than walk straight to the Ashford for the meeting.
Well, that's his problem, Grace thought with uncharacteristic ill will. He didn't need to be here to watch her, anyway. She'd wanted to drive herself into town but oh, no. Ben wouldn't hear of that. "Don't worry. I won't horn in on your time with the girls," he'd assured her.
No, but he'll horn in on my time with the ultimate fair food , she thought waspishly.
Then Grace looked at him, spied the concern in his eyes. Guilt melted through her like candle wax. She took one bite of the corn dog, then tossed the rest into a nearby garbage can and gave her husband's sleeve a tug and said, "Over there, Ben. It's Maggie."
She waved a hand and called her friend's name. A smile beamed across Maggie's face as she caught sight of Grace and returned her wave. Moments later, following an exchange of greetings, they continued their perusal of the artists' offerings.
Grace enjoyed the stroll. Her energy level was good today, and she enjoyed being among a crowd. It had been years since she and Ben had made it downtown for a festival. She had forgotten that events like this could be fun. When they stopped at a stained-glass booth and Ben found an angel for her collection that wasn't beyond their budget, the remnants of her resentment over the corn dog incident melted away.
The first rumble of trouble came when Ben tried to stop at the booth assigned to an artist named Alan MacCraken.
"Not on a bet," Maggie muttered, keeping her eyes front and center as she grabbed Ben's arm and tugged him right on by. When she continued to ramble on, Grace grew attentive to her words. "It doesn't matter. I don't want a wooden box this year. If anyone tried to give me one, I wouldn't accept it. Not that anyone would try to give me one. Anyone is too busy buffing up his boat."
Ah hah. Grace should have known. This had something to do with Mike.
"I think I'll look for a painting to buy. Maybe a shipwreck scene."
"Maggie? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. Everything is wonderful. It's a perfectly gorgeous day." With that, she burst into tears.
"Oh, no." Grace glanced worriedly toward Ben. "Here she goes again."
To Grace's surprise and Ben's relief, Maggie recovered fairly quickly. The chocolate-covered banana Ben rushed to buy helped. "I'm a sucker for sugar," she said, drying her eyes and accepting his offering. "I'm sorry. I just need something else to think about. Like your party. Listen, I've had a couple thoughts."
She rattled off some long, involved, and undoubtedly expensive notion about orchestras and tiered cakes, memory books and rose bouquets. She went on and on and on for a good five minutes until Grace's head started to spin.
Ben apparently reacted in a similar manner because he cut Maggie off in the middle of a sentence. "No. Absolutely not. That would be too much for Grace."
That's all it took to dissolve Grace's mellowed mood. She suspected that were she to glance at the plate glass window beside her, she'd see steam coming from her ears. "I'm not as fragile as a glass angel, Ben. I love your ideas, Maggie. I want to do them all."
"Gracie," her husband warned.
Maggie's eyes had gone round as funnel cakes. Everything inside of Grace tensed. She didn't want to cause a scene on a public street. She didn't want to cause a scene anywhere, especially so soon after Maggie's scene. But my oh my, she was getting tired of being treated like an invalid. She wasn't an invalid. Well, maybe by definition she was since she did have a disease, but she wasn't bedridden.
Ben continued to dig his hole deeper. "I agreed to this anniversary party only because you assured me you wouldn't overdo. If you're going to ignore my wishes, then—"
"It's my wish," she snapped. "My Pink Sisterhood wish. I'm the one who's dying."
He reared back as though she had slapped him.
Maggie winced, her gaze shifting between the two of them. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause any trouble. Look, you just tell me what you
Well, that's his problem, Grace thought with uncharacteristic ill will. He didn't need to be here to watch her, anyway. She'd wanted to drive herself into town but oh, no. Ben wouldn't hear of that. "Don't worry. I won't horn in on your time with the girls," he'd assured her.
No, but he'll horn in on my time with the ultimate fair food , she thought waspishly.
Then Grace looked at him, spied the concern in his eyes. Guilt melted through her like candle wax. She took one bite of the corn dog, then tossed the rest into a nearby garbage can and gave her husband's sleeve a tug and said, "Over there, Ben. It's Maggie."
She waved a hand and called her friend's name. A smile beamed across Maggie's face as she caught sight of Grace and returned her wave. Moments later, following an exchange of greetings, they continued their perusal of the artists' offerings.
Grace enjoyed the stroll. Her energy level was good today, and she enjoyed being among a crowd. It had been years since she and Ben had made it downtown for a festival. She had forgotten that events like this could be fun. When they stopped at a stained-glass booth and Ben found an angel for her collection that wasn't beyond their budget, the remnants of her resentment over the corn dog incident melted away.
The first rumble of trouble came when Ben tried to stop at the booth assigned to an artist named Alan MacCraken.
"Not on a bet," Maggie muttered, keeping her eyes front and center as she grabbed Ben's arm and tugged him right on by. When she continued to ramble on, Grace grew attentive to her words. "It doesn't matter. I don't want a wooden box this year. If anyone tried to give me one, I wouldn't accept it. Not that anyone would try to give me one. Anyone is too busy buffing up his boat."
Ah hah. Grace should have known. This had something to do with Mike.
"I think I'll look for a painting to buy. Maybe a shipwreck scene."
"Maggie? What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. Everything is wonderful. It's a perfectly gorgeous day." With that, she burst into tears.
"Oh, no." Grace glanced worriedly toward Ben. "Here she goes again."
To Grace's surprise and Ben's relief, Maggie recovered fairly quickly. The chocolate-covered banana Ben rushed to buy helped. "I'm a sucker for sugar," she said, drying her eyes and accepting his offering. "I'm sorry. I just need something else to think about. Like your party. Listen, I've had a couple thoughts."
She rattled off some long, involved, and undoubtedly expensive notion about orchestras and tiered cakes, memory books and rose bouquets. She went on and on and on for a good five minutes until Grace's head started to spin.
Ben apparently reacted in a similar manner because he cut Maggie off in the middle of a sentence. "No. Absolutely not. That would be too much for Grace."
That's all it took to dissolve Grace's mellowed mood. She suspected that were she to glance at the plate glass window beside her, she'd see steam coming from her ears. "I'm not as fragile as a glass angel, Ben. I love your ideas, Maggie. I want to do them all."
"Gracie," her husband warned.
Maggie's eyes had gone round as funnel cakes. Everything inside of Grace tensed. She didn't want to cause a scene on a public street. She didn't want to cause a scene anywhere, especially so soon after Maggie's scene. But my oh my, she was getting tired of being treated like an invalid. She wasn't an invalid. Well, maybe by definition she was since she did have a disease, but she wasn't bedridden.
Ben continued to dig his hole deeper. "I agreed to this anniversary party only because you assured me you wouldn't overdo. If you're going to ignore my wishes, then—"
"It's my wish," she snapped. "My Pink Sisterhood wish. I'm the one who's dying."
He reared back as though she had slapped him.
Maggie winced, her gaze shifting between the two of them. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause any trouble. Look, you just tell me what you
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