your friends to bug me. Leave me and the memory of my brother alone, do you understand?”
“Why won’t you listen to me?” shrieked Weezie, but Elizabeth had whirled and stomped off. While the three of us stood there, Elizabeth’s Aspen Meadow Health Food truck whizzed down Sam Snead Lane.
“Honey,” said Brian Harrington, “how about a drink?”
“No, thank you,” Weezie said crisply. “I have a little surprise for Goldy,” she said. One of the glazed nails was pointing at me. “Let me know when you’ve finished setting up,” she ordered before breezing out. She did not look at her husband or me. When she was marching noisily up the hall stairs, Brian eyed me ruefully.
“Do you want a drink?”
“No, thanks,” I said. I felt sorry for him. But I knew if I had one teensy-weensy drink, with what my ex-husband had told me earlier about Weezie and Philip, and the impending problems with the two Pettigrews, I’d be tempted to drown my grief in an entire fifth. “Maybe later,” I added with more sympathy than I intended. “After the party.”
“Oh?” He gave me a look. With a half-smile and raised eyebrows, he asked, “Are you staying after the party?”
How had I gotten into this? I had heard about Brian Harrington. I had seen him leaning toward my aerobics instructor and asking questions: “Where exactly are the obliques? Trace the muscle out for me when I twist over in this sit-up. Oh,” he’d say, “I’m not sure I’m tensing the hamstring muscle when I’m pulling it out in this ski exercise. Put your hand on it.”
Was I staying after the party? Ha. I didn’t answer, but carefully put the cake down on the countertop. My arms ached. Then I rummaged through a cupboard until I found, miraculously, a crystal serving plate. That feeling of irritation, of being intruded upon, was creeping up. I needed to be alone to work. Never mind that it was his kitchen.
I said, “I’m staying to clean up, that’s it. Does Mrs. Harrington have a salad bowl she wants me to use tonight? I really need to get to work in here.”
“Oh, sure. It’s probably around here somewhere.” He didn’t move but eyed me steadily with a suggestive half-smile.
I pursed my mouth into my best imitation of a displeased schoolteacher and put my hands on my hips.
Brian Harrington raised his eyebrows again and said, “Am I being dismissed?”
“Sorry. I need to be alone while I work.”
He remained immobile while I began the hunt for a bowl. He said, “You were going out with Philip Miller, weren’t you?” I slammed cabinet doors and nodded curtly. He went on, “Did you hear his sister say something about giving his body to science?”
I found a salad bowl on top of the refrigerator and began to line it with paper towels. “He didn’t talk to me about being an organ donor. If you don’t mind, I’d really rather not talk about it.” So saying, I rattled through drawers looking for serving utensils.
“Aah. . .” he began.
What in the world was the matter with the man? I sighed to let him know I was put out and said, “Now what is it?”
He smiled. “Will Sissy Stone be coming tonight?”
“If I tell you, will you let me do my work?”
“Yes, you cute little thing, you.”
I picked up the cake and walked quickly toward the refrigerator. I said, “Sissy is coming tonight.”
I could feel him moving in my direction. He murmured, “That cake just looks good enough to eat.”
I hrumphed and opened the refrigerator with my elbow and knee. If I hadn’t been concentrating so hard, I would have realized how close he was. Suddenly there was a small nibble of cool lips on my neck.
He was kissing me.
I dropped the cake.
Crystal shattered with an ear-splitting crash. The mousse fillings splattered wildly, like cream and mud flung all over the floor. Clods of cake skittered in every direction. The tempered chocolate broke like bricks.
“You idiot!” I yelled.
Brian calmly surveyed the mess.
“Why won’t you listen to me?” shrieked Weezie, but Elizabeth had whirled and stomped off. While the three of us stood there, Elizabeth’s Aspen Meadow Health Food truck whizzed down Sam Snead Lane.
“Honey,” said Brian Harrington, “how about a drink?”
“No, thank you,” Weezie said crisply. “I have a little surprise for Goldy,” she said. One of the glazed nails was pointing at me. “Let me know when you’ve finished setting up,” she ordered before breezing out. She did not look at her husband or me. When she was marching noisily up the hall stairs, Brian eyed me ruefully.
“Do you want a drink?”
“No, thanks,” I said. I felt sorry for him. But I knew if I had one teensy-weensy drink, with what my ex-husband had told me earlier about Weezie and Philip, and the impending problems with the two Pettigrews, I’d be tempted to drown my grief in an entire fifth. “Maybe later,” I added with more sympathy than I intended. “After the party.”
“Oh?” He gave me a look. With a half-smile and raised eyebrows, he asked, “Are you staying after the party?”
How had I gotten into this? I had heard about Brian Harrington. I had seen him leaning toward my aerobics instructor and asking questions: “Where exactly are the obliques? Trace the muscle out for me when I twist over in this sit-up. Oh,” he’d say, “I’m not sure I’m tensing the hamstring muscle when I’m pulling it out in this ski exercise. Put your hand on it.”
Was I staying after the party? Ha. I didn’t answer, but carefully put the cake down on the countertop. My arms ached. Then I rummaged through a cupboard until I found, miraculously, a crystal serving plate. That feeling of irritation, of being intruded upon, was creeping up. I needed to be alone to work. Never mind that it was his kitchen.
I said, “I’m staying to clean up, that’s it. Does Mrs. Harrington have a salad bowl she wants me to use tonight? I really need to get to work in here.”
“Oh, sure. It’s probably around here somewhere.” He didn’t move but eyed me steadily with a suggestive half-smile.
I pursed my mouth into my best imitation of a displeased schoolteacher and put my hands on my hips.
Brian Harrington raised his eyebrows again and said, “Am I being dismissed?”
“Sorry. I need to be alone while I work.”
He remained immobile while I began the hunt for a bowl. He said, “You were going out with Philip Miller, weren’t you?” I slammed cabinet doors and nodded curtly. He went on, “Did you hear his sister say something about giving his body to science?”
I found a salad bowl on top of the refrigerator and began to line it with paper towels. “He didn’t talk to me about being an organ donor. If you don’t mind, I’d really rather not talk about it.” So saying, I rattled through drawers looking for serving utensils.
“Aah. . .” he began.
What in the world was the matter with the man? I sighed to let him know I was put out and said, “Now what is it?”
He smiled. “Will Sissy Stone be coming tonight?”
“If I tell you, will you let me do my work?”
“Yes, you cute little thing, you.”
I picked up the cake and walked quickly toward the refrigerator. I said, “Sissy is coming tonight.”
I could feel him moving in my direction. He murmured, “That cake just looks good enough to eat.”
I hrumphed and opened the refrigerator with my elbow and knee. If I hadn’t been concentrating so hard, I would have realized how close he was. Suddenly there was a small nibble of cool lips on my neck.
He was kissing me.
I dropped the cake.
Crystal shattered with an ear-splitting crash. The mousse fillings splattered wildly, like cream and mud flung all over the floor. Clods of cake skittered in every direction. The tempered chocolate broke like bricks.
“You idiot!” I yelled.
Brian calmly surveyed the mess.
Similar Books
