Balancing Act

chapter Eight


The days slid by, each more beautiful and wonderful than the day before. Two and a half months had passed since she had met Twigg Peterson. Two and a half months that were probably the happiest of her life.

It was ten days before Thanksgiving and Charles’s important football game. Rita had promised to attend and attend she would. Somehow, she had managed to lose ten pounds and had also whittled off several inches in crucial areas. Her breathing was less labored because she had cut her smoking in half. One of these days she hoped she could give it up entirely. But not yet.

The only blight on her happiness was that Twigg would be leaving the day after Christmas. She knew she would have to deal with that when the time came.

Rita got up, stretched luxuriously, and then added more logs to the fire. It felt like snow. It even looked like snow. She hoped so. She had never been marooned before and would enjoy it. It was a known fact that this area of the Poconos was the last to see a snowplow, and it was not unheard-of to remain snowbound for as long as four or five days.

The phone rang, jarring her from her thoughts. “Hi, Mother. It’s Rachel. I’m calling to make sure you’re still in residence. If you want I’ll bring the turkey. Talk to me, Mum.”

“Yes, I’m here, Rachel. It feels like snow so you better bring your boots and warm clothing. When are you planning on coming up? I appreciate your offer, but I’ll take care of the turkey.”

“Thursday. I’ll stay through the weekend after Thanksgiving. By the way, is your handsome neighbor still there? If it snows, maybe we could go skiing together.”

Rita drew in her breath. “Yes, he’s still here. I’m not sure if he has skis. Perhaps you should bring Charles’s if that’s what you want to do.”

“Good thinking, Mum. Okay, see you Thursday.”

Rita replaced the phone. She could have told Rachel not to come, that she was knee-deep in work. That she couldn’t holiday on Thanksgiving and lose time if she intended to be at Charles’s game the next day. Why hadn’t she? The question punished her, demanding she admit the truth. “Because,” she blurted aloud, “because I’m challenging Twigg to find my young, vivacious daughter more desirable than me. I’m testing him and I hate myself for it, but God help me that’s what I’m doing.”

Now she was in a funk. All the old insecurities flooded through her. All the old guilts. And jealousy. She was jealous of her own daughter. Twigg had been more gallant after Rachel’s last visit. Neither of them had discussed her child and her tactless comments concerning Rita. As long as she was keyed on self-destruct she might as well call Camilla and then Charles.

Rita waited patiently while Camilla quieted the children. “Mother, I can’t believe what you’re telling me. Are you saying Charles’s football game is more important than spending Thanksgiving with your grandchildren? I spoke to Rachel last night, and she said she was going up to see you and said there was the most interesting man there that she wanted to get to know better. Why is it always Rachel, Mother?”

“Camilla, I promised Charles when he started the semester that if he made the team I would go to the Thanksgiving game. I can’t go back on my word. Surely, you can understand how important it is to your brother.”

“Are you planning on leaving Rachel there at the cottage with the new, interesting man? Mother, I can’t understand you anymore. You seem to have changed. Anything goes, anything Rachel does, no matter how outrageous it is, is okay with you. Mother, ever since you started that . . . that career of yours, you’ve . . . never mind. I think you should know that Daddy is going to the game too. He’s probably going to take Melissa. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

Rita cringed. Not at the words but at Camilla’s bitchy tone. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” Rita said, forcing a light note into her voice.

“You’re so different, Mother. Everything is so different. I’m sorry if I sound like I’m ticked-off. You don’t seem to care anymore. Do you realize you’ve been gone for almost four months. We’ve missed you, especially the kids.”

“I didn’t call you so we could get into a hassle. I wanted you to know about Thanksgiving in plenty of time. Besides, Camilla, this year it’s your turn to have dinner with Tom’s family. Maybe you think I’ve forgotten, but I haven’t. This is your year for Christmas with Tom’s family too.”

“Mother, does that mean you aren’t coming back for Christmas?” Camilla shrieked.

“I’m not sure. More than likely, I’ll stay here. Charles will want to come here so he can do some skiing. We have plenty of time for all of that. I hesitate to remind you, but you do have a father.”

“Oh, Mother, he’s so wrapped up in Melissa, he has no time either. The whole family is falling apart. Rachel is so flaky and you never know where or what she’s going to be doing from one minute to the next. Charles is away and he never writes or calls. I feel so alone.”

