatening rain all day, now opened up. Drops fell on her face. She wished she’d thought to bring along an umbrella. Or had worn her raincoat as Aunt Constance had called after her to do. But since when did she listen to her aunt, no matter how practical her suggestions might be?
In spite of the shower, she enjoyed strolling down Main Street, delighting in the red, white, and yellow tulips blooming around the curbside trees. And the shops themselves seemed to have been given a recent facelift. Some municipal committee or bigwig was certainly making an effort to beautify the town.
She crossed the street and glanced at the three-story building that housed Sherman’s office. Thank goodness she didn’t have to go there today. But she’d call tomorrow and make an appointment to see him very soon. It was time she became knowledgeable about her holdings and investments.
When she was a block from Lulu’s, she found herself in front of a beauty salon. She stopped and fingered the ends of her hair, which now reached down the back of her neck. She definitely needed a cut.
On impulse, she stepped inside. A small, slender man wearing jeans, cowboy boots, and a wildly colorful shirt was snipping away at a customer’s hair. When he saw her, he put down the shears, and went to stand behind the counter.
“Howdy, miss. I’m Jack, the owner of this here spread,” he said, grinning broadly. “How can I help you?”
“I need a haircut.”
He eyed her professionally. “Indeed, you do.”
Jack explained that his receptionist and another operator were out sick, but he would be downright happy to style her hair if she could wait just a tick, as he had to run to the bank as soon as he finished with this customer.
She agreed to wait. She leafed through a magazine, stared at the stark-white stucco walls, and wished she could throw something at the stereo system blasting hard rock music into her ears.
I must call Aunt Constance, she suddenly remembered, and tell her I won't be having dinner at home. She reached inside her pocketbook for her phone.
“Where are you, in some bar?” Aunt Constance demanded the minute she heard Erica’s voice.
“Of course not. I’m waiting to have my hair cut.”
“That’s nice,” Aunt Constance said before Erica could explain why she was calling. “I just got off the phone with Jason. He’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Too bad,” Erica said. “I was hoping he’d forgotten.”
“Erica!” Aunt Constance sounded shocked. “He’s your good friend.”
“Of course, he is,” she said contritely. “It’s just...oh, never mind.” If she said she wasn’t in the mood to go out for dinner so soon after Terry’s death, her aunt would only remind her that she’d been out the night before. “’Bye. I’ll be home around five.”
She sat down again, not fully understanding why she was now reluctant to see Jason that evening. Ever since Terry’s death, he’d been thoughtful and understanding. Still, something bothered her, something she couldn’t put into words or explain, even to herself.
Ten minutes later, Jack left for the bank, promising to be back pronto. Time passed slowly. She was about to leave when he returned, apologizing profusely.
The results were well worth the wait. Jack was a genius. His styling gave Erica a knowing, gamin look. Each hair fell perfectly into place. She smiled at herself in the mirror and cheerfully paid the exorbitant bill.
Outside on the street, she found herself looking in store windows to catch a glance of her new look. She startled when someone called her name.
"Hello," she said to the tall, balding man who appeared to be her aunts' age. Was he a neighbor? He looked somewhat familiar, but she didn't know from where.
The man laughed. "You don't recognize me. Ron Jennings. I'm the principal of the school where your Aunt Betty teaches."
"Of course. Nice to see you, Mr. Jennings," she said, wondering how he recognized her after all these years.
"I heard you were back in town."
Aunt Betty must have mentioned it. "Just for a visit."
"I was sorry to hear about your husband's accident. My condolences."
"Thank you." She turned to continue on her way. She didn't want talk about Terry.
Mr. Jennings got her message. "It was lovely running into you, Erica. Be well."
Shopping in Lulu’s proved to be the perfect diversion she’d needed. The boutique was larger than she’d first realized, and carried everything from shorts to gowns. The ideal place to start her new wardrobe.
