Friendly's Ice Cream Shop. Peg loved butterscotch sundaes; Annie, Swiss chocolate almond. Once they'd each had two and groaned all the way home.
'Feeling better today?'
Annie nodded. She'd called Peg the night before, told her what had happened.
Peg said, 'That's all anybody can talk about today.'
'I know.'
'What really burns me are the innuendos.'
'Meaning?'
'Oh, you know, the usual 'she asked for it' bullshit.'
'Not really?'
'Yes, really.'
'I guess some things never change,' Annie said. 'Can you stay for awhile?' Often, on Sundays after the others left, Peg stayed and they had a half hour or so before she had to get home and Annie had to go to dinner at one parishioner's or another.
'I can't. Tim's mother's coming to dinner. In fact, I better make tracks. Where are you going today?'
'The Smiths'.'
'Oh, that's not bad.'
'Roast chicken, mushroom stuffing, white asparagus, roast potatoes, cranberry sauce, apple pie.' She smiled, blue eyes almost disappearing.
'Every time?'
'Yup. But it's good.'
'Well, enjoy. Talk to you tomorrow.'
They kissed cheeks and Annie watched her go. She was unusually sorry that Peg couldn't stay, and wondered why as she said goodbye to the others while making her way to the back door. She didn't have to stay until the bitter end.
Crossing the lawn to the parsonage, she felt her mood alter, the euphoria she experienced after delivering a good sermon receding. It was always the same, this half hour or so between the gathering in the parish hall and when she left for Sunday dinner. This was the time she missed Bob the most. It was crazy because they'd never shared this time. He'd died before she was ordained.
But she'd fantasized what Sundays would be like, and it was this time she'd imagined sitting with Bob in some rectory, reviewing her sermon, sharing anecdotes about parishioners, sipping a sherry, laughing, holding hands.
A flash of anger rushed through her. She was surprised, believing that the rage she'd felt about Bob's dying was over; it had been five years. But maybe it never left you.
Opening the back door she went into the kitchen and immediately loneliness, like something alive, engulfed her. Her eyes misted and the fury came back again, stronger. In the dining room she went to the sideboard her mother had given them as a wedding present. The decanter of sherry stood on a crystal tray-another wedding present, she forgot from whom.
Annie poured herself a small glass and took it with her to the living room. Bob would have loved the room-oak woodwork, high ceilings, two rose wing chairs, and a comfortable gray velvet couch, good for napping. And the old ice chest with the brass fixtures, a wide oak coffee table, flowered curtains. It was Bob's kind of room; hers, too. Oh, damn him.
She took a sip of the sherry, wondering what her congregation would think if they saw her drinking alone. What did she think? Well, hell, it was hardly a big deal, a thimbleful of sherry before lunch. The Smiths didn't drink, so there'd be no more.
Jumping up, she went back in the kitchen and reached for the phone. She had a sudden desire to speak to her mother. Her father answered.
'Hello, Dad, how are you?'
'Annie? I was just thinking about you,' he said. Harrison Winters always said the same thing to her.
'What were you thinking?'
He cleared his throat. 'Nothing very important, honey. Just wondering how you were.'
'I'm fine,' she dissembled. 'How about you?'
'Just fine, sweetie. We heard from Jason last night.'
'How is he?' Annie suspected her younger brother had a cocaine habit, but she'd never said this to either parent.
'He moved again. He's living in Santa Monica now.'
'Is he still with Holly?'
'I guess. He says he has almost all the money to start his picture.'
She'd heard this line from Jason for almost three years. 'Good. How are Rebecca and Ken and the kids?'
Harrison chuckled. 'Linda's taking ballet classes and Jeff lost both front teeth. Some kind of kids, they are.'
'Are you working, Dad?' Her father was a trumpet player, and now that he was older jobs didn't come his way that often.
'I'm playing a bar mitzvah next week.'
For a man who'd played with Dorsey, she knew this was painful for him. 'Good, Dad. Is Mother there?'
There was a long silence, and Annie felt her knees grow weak. Surely she would've been called had her mother made another suicide attempt. 'Dad?'
'Yes, honey. She's here but she's sleeping now.'
'Sleeping?' It wasn't a good sign. 'Is anything wrong?'
'Of course not. It's just the old gray mare ain't what she used to be, you know,' Harrison laughed falsely.
Annie knew he denied his wife's problems because he felt responsible for them-all those years of leaving her alone for months at a time when he'd be out on the road.
'Should I tell her to call you when she wakes up?' he asked.
'It's nothing important. I just wanted to say hello.'
'I'll tell her, honey.'
'Okay, Dad.'
'Glad you called, sweetie.'
'Me, too.'
They hung up and Annie leaned against the kitchen counter, sipped her sherry. She'd be damned if she'd ever be dependent on a man the way her mother had been with her father. Oh, who was she kidding? Wasn't that exactly how she'd been with Bob? That was why she'd been thrown so terribly by his death, practically going under herself. She was her mother's daughter, all right.
She wished Peg were here. Was it her parents she wanted to talk about? No, it was Colin Maguire. So what? But it was nuts. Why should she want to talk about this guy who was rude to her, passed out at the sight of a dead body, and obviously couldn't drive a car with anyone else in it! Something was definitely wrong with him. On the other hand, his passing out didn't bother her at all. But his rudeness was another matter. Still, she suspected he didn't mean or want to be rude. After all, he'd apologized. Would he call again? she wondered. Oh, honestly, she was being like some silly school girl. Besides, there was no room in her life for a romantic involvement. She wasn't about to trust some man who'd just…just what? Die? Never mind.
She finished her sherry, put the glass in the sink, took a check in the mirror by the door, ran a brush through her hair, and left the house and thoughts of Colin Maguire behind.
– -
'So just what the fuck is going on?' Colin said.
'Tell me again,' Mark answered.
He lit a cigarette, paced the Griffing living room, wondering if he was going nuts. 'Didn't you hear me?'
'Calm down, Colin, okay? I'm just trying to get a mental picture. You want a drink, coffee, or something?'
'No. I want you to listen, to do something.'
'I will, I will.' Mark wasn't annoyed exactly, but he hated being interrupted when he was listening to Pink Floyd. Colin had come bursting in right in the middle of 'Brain Damage.' The guy hadn't cared a damn about rock