“Camilla, you have your own life, your own little family, and it’s going to be whatever you make it. I’ll always be here if you need me, but I do have my own life to lead, and I intend to lead it the way I see fit. I won’t allow you or Rachel or Charles to dictate to me.”

“All you think about is your books, your royalty statements, and your super-duper business deals. You have no time for us anymore, Mother.”

“That’s not true, Camilla. What you mean is I’m not at your beck and call anymore. You also resent that I now do something other than housework. That I’ve become my own person and am no longer an extension of your father.”

“There’s no point in discussing this anymore. I can see I can’t get anywhere with you. Do you want to speak to the kids?”

“I’d love to talk to them if they aren’t screaming and crying. I can’t see paying long-distance rates for me to listen to you yell at them and then all they do is scream more.”

“Forget it, Mother, just forget it. Tom isn’t going to believe this. Oh, yes, he will, he still remembers the last conversation he had with you. Good-bye, Mother.”

“Give my regards to Tom and the children. Good-bye Camilla.”

One ten-minute conversation with Camilla was enough to drain one’s life’s blood. Now, for Charles.

Rita listened to some good-natured banter while she waited for Charles to come to the phone. “Hey, Bellamy, there’s some chick on the phone for you” made her grin from ear to ear. She had to remember to tell Twigg.

“Charles, it’s Mom. How are you?”

“Mom, wow, why are you calling? Is something wrong?”

“Good heavens, no. I just wanted to see if you were all right and if you got your allowance.”

“Got, it and spent it. The guys had a beer party and I had to put in my share. I’m okay. Hey, you still coming up for the game?”

“I’ll be there, you can count on it.”

“Uh, Mom, you do know Dad is coming, don’t you? Do you think it will be a problem? I think he’s bringing Melissa. I didn’t know what to do so I just sort of ignored the whole thing.”

“I think we’re all adult enough to handle it.”

“There is something I need to talk to you about.”

Need. He had said need. He needed her. How different he sounded. How grown up. “Yes, Charles, what is it?”

“With the situation between you and Dad as it is, I thought there might be a problem about Thanksgiving dinner. About who to have dinner with, I mean. So what I thought I’d do was accept an invitation to Nancy Ames’s house for dinner. She doesn’t live far from here, and she said I could bring you along. What do you think, Mom?” he asked anxiously.

Oh, God, oh, God, her baby was worrying about her. He was making decisions for himself and for her. He cared about her feelings being hurt.

“I think that’s wonderful, but you go alone. Rachel is coming up to the cottage for Thanksgiving so I won’t be alone. I was worried about you. Is Nancy your girl?”

“Almost. I haven’t clinched it yet. You know, given her my high school ring. I’m working on it though. Do you think it would be all right if I brought her up to the cottage the weekend after Thanksgiving?”

“I sure do. I’d like to meet her.” She suddenly wanted to see Charles share his happiness and his new sense of himself.

“One more thing, Mom. Is Dulcie still staying in the house, or did you let her go when you moved to the cottage?”

“No, she’s still at the house. Someone had to stay there to make sure the pipes don’t freeze. Charles, I didn’t move to the cottage; I’m only staying here between books. Why did you want to know?”

“Do you think she could make me a batch of brownies and send up my gray sweatsuit? Ask her if she’ll fish around for my Izod socks, the black and gray ones.”

Rita smiled. “Charles, I have some free time, I could make the brownies for you.”

“Thanks, Mom, but I think I’d rather have Dulcie’s. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“What time do you think you’ll get to the game?”

“Just about game time if the weather is okay. Do you need anything else?”

“Nope, that about covers it.”

“Okay, I’ll see you a week from tomorrow.”

“Bye, Mom.”

She felt pleased with herself when she hung up the phone. Charles was going to be okay. Nancy, whoever you are, you have my blessing and my thanks. Her baby worried about her. It was wonderful. Everything was wonderful. Well, almost everything; the thought of her daughters popped into her mind.





Twigg arrived back at Rita’s cottage, his face glowing with excitement like a small boy’s, “Have you looked outside?” At her bewilderment, he led her away from her desk where she was making notes for her next book and brought her to the panoramic windows in the living room. “Look!” He pointed to the lightly falling snow as though it were something he had conjured up especially for her. “It’s snowing. Our first snowfall,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in the back of her neck.

