Eileen reached across the table and patted her hand. The gesture was maternal and her expression was serious, but even at her gloomiest, Eileen seemed to be on the verge of a wink or a chuckle, if not one of her bawdy laughs. It wasn't that she was frivolous or insensitive; it was just that she looked at the world with a positive, sometimes wryly humorous eye. Her self-assessment, which she was fond of quoting to people she'd just met, was that she was “a big brassy blonde who loves life and doesn't give a hoot who knows it.” Even a sudden disaster like poor Katy's death hadn't dampened her spirits for long, although she'd cried as hard as Cecca had when they first heard about it.
“What would you do if you were me? Ignore what I found, or talk to Amy about it?”
“Probably ignore it.”
“You wouldn't want to know if your daughter was sexually active?”
“I don't think so.”
“Ignorance is bliss?”
“Her right to privacy, too, even if she is under age.”
Cecca picked at the remains of her Cobb salad. “I keep telling myself the same thing. But I still want to know.”
“So what's stopping you from asking?”
“Amy's finally quit blaming me for the divorce; we have a good relationship again. I don't want to do anything to rock the boat.”
“You mean she might think you were snooping.”
“I wasn't snooping. I really did bump her purse off the table by accident. But what if she doesn't believe it?”
“Mmm,” Eileen said reflectively. She finished the last of her burger, licked her fingers, wiped a spot of grease off her chin, and permitted herself a ladylike burp. “Have you ever talked to her about the birds and the bees?”
“Once seriously, when she was thirteen. I've tried since, but …”
“Awkward?”
“Awkward.”
“You used the mother-to-daughter approach, right?”
“What other approach is there?”
“Woman to woman. Casual, chatty, the way you and I talk. If she's been doing the deed, and you don't make her feel threatened about it, she'll either tell you straight out or let something slip. At least you'll know how she feels about sex at this stage of her life. And you won't have to mention the condoms at all. She'll tell
Sometimes Eileen amazed her. She could be so cavalier, downright flighty at times; and then she'd come up with a perfectly wise, practical suggestion like this. Funny how someone could be your close friend for thirty years and you still didn't have a clue as to how her mind worked.
Eileen said, “Good idea?”
“A lot better than any I could come up with.”
“You know, maybe I missed my calling. Maybe instead of a nurse I should have become a family counselor. Or a sex therapist, like Dr. Ruth. What do you think?”
“I think I'm going to buy your lunch.”
“Ah! The exact amount of my consultation fee. It also entitles you to an extra ten minutes, so let's move right along to
“Jerry and I are just friends, you know that.”
“Meaning you still haven't slept with him.”
“No, I haven't.”
“Going to?”
“I don't know. Probably not.”
“Doesn't make your toes tingle? He's a real hunk.”
“Let's drop that subject, okay?”
“Uh-oh. Do I detect a hint of sexual frustration?”
“No, you don't.”
“That's what it sounds like to me. How long has it been, anyway, since you got laid?”
“Eileen …”
“Come on, how long?”
“I don't keep track of things like that,” Cecca said, which was a flat-out lie. It had been thirteen months, give or take a few days. One night with Owen Gregory. On a sudden whim or temporary brain lock … whatever you wanted to call it. After she and Owen had been to a party at Eileen and Ted's, as a matter of fact, and she'd drunk a little too much wine. It hadn't been very good. In fact, it hadn't been good at all. One-night stands weren't for her; she'd felt cheap afterward and still wasn't quite at ease in Owen's presence, even though he'd been a gentleman about the whole thing. She was a woman who needed a strong emotional attachment before she was comfortable in a sexual relationship. And since Chet, there simply hadn't been anybody. She wasn't even sure she wanted there to be anybody again. Once burned, twice shy.
Still, Eileen was right: She
A busboy took their plates away. On his heels was the waiter with a dessert tray. Eileen said, “Oh, no, not for me,” and then allowed herself to be seduced into ordering a piece of Chocolate Decadence. “My friend and I will split it,” she said, and smiled at Cecca, who thought fondly: No, we won't. You'll eat the whole thing, you pig.
When the waiter was gone, Cecca said, “Oh, I didn't tell you who I saw earlier” to forestall any more of Eileen's probing sex questions.
“Who?”
“Dix.”
“You stop by his house, or what?”
“No, he was coming out of the hardware store.”
“How did he look?”
“Pretty well, considering. He's lost some weight.”
“I'd be surprised if he hadn't. Poor Dix.”
“I think he's going to be all right.”
“I hope so. I worry about him, rattling around in that big house all alone.”
“It was what he wanted.”
“What people say at funerals isn't necessarily what they mean.”
“Dix meant it. He has a right to grieve in his own way.”
“Well, sure he does. But I still think a person needs friends at a time like this, not isolation. If I lost Ted the way he lost Katy, I'd want a houseful of people around me every minute.”
“I suppose I would, too,” Cecca agreed. “If it hadn't been for you and Katy when Chet walked out, I don't know what I might have done.”
“So is Dix ready to start letting us back into his life?”
“Soon, I think. He as much as said so.”
“Encouraging,” Eileen said. “When are you seeing him again?”
“I don't know, I hadn't thought about it.”
“Don't wait around. Invite him to dinner tomorrow night.”
“That's too soon.”
“No it isn't. He's alone, you're alone. Two needy people. Make your move before somebody else does.”
The waiter brought Eileen's Chocolate Decadence and two forks. She plunged into it greedily. Cecca didn't touch the second fork; she was frowning.
“You think I'm needy?” she said.
“Aren't you, honey?”