She darted from rack to rack, halting whenever an item caught her eye. With a pang, she realized she hadn’t enjoyed shopping since her mother’s death. After that, buying clothes with Aunt Betty had turned into a chore. Now she felt the excitement she used to when she’d accompany her mother on one of her rare shopping binges.
The thin, gray-haired woman in the shop, who introduced herself as Martha, met Erica’s eagerness with an indulgent smile. “Shall with start with clothes for work?” she asked. “Do you wear suits or less formal attire?”
This inspired a burst of laughter from Erica. “I'm in between jobs,” she explained so that Martha wouldn’t think she was laughing at her. “In between lifestyles, you might say.”
“In that case, let’s look at sportswear,” was the suggestion.
Erica nodded. It seemed as good a place as any to start. She dove into the experience and lost all sense of time, trying on everything that appealed to her, no matter how outlandish, how faddish, how expensive. Martha proved to be an experienced lady-in-waiting, making gentle suggestions of what went well together, what suited Erica best. Best of all, she carried away Erica’s rejects without a comment.
Finally, she decided on three pairs of capris, a jeans jacket, several tunics and tops, a colorful peasant skirt, a bathing suit, and two shorts outfits.
“It’s five-thirty,” she overheard Martha telling another saleswoman when asked the time.
Erica gave a start. It was later than she’d imagined. If she hoped to find something to wear this evening, she’d better concentrate on that and fast.
She picked out a long navy dress with large chartreuse flowers and a khaki pants outfit. Back in the dressing room, she thought about the evening that lay before her and grimaced. How could she have forgotten? Dinner with Jason meant eating a hamburger in some diner while he whined about his unhappy life or—to be fair—commiserated with her about Terry’s death.
The point was, she didn’t want to spend the evening with Jason. She was going out of a sense of duty. Was that what her life was to be about from now on, duty and obligations? Seeing people she had no desire to see so as not to hurt their feelings, wound their pride? Her life was reverting to how things had been when she’d left Manordale three years ago. It was why she’d left Manordale, and here she was again.
Her good mood plummeted to something close to despair. Automatically, she tried on the dress. She took no joy in seeing that it fit perfectly, and put on the khaki outfit. She was about to slip out of it when Martha peered in.
“How lovely! It suits you, my dear. It will go perfectly with the khaki and yellow silk blouse you chose earlier.”
“I suppose,” Erica said dully.
“If you prefer something more cheerful, try on the navy dress.”
“I did.”
The saleswoman frowned, clearly puzzled by the change in Erica’s demeanor. “If you’re undecided, why don’t you come back tomorrow? We’re closing now anyway.”
“No, I’ll take this.” She fingered the lapel of the jacket she had on. One outfit was as good as another.
She used her credit card to pay for her purchases, and was shocked at the cost. She had spent more money that afternoon than she usually did in a month. Forget it, she chided herself. Money is no longer a concern. But she grew restless when she noticed the time. It was past six o’clock.
The sky was dark with clouds, although the rain had stopped, leaving the sidewalk wet and riddled with puddles. Main Street bustled with activity as working people and late shoppers headed for home. Cars, their headlights gleaming, filled the streets.
She heaved her heavy shopping bags, one in each hand, and hurried off in the direction of her car. As she approached the corner of Main and Second, the light turned red. Damn! Just her luck.
What a time to be running late! She’d barely have enough time to shower and dress. And Aunt Betty was sure to insist on scrutinizing every item of clothing that she’d bought.
Erica teetered on the edge of the curb. Six or seven people joined her in her wait to cross the street. She tapped her foot impatiently at the Second Street traffic zipping by. She sighed. Such a long light.
A hand pressed hard against her back. Or was it two? All she knew was that, one minute, she was waiting restlessly to cross, and the next, she was sprawled in the street, dreading the oncoming car that would hit her any second. Foolishly, she noticed one package had landed safely beside a tree at the curb.
Angry brakes skidded to a stop, the car only inches from her face. Her face. She shuddered to think what might have happened as strong arms lifted her from where she lay. Her knees were so weak, she couldn’t stand alone. Her glasses had miraculously remained unbroken.