His words touched Rita. Was there something in his voice that promised this was only the first of many snowfalls they would share together? Inexplicably, her heart broke rhythm. Somewhere in the back of her mind she had been preparing herself for the day when he would no longer be a part of her life. No, that was wrong, Twigg would always be a part of her life, a most important part. But nothing had been said about their relationship after the coming Christmas when he planned to return to California. It was almost as though she were living each day to its fullest and after that future point in time everything seemed dark and hazy.

His arms tightened around her, his breath warm and soft on her skin. So warm, warmer than the fire’s glow, which shed the only light into the afternoon’s dimness. She felt his desire rising firm and hard against the swell of her buttocks and the insistent caress of his fingers upon the tips of her breasts. He turned her into his embrace, finding her mouth with his own and possessing it with soft and myriad kisses that deepened imperceptibly and aroused her senses to beat in tune with his own.

He drew her down onto the geometric carpet before the hearth; the fire’s heat seemed cool and distant in comparison to the warmth he imparted to her flesh as he tenderly stripped away her clothes, leaving them in a heap mingled with his own. His hands caressed her tenderly, tracing the sweet hollows of her body and rounding over the supple, womanly curves of her breasts and belly, wandering in teasing, erotic touches to the moist, warm valley where thigh met thigh.

Her clear blue eyes closed then, heightening her perception of his lovemaking. She moved against his fingers and mewed in delight when his lips followed where his hand had explored, tracing her contours with delicate ardor.

Twigg began to tremble with the force of his desire. He reveled in her responses, knowing he had found the woman who could both give and take, who needed this sensuous contact of his flesh upon hers. He wanted to wait, to double her pleasure and watch her rock beneath him with the force of her climax. But the sight of her half-parted lips beckoned to him, tempting him, sounding an echoing note in his very center. Her vulnerability, so much a part of her, deepened his emotions for her while her responsive body appealed for the complete fulfillment she could only share when his flesh entered hers and he claimed her for his own.

His mouth descended upon hers as he parted her thighs and he felt her warm, pulsing flesh welcoming him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him, making herself a part of him and he a part of her. He loved to watch her face smile up at him, her mirror blue eyes seeming to fill themselves only with him.

Rita’s eyes opened to see him looking down at her, his eyes dark with seduction and passion, the line of his mouth softening and forming the shape of her name. He came to her and took her, this marvelously loving man who had filled her life even more sweetly than he was now filling her body. She did not know if she loved him, did not know if she wanted to love him. Would she ever trust herself to that emotion again? Love demanded so much, it seemed. There were no demands here, only a sharing and a needing and giving. Love had too many sharp edges, able to cut through the soul like a razor, unlike this that seemed to be more a melding and a joining of the heart and the body.

The lines of her body seemed to perfectly match his, meeting him thrust for thrust and driving him closer and closer to the edge of that abyss where he would carry her with him into the shattering void. Her arms held him tightly, her mouth yielded beneath his and she took him into her again and again, deeper, closer, caressing him in undulating waves until he heard the sound of his own pleasure in his ears and she clung to him as they toppled over the edge of carnality into the wondrous garden where soul touched soul.





The world filtered back into consciousness; the flicker of the fire, the soft fall of snow against the window. They had held each other following their simultaneous release, closing their eyes into the shared oblivion, warmed by their pleasure and astounded by the force of their passion.

When she turned, Twigg was looking down at her, watching her through lowered lids. His mossy-green eyes answered all her unasked questions. There was no need to talk about the magic that happened between them.

Sighing, she nestled against his chest and he cradled her close to him, imparting his warmth and stroking her skin. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but he knew she was still skittish as a colt and so very, very vulnerable. There’s a place in my life for you, my love, my friend. Could you find a place for me?





Rachel arrived with the first snowfall of the year. Without Rita having to mention it or to ask, Twigg had removed all his personal belongings from her cottage: his razor, his toothbrush, items of clothing, and notebooks. With each possession he dropped into the paper sack, Rita had become more resentful of her youngest daughter’s intrusion.

Looking beautiful in her scarlet parka trimmed in white fur, Rachel was the perfect snow bunny, Rita thought, pushing away her selfish resentment.

