back to normal.”
“Except, then I remembered our trip.” Beth held up her finger. “And I thought, aha! Today won’t be so bad after all.”
“Because we’re anything but normal, right?” Mary Kay said.
“Exactly.” Beth smiled. “Leave it to Lynne to know exactly what we’d need. Could you imagine what it’d be like if you went back to New York, Carol, and Mary Kay and I got on with our same routines? It just wouldn’t feel right.”
“And this way,” Mary Kay said, “we can toast Lynne every night.” She patted the red Igloo cooler.
Carol leaned forward. “You didn’t.”
“Sure, I did. Lynne told us to. Didn’t she, Beth?”
Beth agreed. “Right there in the letter. Martinis are a must.”
Carol opened the cooler and examined the extensive collection of oddly shaped bottles, a copy of DeeDee Patterson’s cookbook, and Mary Kay’s hand-painted martini glasses. “It’s an entire bar.”
“Only the essentials,” she said matter-of-factly. “Gin. Vodka. Vermouth. Though where would we be without Domaine de Canton and limoncello, not to mention good old Cointreau? And Framboise, of course.”
“Of course.” Carol removed a dark bottle of Godiva chocolate liqueur. “And this?”
“For chocolate-raspberry martinis. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”
“I love those,” Beth gushed. “Marc and I make them every Valentine’s Day.”
Personally, Carol thought they were way too sweet, even if it was hard to resist the hard dark chocolate coating around the rim of the martini glass—a technique that set the professionals apart from the amateurs. “Maybe I should try one on Scott.”
“Yes, do tell us about this Scott,” Mary Kay said, replacing the chocolate liqueur and closing the Igloo securely, as if it were carrying precious cargo.
“There’s not much to say.” Except there was. “We’ve known each other since forever, before I met Jeff even.” This, in Carol’s mind, exempted him from the status of home wrecker. “He’s about five years older than I am, and he’s a widower. His wife died long ago from a brain aneurysm.”
“His résumé is fascinating, I’m sure,” Mary Kay said, resting her chin on the back of her seat. “But what about the guy himself? Does he have a good sense of humor? Is he cheap? Extravagant? Eats crackers in bed?”
Carol’s lips twitched. “Gee, Mary Kay, why don’t you come right out and ask if the sex is good.”
“All right. Is the sex good?” Her gray eyes twinkled.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You wouldn’t?” Mary Kay frowned. “That’s no fun. You know, I’m only on this trip for the sex. Isn’t that true, Beth?”
Beth, trying her best to pass a hog of a tractor trailer, said, “I’m here for Lynne.”
“Granted. But if Lynne were here, you’d have to admit, she’d have come for the sex too.”
“Knowing Lynne, sure.” Beth passed the tractor trailer at last and slowed, her heart thumping in her chest.
“Well, I hate to be a party pooper, but we haven’t slept together,” Carol said. “We were supposed to the night of the funeral—Scott had a whole evening planned with a home-cooked dinner and a bubble bath—but it didn’t quite work out. Kind of wasn’t in the mood after . . . you know.”
“Seeing Jeff?” Mary Kay raised an eyebrow.
“No! I wasn’t in the mood after burying Lynne.”
“Oh.”
Beth said, “Pay no attention to the woman behind the car seat, Carol. She’s just stirring up trouble ’cause she’s bored.”
“Mom?” Mary Kay whined. “How much longer until we get there?” She slipped off her leather gloves to get a Diet Coke out of the cooler and all of a sudden Carol’s relationship with Scott was jettisoned to the back burner.
“Mary Kay!” Beth exclaimed. “You didn’t!”
Mary Kay checked her seat. “Uh-oh. What did I do wrong now?”
Carol wedged herself forward. “Don’t tell me she’s started drinking already.”
“Look!” Beth flapped her
“Except, then I remembered our trip.” Beth held up her finger. “And I thought, aha! Today won’t be so bad after all.”
“Because we’re anything but normal, right?” Mary Kay said.
“Exactly.” Beth smiled. “Leave it to Lynne to know exactly what we’d need. Could you imagine what it’d be like if you went back to New York, Carol, and Mary Kay and I got on with our same routines? It just wouldn’t feel right.”
“And this way,” Mary Kay said, “we can toast Lynne every night.” She patted the red Igloo cooler.
Carol leaned forward. “You didn’t.”
“Sure, I did. Lynne told us to. Didn’t she, Beth?”
Beth agreed. “Right there in the letter. Martinis are a must.”
Carol opened the cooler and examined the extensive collection of oddly shaped bottles, a copy of DeeDee Patterson’s cookbook, and Mary Kay’s hand-painted martini glasses. “It’s an entire bar.”
“Only the essentials,” she said matter-of-factly. “Gin. Vodka. Vermouth. Though where would we be without Domaine de Canton and limoncello, not to mention good old Cointreau? And Framboise, of course.”
“Of course.” Carol removed a dark bottle of Godiva chocolate liqueur. “And this?”
“For chocolate-raspberry martinis. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”
“I love those,” Beth gushed. “Marc and I make them every Valentine’s Day.”
Personally, Carol thought they were way too sweet, even if it was hard to resist the hard dark chocolate coating around the rim of the martini glass—a technique that set the professionals apart from the amateurs. “Maybe I should try one on Scott.”
“Yes, do tell us about this Scott,” Mary Kay said, replacing the chocolate liqueur and closing the Igloo securely, as if it were carrying precious cargo.
“There’s not much to say.” Except there was. “We’ve known each other since forever, before I met Jeff even.” This, in Carol’s mind, exempted him from the status of home wrecker. “He’s about five years older than I am, and he’s a widower. His wife died long ago from a brain aneurysm.”
“His résumé is fascinating, I’m sure,” Mary Kay said, resting her chin on the back of her seat. “But what about the guy himself? Does he have a good sense of humor? Is he cheap? Extravagant? Eats crackers in bed?”
Carol’s lips twitched. “Gee, Mary Kay, why don’t you come right out and ask if the sex is good.”
“All right. Is the sex good?” Her gray eyes twinkled.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You wouldn’t?” Mary Kay frowned. “That’s no fun. You know, I’m only on this trip for the sex. Isn’t that true, Beth?”
Beth, trying her best to pass a hog of a tractor trailer, said, “I’m here for Lynne.”
“Granted. But if Lynne were here, you’d have to admit, she’d have come for the sex too.”
“Knowing Lynne, sure.” Beth passed the tractor trailer at last and slowed, her heart thumping in her chest.
“Well, I hate to be a party pooper, but we haven’t slept together,” Carol said. “We were supposed to the night of the funeral—Scott had a whole evening planned with a home-cooked dinner and a bubble bath—but it didn’t quite work out. Kind of wasn’t in the mood after . . . you know.”
“Seeing Jeff?” Mary Kay raised an eyebrow.
“No! I wasn’t in the mood after burying Lynne.”
“Oh.”
Beth said, “Pay no attention to the woman behind the car seat, Carol. She’s just stirring up trouble ’cause she’s bored.”
“Mom?” Mary Kay whined. “How much longer until we get there?” She slipped off her leather gloves to get a Diet Coke out of the cooler and all of a sudden Carol’s relationship with Scott was jettisoned to the back burner.
“Mary Kay!” Beth exclaimed. “You didn’t!”
Mary Kay checked her seat. “Uh-oh. What did I do wrong now?”
Carol wedged herself forward. “Don’t tell me she’s started drinking already.”
“Look!” Beth flapped her
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