“Is she all right?” different voices asked.
“Are you all right?” the kindly man attached to the arms holding her asked.
“I think so.” It took great effort to get the words out. Her heart was still pounding, her knees and palms sore and scraped. Her right cheek was bleeding.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” The driver strode over to where Erica stood, supported by her rescuer on one side, a middle-aged woman on the other. “In a real big hurry or are you all tanked up?”
“Are you crazy?” she managed to sputter in indignation. “I’m not drunk. I was waiting for the light to change. Somebody pushed me.”
She looked around. A small crowd was milling about. Someone had been thoughtful enough to retrieve her packages for her.
“Nobody pushed you, dearie,” a shocked woman’s voice came from behind. “What a terrible thing to say.”
“I was standing next to her,” Erica’s rescuer told the driver. “She must have slipped off the edge of the curb.”
“That’s right,” the woman still holding Erica’s arm agreed. “It’s very slippery from the rain. And she was standing at the very edge. It was an accident.”
The word “accident” echoed through the crowd.
Erica was growing sick of that word. Lately, there were too damn many accidents in her life. She was grateful when people started moving on. In their preoccupation with averted catastrophe, they seemed to have forgotten her. Horns blared, urging the car that had almost hit Erica to move.
Mollified, the driver patted Erica’s arm and returned to his vehicle.
Only the man who had saved her hovered close by. “Can you make it home or would you like me to drive you?”
Erica was touched by his kindness, but she wanted to put the whole incident behind her. “I’m all right. My car’s in the municipal lot.” She pointed.
“I’ll walk you there.”
She demurred, claiming it wasn’t necessary, that he’d done enough, but he ignored her protestations. She was grateful that he had. She discovered she was still shaky. She drove home slowly and cautiously, wondering what would befall her next.
Should she call the police? Did someone push her? Now she wasn’t sure. After all, people had been crowding around her. She could have been shoved by accident.
Accident. There was that word again. The word she was growing to detest.
***
“YOU LOOK ABSOLUTELY stunning tonight,” Jason told her, grinning across the restaurant table. “And your hair is terribly chic.”
“New haircut, new dress,” was Erica’s flippant answer. She forced herself to smile.
She was tired, drained by her ordeal, and aching from her fall. At the moment, she regretted she hadn’t listened to Aunt Constance and called the evening off. But since she’d made light of the incident, claiming she’d merely slipped and scraped her face, she didn’t want to spend the evening at home, forced to suffer her aunts’ ministrations. Her only concession to her jangled nerves had been to call Jason and ask him to come for her at eight instead of seven.
To get her mind off herself, she glanced around the exquisitely decorated Indian restaurant. She took in the painted tapestries and intricate wooden screens, let herself be soothed by the soft sitar music playing in the background.
“A new Erica,” he said appreciatively. “I don’t remember you ever looking this lovely.” He had commented earlier on her bruised cheek, and had accepted her explanation of how she had fallen.
“Thank you, but stop that, Jason,” she lightly reprimanded him to hide her discomfort. “It’s me, remember? You’ve never noticed how I looked all these years, and I much prefer it that way.”
“I should have paid more attention. Now I know what I’ve been missing.”
She frowned. Why was he acting this way? True, her hair looked better than it ever had, and her new clothes gave her a stylish, up-to-the-minute kind of elegance. Yet, Jason was her childhood friend, not some date coming on to her.
In fact, if anyone’s appearance was startling this evening, it was his. He had shaven off his beard, and was wearing brown slacks with a subdued print shirt under a well-cut, beige sports jacket. She was surprised he owned a sports jacket. It was the first time she’d ever seen him in something other than jeans.
She said nothing, and was glad their waiter was serving their samosas. The truth was, ever since they’d returned to Manordale, Jason had been acting as attentive as a—as a beau. She laughed out loud as the old-fashioned word crossed her mind.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, always sensitive to ridicule. “Can’t an old friend see you in a different light?”