Rachel lugged in two sets of skis and poles. “Mom, you wouldn’t believe how bad the roads are. If this keeps up through the night, we should have a good surface tomorrow. I came in the back way and they were preparing the ski lift. You have Twigg’s number, don’t you? I want to make sure he’s up for skiing.” Rita felt herself flinch but turned and made a pretense of reading the number from the small address book on her desk.

Rita went into the kitchen to make a hot toddy for Rachel. She didn’t need to hear the conversation between her daughter and her lover. Didn’t want to hear it.

“Thanks, Mummy. I’m going to drink this and hit the sack. Twigg said he was raring to go and would meet me at seven. Don’t worry about getting up to see me off. This is one date I won’t be late for.”

Rita lay in her empty bed aware of a deep loneliness. Twigg should be there with her, just within reach of her hand. She remembered how long it had taken her to become used to sleeping alone once Brett had left. At first, with Twigg, it had taken some doing to get used to sleeping with someone again. Now she was back at square one. Rolling over, she pounding the pillow. Get used to it now, she told herself. Once Christmas comes and goes, this is the way it’s going to be. Lonely.

She ached. She resented. She almost hated. Sleep was fitful and there was no sense in tossing and turning and bemoaning the loss of her lover because Rachel had arrived. Rachel was innocent, and why shouldn’t the girl expect to spend some time with her own mother? Rationalizing didn’t help. Better to get up for some hot tea and read until she felt drowsy.

Rita scanned her shelves for the new titles Ian had brought, looking for the new Patricia Matthews novel. By page two she was hoping to immerse herself in the story. She admired the author’s style and her remarkable ability to capture a character’s essence.

Rita turned the page, then realized she hadn’t the faintest idea what was happening. Rita’s mind, seething with frustration and jealousy was simply incapable of concentration. Her big plan, her wonderful surprise, was dashed. The two snowmobiles in the garage were meant to surprise Twigg. She had purchased them weeks ago with the intention of barreling up to Twigg’s cottage and inviting him for a ride. Her plan was to skim the snowy mountains for hours, letting the wind whip their cheeks and then come home for hot soup and fresh bread in front of the roaring fireplace. They would make love and lie in each other’s arms. They would talk about everything and nothing, have long, comfortable silences, and then make love again, until the fire died and they crept into bed to lie spoon fashion against one another.

Laying her book aside, Rita pulled the belt tighter about her now slim waist and walked into the cold garage. She stared down at the two shiny machines. All gassed and ready to go. The keys hung on a nail by the garage door, still shiny and unused. She hardly felt the cold as she walked over to peer down at the padded seat with its safety strap. It would have been a wonderful memory.

The snowmobiles would make a smashing present for Charles and Nancy Ames when they arrived after Thanksgiving. If anyone was going to have a wonderful memory, she was glad it was Charles.

Back in the warm living room, Rita shivered. She added another pine log to the fire and sat down on a mound of pillows. She sipped at her lukewarm tea. She couldn’t let Rachel’s visit throw her into a tizzy. She had to do something, get her act together, as her daughter put it. Wasn’t Rachel the one who always said “Go for it”? Did she really want to put up a fight for Twigg? She hated the term “fight for him.” If whatever they had between them wasn’t stable enough to withstand Rachel’s arrival, then she didn’t want any part of it.

Eventually, she dozed and woke early when Rachel tiptoed through the living room. “Sorry, Mom, I didn’t know if I should wake you or cover you with a blanket. You’re going to be stiff and sore from sleeping in that position. Couldn’t sleep, huh?”

“I haven’t been here all that long, an hour or so,” Rita lied. “Can I make you some coffee or something to eat?”

“I already plugged the pot in. I have to meet Twigg in fifteen minutes. How do you like this new ski suit? I just had it made. I wanted to impress the great Tahoe skier. I designed the material myself. What do you think?”

Rita eyed the sky-blue pattern and nodded. “It’s beautiful,” she said honestly.

Rachel gulped at the scalding coffee. She handed it to her mother. “You’ll see me when you see me. Have a nice day, Mom.” She was gone.

