The Astral by V. J. Banis

if I had....” She left that unfinished.
    â€œAnd Jack McKenzie?”
    The waitress saved her from answering, handing them both enormous menus. “I could eat a horse,” Catherine said, glad for the reprieve. She wasn’t sure that she was ready to discuss the subject of Jack McKenzie with anyone. Wasn’t sure, in fact, what she wanted to say to herself on that score. Her eyes moved down the familiar list of offerings.
    â€œSomething to drink?” the waitress asked, pencil hovering.
    â€œA Dos Equis,” Catherine said. “And a pastrami on rye, potato salad on the side.” She closed the menu and slapped it down on the tabletop with a hearty thump.
    Sandra said, her eyes studiously regarding her menu, “A green salad, hold the dressing. And an Evian.”
    Catherine glowered across the table. “What kind of meal is that?”
    Sandra smiled sweetly back at her. “I’ve picked up a couple of unwanted pounds,” she said.
    â€œAnd I suppose you’re hinting that I might have as well,” Catherine said on a defensive note. She remembered those five pounds her scales had so rudely displayed, which she had since put down to the age of the scales, which surely needed replacing.
    â€œI really hadn’t noticed.” Another affectionate smile. Which meant that she had indeed noticed.
    â€œTwo green salads, hold the dressing,” Catherine snapped.
    â€œYou still want the Dos Equis?” the waitress asked, biting back a smile.
    â€œMake it two Evians.”
    â€œAnd Jack McKenzie,” Sandra said.
    Catherine wolfed down her salad and sat watching her mother make her way slowly through her own. Sandra was right, of course, she could stand to take off a pound or two, but a salad just couldn’t satisfy the soul the way a good pastrami could, in her opinion.
    Nevertheless, she managed to wave away the waitress’s suggestion of dessert. “I never have dessert,” she said airily, pretending she hadn’t been admiring the piece of lemon-topped cheesecake that had just appeared on a neighboring table.
    To take her mind off food, she asked, “Do you think Walter has secrets?”
    Sandra looked appropriately surprised. “I think everyone has secrets. What makes you ask?”
    â€œA secret life, I suppose is what I mean. You know, a mistress stashed somewhere—though I guess now that’s no longer any of my business.”
    â€œMr. Adams explained to me one day about drug use in school,” Sandra said, in what Catherine thought was rather an odd tangent.
    â€œIsn’t that a bit of a non sequitur ?” She thought for a moment while her mother smiled obliquely at her. “Are you suggesting Walter does drugs?”
    â€œMr. Adams said, you could tell the cocaine users because their noses get red and runny, and they sniffle a lot.”
    Catherine sipped the last of her Evian and gave that some consideration. Walter’s nose had been reddish lately, and he certainly had been sniffling. “I just imagined it was a grief thing, you know.”
    â€œAnd it may well be. It’s just something that occurred to me. Are there any large amounts of money missing, from your bank account, for instance? That would be another indication. Drugs do cost money. Apparently quite a lot of it.”
    â€œNo. Well, actually, I don’t know. We both have our own bank accounts, so I wouldn’t know what kind of shape his is in. And there’s a joint account, but he’s always handled that. The house payments, cars, all the big stuff, he pays them out of that account. I know, I sound like one of those silly helpless women who can’t look after themselves, but really, I just wasn’t interested and certainly I’ve always trusted Walter. I haven’t even looked at that checkbook in ages.”
    They regarded one another across the table for a few seconds. “No,” Catherine said