Maggie laughed and wiped her mouth with her napkin. “This may be difficult for you to understand, Mother, but this is slightly more relaxing than standing in surgery for seven hours, up to my elbows in brains. Now, ask what you came to ask.”
Phoebe sighed. “It’s that time again, Maggie. Missy Stanhope is having her summer luncheon gala. This year she’s raising money for cancer research. I had hoped you’d be back in Denver by now but never mind that. You’ll go with me, of course. After you’ve had a decent color and cut and a manicure.”
“I don’t know, Mother. I might have to bow out this year. Too many complications.”
“There are always complications, Maggie! Many more complications when you were working and on call all the time! I don’t ask much.”
“Yes, but what you do ask is always hefty.” She took another bite and swallowed. “Have you ever asked yourself why a seventy-year-old woman goes by the name Missy? Come on.”
“She’s a lovely person and I didn’t pick her silly name!”
Missy was a wonderful person, but Maggie knew that wasn’t why Phoebe had chosen her for a friend. Her friends all had tons of money, all belonged to the same club, all played bridge and golf and had luncheons and participated in fund-raisers—an exact replica of Phoebe’s life back in Chicago. Only now Walter had more time to participate. And most of the women in Phoebe’s circle skied, which Phoebe did not. Phoebe also did not do volunteer work. She found it depressed her.
“You’re looking good, Mother. Is that a new color?” Maggie asked, touching her own head to indicate Phoebe’s hair.
“A little darker on the red. What do you think?”
“I think it’s very attractive. Listen, I’m going to have to think about this luncheon. I like some of your friends, but right now it’s awkward—I don’t want to talk about my ex-partners, the lawsuit, my leave from work.”
“I think it’s better to be seen,” Phoebe advised. “Be seen looking perfectly fine and then say you’re not allowed to discuss any of that on advice of counsel, but you’re confident it’s going to work out just fine.”
“I’m not confident of that, as a matter of fact,” Maggie said.
“Say so, anyway, and if you’re worried, you should talk to Walter.”
“Mother, I have talked to Walter. He’s given me all the advice he can and helped me choose an excellent lawyer, but it’s very messy. I’d rather not.”
“Please, Maggie! My friends are starting to miss you, too! I look forward to these events you attend with me. You’re my best friend.”
Phoebe should raise her standards for best friends, Maggie thought. She’d attended about a half dozen of these mucky-muck affairs with her mother because it was so important to Phoebe, but she didn’t enjoy them much. There were some nice women involved in these events and fund-raisers, but none Maggie would choose as friends. Phoebe was only involved because she thought these women were elite and important and she wanted to be a part of a group like that. She had a hard time being around the baseborn, though she came from nothing. Maggie sighed.
Sully came onto the porch with a small tray bearing a salad in a plastic container, a packet of ranch dressing, a bottled water, glass glass and a beer. He put the tray down in front of his ex-wife. “This will have to do,” he said, completely ignoring any greeting. Then he took a seat across from her. “How have you been, Phoebe?” he asked, taking the beer from the tray for himself.
“I’m well,” she said. “Thank you for asking.”
“Did you want to ask Sully how he’s doing since heart surgery, Mother?” Maggie needled.
“I believe I’m up to date on everything, Maggie, since you and I talk regularly.” She looked at Sully as she struggled to open her plastic salad. “I hope you’re well, Harry.”
She was the only person on earth who called him by his given name.
Phoebe managed to get the container open after a brief struggle and a few chunks of lettuce and the fork popped out onto the table. Out of habit, Maggie just scooped it away and arranged the meal for Phoebe, putting the fork beside the container and shaking out the densely folded napkin and snaking it onto her lap.
“Well,” Phoebe said, moving the clumps of lettuce around a bit. “Walter said he enjoyed his visit to your camp.”
“He told you?” Sully asked, surprised.
“Of course he told me! Why would you think otherwise? Do you think we have secrets from each other?”
“I meant no offense,” Sully said, taking a long pull on his beer. “He said you thought he was playing golf,” he added. “I thought that meant...”
“He’s always playing golf!” Phoebe said.
“New hair color?” Sully asked her.
“My hair has always been red,” she said.
“Was it red?” he asked. “I can’t remember.”
“Well, at your age, that’s to be expected, isn’t it?” Phoebe said. “Maybe if you weren’t always headlong into the bottle—”
“Oh, Jesus,” Maggie muttered, rubbing her temples.
“I haven’t had a beer before five in the afternoon in at least twenty years,” he said. “Hadn’t felt the need until now.”