Rita sighed and headed for the bathroom. She was about to step into the shower when she heard squeals and laughter outside. She parted the curtains in the bathroom and looked out. Twigg was pummeling Rachel with snowballs, to her daughter’s delight. Rachel ducked and grabbed Twigg below the knees. Both bundled figures toppled into the snow. Laughing and shouting, they got up and trudged toward the ski lift.

The driving, needle sharp spray did nothing for Rita’s mood nor did the brisk toweling. The scented bath powder annoyed her as did the fragrant lotion she applied to her entire body. She dressed and made herself a huge breakfast, which she threw away. She was settling down with the Patricia Matthews book when the phone pealed to life.

“Rita? This is Connie Baker. My kids told me they thought they saw you in town the other day. If you aren’t doing anything, why don’t you come over for lunch and we can spend some time together. I can have Dick pick you up in the Land Rover. What do you say?”

“I’d love to come over. Don’t bother sending Dick. I can use the snowmobile. I can leave now if it isn’t too early.”

“Are you kidding. Yours is the first human voice I’ve heard except for these kids since I got here. If you have any good books, I’d appreciate a few.”

Should she leave a note or not? She sat down at the computer and typed out a brief note:





Rachel,

Took the snowmobile and went visiting. I don’t know when I’ll be back.





She signed the brief note and propped it up on the kitchen table between the salt and pepper shakers.

She liked Connie Baker with her down-home approach to life. She was a spunky farm girl from Iowa who, according to her, married a city slicker with more money than brains. She hadn’t seen Connie since the divorce, so there would be a lot of catching up to do. A lot of telling on Rita’s part. Maybe it was time for her to talk, to confide in someone, and who better than Connie?

Rita felt twelve years old as she skimmed over the hills and fields that led to the Baker property. She brought the whizzing snowmobile to a smooth stop in back of the sprawling ranch-style house and beeped the horn that sounded like a frog. She had forgotten how much fun it was to ride on a snowmobile. She wondered what Brett was going to do with the machine he took from the garage when he moved out the contents. Maybe add a sidecar for Melissa so they could ride down Fifth Avenue on a snowy Sunday morning. She giggled at the thought and then laughed out loud.

There were kisses, hugs, fond looks, and tight grips on each other’s shoulders as the two women stared at one another.

“Should we lie to each other now or later how neither of us has changed and we didn’t get older, just better?” Connie grinned.

“Why don’t we pass on that part and get down to serious talking.” Rita laughed. “Tell me, what are you doing with yourself?”

“You know that big ox I married, the one who had more money than brains? He decided life was passing him by and he wanted to taste some of that young stuff out there. We divorced last year, and I’m happy to say that I took everything. Now, I understand his ladylove has taken a job in a drugstore to help pay the rent.” Connie laughed, but it was a brittle sound and totally without mirth. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Rita, I’m doing the best I can to be as happy as I can. Ask the kids!”

Why should I ask anyone? Rita wondered why Connie thought she wouldn’t be believed.

“Hell, being forty-six going on forty-seven is like being born again. Second time around, that kind of thing. Enough of me, tell me about yourself.”

Rita sat down with a cup of coffee, propped her stockinged feet on a maple table, and proceeded to fill in her friend on her life during the past year. “I don’t know how to handle it, Connie. Rachel is my daughter. How do I deal with that?”

“Just like she was any other woman. She’s no kid, Rita. She knows exactly what she’s doing. So, you’re really caught up in this fella, are you? Tell me what this Twigg Peterson is like.”

“He’s terrific. Warm, sensitive, loving . . . all the good things I like in a man.” Connie heard her friend’s voice become soft and shy. Like a young girl’s, she thought. “You would like him, Connie. Everyone seems to like Twigg,” she said proudly. “I watch him with his friends, my friends. They respond to his sincerity and his concern. He treats people with respect. In some of those unconcerned and impersonal New York restaurants, I’ve seen waiters respond to his smile and courtesy. No small feat, I can tell you. There’s genuine caring between his friends and himself. I saw this one night when he had the Donaldsons stay overnight at his cottage. He has a knack for making everyone feel special. . . .” Rita broke off in midsentence, running her fingers through her shining chestnut hair. “I’m running on like a schoolgirl.”

“And you almost look like one,” Connie said, eyeing her friend’s slimmer waistline and pink, glowing skin. “God, if this guy of yours could bottle that magical rejuvenation he’s given you, he’d be a millionaire.”

