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that,” I said to Bethany. “On the other hand, maybe you’d have a hard time getting the guests to go home. And of course, there’d be all those bathrooms to clean. Still,” I said wistfully, “it would sure be something to live in a house like that, don’t you think so, peanut?”
    Bethany nodded noncommittally, obviously not as enamored with the house as I was. “I like that one,” she said, pointing off to the far right.
    â€œWhich one?” I tried to track my eyes in the direction she was pointing.
    â€œThere,” she said, stabbing the air with her finger. “That little white one next door—that happy house. See? It’s smiling!”
    I looked again and laughed. She was pointing to a smaller building. Two six-over-six windows sat on either side and slightly above a red front door with three bull’s-eye glass panes across the top. The second story had narrow eyebrow windows arranged in perfect symmetry over larger six-by-sixes on the main floor. I saw what Bethany meant; if you used your imagination, the door looked like an open, laughing red mouth and the windows like smiling eyes. “You’re right. It’s a happy house.”
    Bethany pointed to the big white mansion next door. “Do you think the people who live here are happy, too?”
    â€œWell, if they’re not, they ought to be. I could sure be happy living in a place like this.”
    â€œBut maybe not,” Bethany said sagely. “We lived in a big house before and we weren’t happy there, were we, Mommy?”
    â€œNo,” I whispered, remembering the four-bedroom, two-and-a-half-bath ranch house in an upscale suburban neighborhood where we’d lived for eight years; the house where I’d become an expert in the art of using foundation and concealer to mask my latest bruises because I didn’t want the neighbors to know that our house wasn’t as happy as it looked from the outside. “No, we weren’t.”
    â€œI like where we live now,” Bethany said, referring to our tiny apartment. “But it would be nice to live in a house that smiles.”
    Â 
    Abigail smacked the dashboard with her hand, startling me out of my reverie. “That’s it!” she exclaimed. “The perfect solution! Why didn’t I think of it before?”
    â€œThink of what before?”
    â€œA Proctor Street house! You’re right: If it was modeled into separate apartments, it could easily house ten families. The neighborhood is quiet, within walking distance to schools and the downtown area where most jobs are, and it’s just two blocks from the bus line! Brilliant idea!”
    Beaming, Abigail unbuckled her seat belt and practically leapt out of the car. “Just lock the doors, would you? I’ve got to run to my meeting. I can’t wait to tell Donna about this! It’s the absolutely perfect solution to all our problems. Must run. Tell Bethany and Bobby I said hello. Thank you so much, Ivy!”
    She slammed the door shut and scurried toward the front door without an umbrella, her high heels echoing definitively against the sidewalk, seemingly unaware that she was getting soaked.
    I got out of the car. “You’re welcome,” I called after her, though I didn’t see what I’d said that was so helpful.

7
Evelyn Dixon
    â€œA ll right, Wendy. The total is $126.75.”
    Wendy opened her eyes wider and pushed her rhinestone-encrusted glasses up on her nose. “Really?”
    â€œWell, that does include the forty-five-dollar class fee as well as your fabric. But, I understand. It does add up.”
    â€œCould be worse.” Wendy shrugged as she riffled through her enormous handbag looking for her checkbook. “My ex-husband’s hobby was drinking and chasing women. Sweetie, compared to that, quilting is a bargain!” Wendy wrinkled up her nose, squashed her lips into an open O , and snorted