“I suppose,” she answered cautiously. Then, to change the subject, she asked, “How long are you planning to stay in Manordale? It must be pretty dull for a vagabond like you.”
He smiled. “I’m thinking of staying. Settling down and getting a decent job.”
“Really?” She made no attempt to hide her astonishment. “I thought you considered Manordale the most boring spot on earth.”
He laughed, embarrassed. “I’m starting to look at things differently, Erica. Manordale’s as good a place as any. It’s forty minutes from Manhattan and, hell, why not put Dad’s connections to work and come up with a cushy job?”
“And live with him and Monica?” she asked, incredulous, remembering the history of bad feelings between Jason and Sherman. And would he have the nerve to stay in Monica’s house after all the scathing things he’d said about her, sometimes to her face? But that was Jason all over. Anything that made life easier was the way to go.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he replied indignantly. “I plan to get my own place soon enough. Maybe one of those apartments they’re putting up near the mall. But Dad and Monica are all right. In fact, they’ve been pretty damn nice to me lately.”
She gave him a scornful look. “Going respectable, are you? It sounds like you’re doing everything you swore you’d never do, or don’t you remember?”
“Well, we all have to grow up some time.” He reached over to cover her hand with his.
She delicately pulled her hand away, ignored his meaningful smile, and concentrated on her food.
Her discomfort grew as the dinner progressed. He was acting out of character. Tonight, he seemed to be adopting his father’s unctuous manner. He appeared intent on impressing her as a man might impress the woman he adored.
But why, she wondered again? In all the years she had known him, Jason had never found her especially attractive. He had never gone for petite blonde girls who wore glasses. He preferred them tall and buxom, with long, flowing brunette hair. So, why this sudden turnabout? Why was he turning this dinner into a date?
He asked her question after question. What did she plan to do after she received her money? Where would she live? Did she think she’d be receptive to another relationship soon?
During the main course of curried chicken and vegetables, and later over coffee, Erica hedged each question. She had no idea how she’d be spending the rest of her life or how she felt about getting involved with another man, but she certainly didn’t want to share her bewilderment with Jason. They soon ran out of things to talk about. She sighed with relief when he finally asked for the check.
“How about a ride down to the beach?” he suggested as they walked toward his car. The wind was blowing, and she shivered inside her trench coat.
“In this weather? It’s too cold.” All she could think of was getting home and going to sleep.
“It’s only fifteen minutes from here. We could just drive by and see if it’s changed since we were kids.” He started up the motor.
“I’m sure it hasn’t. Look, Jason,” she began, choosing her words carefully, “I’d rather go straight home, if you don’t mind. It’s only been a few days since Terry’s funeral and—”
“Sure,” was his quick retort. “But it was perfectly all right for you to run out to dinner last night with your new boyfriend.”
How do you know? she felt like screaming. And what business is it of yours? But she forced herself to remain silent. It hadn’t been a date. She wasn’t up to a quarrel, and it was just possible Jason was truly concerned about her welfare. He did have her best interests at heart when they were younger. And as for last night, maybe one of her aunts might have mentioned it to him when he’d called.
The silence in the car was as thick as Hollandaise sauce. She knew he was sulking. He always sulked when he didn’t get what he wanted, which was why she used to let him win at games when they were little, do almost anything to put him in a better mood. They were older now, she told herself. She wasn’t going to let him get his way by sulking any longer.
Still, as they turned into her development, she found herself responding to old patterns.
“I’m sorry, Jason. Terry died less than a week ago and I’m still not myself. We can go to the beach some other time.”
“Forget it, Erica. I shouldn’t have insisted,” he said magnanimously now that she’d apologized. His face lost its clenched hardness and she knew he was finished brooding. He went on, excitement in his voice. “We’ll go out on my father’s new boat just as soon as it gets warm enough. You’ll love it, Erica! I just know you will.”
