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heard
the shower.
    She set the
oven at 375 and put the broccoli in the colander to rinse and drain.
She shook the colander to get rid of most of the water before
trimming and slicing the broccoli into long stems. It would take an
hour and a half or so to roast the chicken, but she wanted everything
as ready as possible ahead of time. Damn. She should have gotten some
kind of rolls, she realized. Oh, well. It would be okay.
    About thirty
minutes later, Sean walked back into the kitchen along with the scent
of his aftershave. His stubble was gone and he was smooth shaven once
again. That was good too, Marla thought appreciatively. What was she
thinking? She had to stop this.
    “ What would
you like to drink?” Marla asked. “I got some wine.” She held up
her glass.
    “ I think I’ll
make a whisky sour,” he said as he headed to the living room where
she kept the hard liquor in a bar from the forties. When you opened
the doors to the bar, it was complete with tumblers and shot glasses
and Bakelite picks for olives and onions. It was from an estate sale
in Mobile, and Marla had kept it for herself.
    When Sean came
back to the kitchen, Marla said, “I’ve got the chicken in the
oven and everything’s ready to go when it’s time. Do you wanna
sit on the balcony for a few minutes, or is it too cold?”
    “ It’s
really not bad out,” he said. “I think it’s in the sixties
right now. Let me grab a jacket.” When he came back he had on a
brown jacket and held her jacket out to her. The balcony was a small
space off of the living room and was surrounded with a wrought iron
railing, like something you would see in New Orleans. Marla put her
houseplants out there in the spring and summer and much of the fall
before it got too cold. They settled in the white wicker chairs that
had come with the place and set their drinks on a wicker glass-topped
table in between.
    “ That traffic
in Atlanta is incredible,” Sean said as he took a sip of his drink.
“I know I grew up there so I should be used to it, but I think it’s
gotten even worse.”
    “ I haven’t
been to Atlanta in years,” Marla said. In fact, the last time she
had been to Atlanta was nearly six years earlier when she and
Meredith had gone on a wedding dress hunt. Meredith had not been able
to find the “right” dress in Mobile. The sisters scoured the
wedding shops in Atlanta for two days. Meredith tried on dress after
dress. “This isn’t it, either,” she would say with a disgusting
tone. “I think you’re turning into bridezilla,” Marla told her.
She remembered the look Meredith had given her when she said that.
And then Meredith laughed. And Marla laughed, and they couldn’t
stop laughing. The saleslady came over and asked if everything was
all right. They laughed even harder. When the trip was over, Meredith
still didn’t have a dress, but she eventually found one in Mobile
that she said was perfect. It was the last trip Marla and Meredith
had taken together.
    The memory of
that trip made her feel sad and teary. She didn’t mention any of it
to Sean and tried to pull herself together. She took a sip of wine.
They sat silently for a few minutes and Marla had no idea what was
going through Sean’s mind.
    “ There’s
the big dipper,” he said. Marla peered up at the nighttime sky.
“And the little dipper right above it to the right.” And there
they were.
    “ I’d better
check on that chicken,” Marla said getting up. “You want
anything?”
    “ I’m okay,”
Sean said. “Do you mind if I sit out here for a few more minutes?”
    “ Of course
not,” she said.
    The chicken had
about thirty minutes to go, so it was time to start the broccoli and
rice and make the salad. Marla set the stove on high and put a pan of
water on to boil for the rice. She put a larger pot with a couple of
inches of water in it to boil for the broccoli. While the two pots
were heating up, she peeled the pear and sliced it into thin
crescents, which she