“God, Connie, is that all you think about? Money?”

“It keeps a girl warm at night. Sure, what’s wrong with thinking about money?” She said it lazily, offhandedly, but she watched Rita closely. If for one moment this Peterson man was thinking he had found himself a meal ticket, Connie personally would go down to the lake and kill him. When all was said and done, when all the looks were gone, what else was there besides a woman’s children and financial security. She would never say this aloud to Rita. Being too much of a romantic, Rita never considered the practical side of life. How else had Brett managed to walk away with so much? Deciding she should steer the conversation along other lines, Connie asked, “Are you thinking of marriage?”

“It’s never come up. . . .”

“I didn’t ask if this Peterson proposed to you. I didn’t even ask if it was something the two of you talked about. I asked if you were thinking about it.”

“No . . . that is . . . I just don’t know. I only know I don’t want to be hurt again.”

“Do you expect to be hurt?”

Rita looked at her friend, a claw of anger nicking at the back of her brain. “What kind of question is that?” she demanded.

“Hey, don’t go getting your back up. I merely asked if you expected to be hurt.”

Rita jumped to her feet, pulling her sweater down over her hips. It was a habit acquired from the time when the bulge around the middle needed hiding. “Dammit, Connie! I’m hurting right now!”

“How does this Peterson guy feel about you?” Connie pressed, disregarding Rita’s obvious pain. If it was going to be painful, better it be here and now when there was someone to comfort her. Connie was too familiar with lonely, empty bedrooms where there was no one to hear the tears or hold back the loneliness.

Rita pulled a cigarette from Connie’s pack and lit it, her hands shaking perceptibly. “I don’t know how he feels,” she said abruptly, exhaling. “No, that’s not true. I think he loves me. He acts as though he loves me. Sometimes, when he makes love to me, he calls me his love. But what the hell does that mean, anyway? Men say all kinds of things when they’re making love.”

“I see. And, of course, you know this from your wide and varied experience, right?”

“Oh, shut up, Connie. No, don’t shut up. I need you to help me.” It was a cry, a plea, a dependency on an old friendship.

“Do you love him, Rita?”

“Yes, dammit. As much as I’ll allow myself.” It was the first time the question had been put to her and her own answer stunned her.

“But?” Connie asked quietly.

“But. Yes, there’s always a but, isn’t there? It’s the age difference. I saw Twigg and Rachel having a snowball fight this morning. They both looked so young, so carefree. So young. My God, Connie, he’s only a few years older than Camilla!”

“By my calculations, he’s nearly ten years older than Camilla. Quit being a martyr to your age, Rita. It snatches the hope away from the rest of us who’ve had their fortieth birthdays. And why do you consider the ten years between Twigg and Camilla so negligible and yet the ten years between Twigg and yourself seem so monumental? What’s so earth shattering about a little difference in age?” Connie demanded.

Rita plopped down again on the sofa beside her friend. “Okay, you’ve got something to say. Say it.”

“Look at Brett with his twenty-two-year-old wife and look at my ex with his younger-than-springtime girl. In a way, I do admire them. They went for it, as the saying goes. They didn’t let me or you or their kids stand in their way. My ex is living on the poverty level with his drugstore queen, but they’re happy, damn them. They’re happy. Jake came over to see the kids one day, and he confessed that his lover has made him feel like a man, that she didn’t care if he was rich or poor. That as long as they would be together they could live anywhere. And he bought it. This is coming from a guy who slept on silk sheets and drove a 450SL Mercedes, who didn’t bat an eye at spending a fortune for a vacation. It was hard at first, but I discovered I can live without him and with his money and enjoy it. I wouldn’t take him back for anything in the world. I like myself now, who I’ve become. There’s a whole world out there, Rita, a world we never knew about. I can see a difference in you too. You look like you’re a person instead of someone’s mother or someone’s wife. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking marriage or motherhood. I think marriage should be like a driver’s license, renewable every few years, before it gets to the point we were at a couple of years ago.”

“Have you really become so jaded? What about commitment to one another? What about love?”

“What about it? Commitment, I mean. If having a commitment means suffering, I don’t need it and neither do you.” Rita felt herself come under Connie’s frank stare. “Wasn’t that essentially what you were saying before? That you expect to be hurt?”

