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who
helped us get Nicole back. He and I had a thing.” She shrugged. “I
fell for him, Darla,” she said, tossing the shorts down and sitting
on the little metal bench. “He was so capable and kind. I wish I
could tell you. He was soothing to be around but also
exciting....and I fell for him. Really hard.”
    “And you haven’t heard from him since you got
back.”
    “It’s been nearly three months.”
    “You really didn’t know him very long.”
    “True.”
    “Was his English very good?”
    “Better than my French.”
    “But y’all were able to communicate
okay?”
    “We managed, I’d say, wouldn’t you,
Darla?”
    “Oh, dear. Gerry hadn’t mentioned this part.
You mean you slept with him?”
    “God, Gerry is such a prude. I guess he
thought he was protecting my reputation or something by not telling
his own wife?”
    “You know Gerry.”
    “Anyway, yes, I slept with him. It felt right
at the time.”
    “And now it feels like you got used. I’m
sorry, Maggie.”
    “Me, too. You know, Darla, I hate to forever
destroy the sophisticated image you probably had of me but I
haven’t slept with a lot of guys and none that I didn’t know pretty
well.”
    “So he was special. I can understand that. I
don’t think the man who preaches the Baptist service at our church
would, but...”
    “But this one just hit me hard, you know?”
Maggie pulled off her blouse and slipped a T-shirt on. “I mean,
where the hell am I going these days? I work ten hours a day, work
out in an all-women’s gym—for what, I might ask?--so I can continue
to look good in my Macy’s designer dresses to impress clients?”
Maggie pulled on her socks and aerobic shoes and began lacing them
up. Darla sat down next to her on the bench and put a hand out to
calm her.
    “Hey,” she said. “It’s okay, Maggie. It’s not
all for nothing.”
    “I want stuff that I don’t have, Darla,” she
said. “Stuff I don’t even see on the horizon, you know?
Husband-stuff, children-stuff, sharing my life with organisms other
than a cat kind of stuff.” She paused. “I don’t even own a
cat.”
    “Sweetie, you’re just lonely. It’s not the
end of the world.”
    “How long were you single before you met
Gerry?” Maggie asked.
    “Me?”
    “Yeah, really. How long were you on your own
before—“
    “I didn’t get a chance to be on my own. I
envy you that, Maggie. I really do. I mean, you know for sure that
you can take care of yourself, all by yourself.”
    Maggie shook her head and resumed lacing her
sneakers.
    “It makes a good story, Darla,” she said.
“And I appreciate the effort, but you know as well as I do that it
takes no great brains or skill to buy your own groceries and get
the rent check into the apartment office on time. Living alone is
not that tricky. So, failing that,” Maggie stood up. “what other
reason can you think of to envy me?”
    Darla leaned over and gave Maggie an
unexpected hug.
    “I love you, Maggie,” she said.
    Later that night, Maggie returned to her
darkened apartment on Peachtree Road. She flipped on the lights,
made herself an iced tea—knowing the caffeine would probably keep
her awake but not caring, kicked off her espadrilles and heaved
herself onto her couch. Her polo pullover was stained and she felt
the weariness of the hot day settle onto her shoulders. The
air-conditioner in her apartment hummed loudly, reassuringly. She
glanced up at the stark, high-tech wrought-iron clock on the living
room wall. A little after seven. She wished she’d stopped in for
dinner at Brymsley now. Wished she’d just showered there, changed
into something cool and crisp of Elise’s (her sister still had most
of her clothes in her old room, although, it was all in black or
checkered gray, hardly cool and crisp attire for a 102-degree
Atlanta evening) and just burrowed deep into the cozy recesses of
her family.
    Instead, she’d come home to shower and eat
alone. She fingered the brief postcard