He parked in front of her house.
She hardly noticed the car pulling out of the driveway, the familiar figure entering the house. She was too busy shuddering at the image of being trapped aboard a boat with the three Hartleys. Of Sherman running the boat aground as Monica pranced around in too-tight shorts offering drinks.
“I didn’t know your father had a—”
Jason’s arms wrapped around her. His lips pressed against her mouth. Despite her shock and outrage, it registered somewhere in her brain that his kiss was devoid of any passion. She jabbed her elbows and shoved him away.
“Jason! What the hell are you doing?”
“Sorry, Erica, I got carried away.” But his lips belied his words. They were curled in a triumphant smile.
“Keep away from me!” she shouted, slamming the door behind her. She raced up the walk, searching furiously in her pocketbook for her key.
She found it just as Aunt Betty opened the door. “Have a good time, dear?”
She sounded breathless. She still wore her leather jacket.
“Not especially,” Erica grumbled, wondering where Aunt Betty had been. And with whom.
Aunt Constance came into the hall in time to hear their exchange. “That’s too bad,” she boomed. She stared pointedly at Aunt Betty. “But you had the time of your life, didn’t you, Elizabeth?”
To Erica’s amazement, her birdlike aunt became as flustered as a child caught in a lie. “I...I,” she sputtered, then hurried upstairs to her room.
Aunt Constance placed a hand on Erica’s shoulder, who was just as eager as Aunt Betty to reach the privacy of her own bedroom. “Monica was just telling me today that Jason’s finally settling down,” she told her unwilling listener. “And he and Sherman are getting along. Imagine that, after all these years.” She shook her head, a meaningful look in her eye. “I suppose he’ll soon be looking for a wife.”
“Well, he sure won’t find one here,” Erica said firmly. “Good night, Aunt Constance. I’m going to sleep.”
Erica awoke the next morning with the clear understanding she had to get away from Manordale, her aunts, and the Hartleys, if only for the day.
She decided to call Lindy Jamison, a good friend from her college days. Lindy’s mother mentioned she was married, the mother of an infant girl, and living in Connecticut now. Erica was thrilled at the idea of seeing her old friend that very afternoon. She jotted down instructions to her house and promised to be there in less than two hours.
She left a note for Aunt Constance, then suddenly thought of Sherman Hartley, and frowned. She needed to arrange a meeting with him and get a complete list of her holdings. Miss Fitzroy told Erica that she was indeed very fortunate because Mr. Hartley’s ten o’clock appointment on Friday had just canceled. Erica expressed appreciation she didn’t feel, then raced out of the house before Aunt Constance woke up.
It was a cool, end-of-April day, perfect for a short car trip that held none of the tension and anxiety of her more recent treks.
Lindy looked the same—large, sensible, and capable of taking on the world—although now all her attention was focused on her crawling nine-month-old, as she cooed over every movement and sound the baby made.
Ordinarily, such a scene would have bored Erica to yawns, but in the midst of her own tragedy and upheaval, she took delight in the simple domesticity of it all. She lay back in Lindy’s one comfortable lounge chair and let her friend extol the joys of marriage, motherhood, and owning a home. Erica smiled and nodded without offering any information about her own life, other than that she’d been living upstate for three years.
“I’m sure you’ll settle down one day,” Lindy finished, a trifle superior because she obviously assumed Erica was still single.
“I’d like that,” she admitted. “It all seems so very peaceful.”
“Peaceful?” Lindy was puzzled and a bit offended. “Taking care of a baby and a large house is far from peaceful. You never have one moment to yourself.”
Erica smiled to herself as her friend enumerated all of her responsibilities and chores. Would her own life ever again be mundane and routine after the last two weeks she’d been through? She certainly hoped so.
At three-thirty, feeling calm and restored, Erica started for home. She paid close attention to the several blue cars that she passed on the road. Maybe one day, she mused, she’d marry again like her friend. Perhaps she’d even have children.
But not for a very long time.