“No . . . yes . . . Christ, I don’t know! I only know how I feel when I’m with him. How I feel when I’m in his arms.”

Connie reached over to pat Rita’s hand. “Then enjoy it, friend. Enjoy every minute of it and quit trying to play the odds. Be truthful and honest with yourself and him. Don’t pretend to be something you’re not. If you win, you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you’ve done it on the fair and square. If you lose, you’ll have nothing to regret, wondering if you should have done this or said that. Games are for children, Rita, and they play by childish rules.”

They sat for hours talking about their lives, their dreams and expectations. They discussed mutual friends, Rita’s career, their grandchildren, and Connie’s man-friend who had a lot of brains and absolutely no money. “He’s a tree surgeon.” She laughed delightedly. “And I want to tell you he’s one hell of a hunk in bed. I get orgasmic just thinking about him. He actually listens to me when I talk. He respects my opinions and he thinks I’m as poor as he is. He thinks this place is my uncle’s and the big house in Scarsdale belongs to my parents. I know my money would scare him off. He’s a fine man, Rita, and I love him. You want to hear something crazy, something really off the wall?” Rita nodded. “I’m toying with giving my ex his money back and getting myself an apartment someplace and starting all over. The kids are all in college now or married. They’re leading their own lives so I should be leading mine. I have a good job with the same advertising agency, and there’s talk of making me a partner. With a lot of hard work I can make it. Joe thinks I can, anyway. If you know anyone who needs trees cut, let me know. He’s fully insured so there’s no problem.”

Rita stared at Connie and then doubled over laughing. She laughed till the tears flowed. Connie joined in and then they were both rolling on the floor, laughing and crying hysterically.

“And those smart-ass kids of ours think we don’t know where we’re coming from,” Connie gasped, wiping at her eyes.

“Or where we’re going,” Rita said through peals of laughter. “What time is it? I should be getting back.”

“Why?”

Rita laughed again. “Beats me. It seemed like the thing to say. We’ve covered about all of it.”

“How about a hot buttered rum before you start out? You’ll freeze your tushy off if you go out there without being fortified.”

“You got it. Don’t spare the rum.”

Rita looked at her watch. Her eyes widened in shock. It was three ten. Where had the time gone? Who cared; she’d had the time of her life and didn’t regret one minute of the time she’d spent with her old friend.

It was two minutes after four on her digital watch when she drove the snowmobile into the garage. She was climbing out of the seat when the door opened. Twigg stood outlined in the doorway, Rachel beside him.

“Mom, where in the hell have you been?”

“Didn’t you get my note?”

“Of course I got your note, but you didn’t say where you were going!” Rachel said accusingly.

“You keep reminding me of my age, Rachel, and at my age I don’t think I have to check in or out with you unless you want to show me the same courtesy.”

Twigg and Rachel stood aside, but not before Rita saw the look of relief in his eyes. He cared.

“You smell like a distillery,” Rachel snapped.

“Really. I suppose hot buttered rum will do that,” Rita said by way of explanation.

“Where did you get those snowmobiles? I thought Dad took ours.”

“I bought them. They belong to me. Any other questions, Rachel?”

“I was worried about you. I didn’t even know we had snowmobiles.”

Twigg’s voice was soft, concerned, but not accusing. “Glad you got back in one piece. This child here wouldn’t let me leave till you got back. I tried to tell her you were okay, but she wasn’t buying.”

Rita’s eyes thanked him. She wondered if he had kissed Rachel. Or if Rachel had kissed him. It wasn’t important. “Thanks for staying with Rachel.”

“Any time. I’ve never been on a snowmobile. Would you mind taking me for a spin tomorrow and showing me the ropes?”

“Love to. What time?” Rita called over her shoulder as she made her way to the bathroom.

“Noonish, if that’s okay with you. I have a little research I want to do in the morning.”

“Sounds good to me,” Rita called back as she closed the bathroom door.

Rachel’s voice carried clearly and distinctly. “Hey, what about me?” she wanted to know.

“No sidecars. Guess you’ll have to ski. Rita doesn’t ski,” Twigg said casually.

The silence was thunderous with the closing of the door. Rita switched the bathroom fan on and stripped down. The hot, steamy shower left her squeaky clean. She felt satisfied, even smug. She had really carried it off!