weâre doing.â
âDonât get technical.â
âAll right. All right. We were keeping to our Wednesday-night dates until now. Weâre having fun.â She shrugged. âI donât know if lightning can strike twice.â
âMe either.â
âI get so sick of people trying to get us back together. Weâve been divorced for four years. The first year was hellââ
Susan interrupted. âI remember.â
âI donât know if time heals all wounds or if you just get smarter about yourself. Get more realistic about your expectations of other people and yourself.â
âGod, Harry, that sounds like the beginnings of maturity.â Susan faked a gasp.
âScary, isnât it?â She stood up. âWant more of your hot chocolate?â
âYeah, letâs finish off the lot.â Susan stood up.
âSit down.â
âNo, let me bring the cup to you. Easier to pour over the sink.â
âYeah, I guess youâre right.â Harry picked up the pan and carefully poured hot chocolate into Susanâs cup and then refilled her own. âThe weatherman says itâs going to warm up to fifty degrees tomorrow.â
âYou wouldnât know it now. I donât mind snow but ice plucks my last nerve. Especially with the kids out driving in it. I know they have good reflexes but I also know they havenât experienced as much as we have and I wonder what theyâll do in that first spinout. What if another car is coming in the opposite lane?â
âSusan, theyâll learn and you canât protect them anyway.â
âYeah. Still.â
âArenât you amazed that Miranda has kept to her diet in the dead of winter?â
âStill baking things for the store and her friends. I never realized she had such discipline.â
âShows what love will do.â
Miranda had lost her husband over ten years ago. By all accounts it was a happy marriage and when George Hogendobber passed away, Miranda consoled herself with food. Ten years of consoling takes a long time to remove. The incentive was the return of her high-school boyfriend, now a widower, for their high-school reunion. Sparks flew, and as Miranda described it, they were âkeeping company.â
âThe football team.â
âWhat?â Harry, accustomed to abrupt shifts in subject from her old friendâindeed she was often guilty of them herselfâcouldnât follow this one.
âI bet thatâs why Sam Mahanes is mad at Bruce Buxton. Because Bruce operates on all the football players, and didnât he just get a big write-up in the paper for his work on the safety? You know that kid that everyone thinks will make All-American next year if his knee comes back. And Isabelle Otey, the girlsâ basketball star. He gets all the stars. Jealousy?â
âBuxtonâs always gotten good press. Deserved, I guess. Being in Samâs position as director of the hospital Iâd think heâd want Bruce to be celebrated, wouldnât you?â Harry asked.
âYouâve got a point there. Funny, every town, city, has closed little worlds where ego, jealousy, illicit love collide. Even the Crozet Preservation Society can be a tempestuous hotbed. Good God, all those old ladies and not one will forgive the other for some dreaded misdeed from 1952 or whenever.â
âSex, drugs and rock and roll.â
Mrs. Murphy climbed back up on the chair to join the kitchen discussion.
âWhat, pussycat?â Harry reached over, stroking the sleek head.
âPeople get mad at other people over juicy stuff.â
âMoney. You forgot money.â
Tucker tidied up the floor, picking up her Milk-Bone debris.
âA little bit around here wouldnât hurt,â
Pewter, ever conscious of her need for luxury, suggested.
âWell?â
Mrs. Murphy pulled forward one side of her whiskers.
âWell