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Authors: Mary Jane Maffini
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Philosopher?”
We polished off a tub of Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk. It might have been winter outside, but good old-fashioned ice cream met some deep inner needs, for sure—stoked my serotonin and all that. Even so, by the time I said good night to Jack and watched him lope lazily down the stairs to his own apartment, brushed my teeth again, and settled down in my frog pajamas under my snuggly duvet with my two warm little dogs at the end of the bed, all that ice cream hadn’t been enough to put Mona Pringle out of my mind.
All night long, I tossed like a stormy sea.
“What time is it?” I said, staggering out of bed.
I’d been talking to myself, but Jack answered, “Nine.”
He was already back upstairs. I pushed aside the recurring thought that it would be nice if he just lived here. No point in making myself miserable. I grumped, “Since when do I sleep in until nine? I am up at dawn every morning, raring to go. People hate me for it. Nine? Are you kidding?”
“First time for everything. I walked Truffle and Sweet Marie for you. They didn’t sleep in. I fed them too. They didn’t care for the snow much and they’re recovering under their blanket on your sofa. Coffee?”
I nodded. I sat in grateful silence as the heavenly scent filled the room. I would have enjoyed spending the morning in my cozy apartment with Jack, but he had some urgent thing to take care of and needed some time at the shop. He headed off to CYCotics shortly after breakfast, dressed for the tropics as usual.
I glanced at my To Do list. It was full of fun things, but I was sure that I wouldn’t be able to relax until I figured out how to handle this situation with Mona. It didn’t help that everyone seemed to be telling me to butt out. I tried calling her, with no luck. Mona must have been one of the few stubborn souls without an answering machine.
I checked the thermometer and decided that Woodbridge must have broken the record for cold on this day. I suited up: lined jeans, puffy white parka, and my only pair of warm no-nonsense boots. Lined gloves, a scarf, and my least favorite item of clothing: a hat. The dogs declined to accompany me.
Ten minutes later, I drove by the corner of Long March Road and Amsterdam and turned right. This was the site of the fatal accident with the woman who’d had the misfortune of looking like Serena Redding. I pulled in and sat there thinking. Someone had erected a small wooden cross on a snow-covered patch by the side of the road. Two teddy bears and at least a dozen bouquets of flowers were stacked around it. I got out of the Miata and walked over to them. The snow hadn’t been plowed on the sidewalk and it had drifted in front of the makeshift shrine. My feet were still dry, but the drifts soaked my jeans quickly. That didn’t seem important right at that moment. It seemed so sad, a person of my own age struck down because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I shivered.
A red-faced woman walking a large shaggy dog of no distinguishable type stopped and shook her head. The dog sat obediently beside her while she chatted with me. Her breath left frozen white trails in the air. “The guy just hit her and drove away.”
“Yes. It’s hard to believe. Terrible thing.”
“Did you know her, then?”
“I didn’t, but I heard about the accident on the news and I just wanted to”—not the best time for the truth, I decided—“pay my respects.”
“Bethann had her issues, but she was too young to die like that.”
“Bethann? I hadn’t even heard her name.”
She sniffed and nodded in the direction of the house. “She was the best of that bunch, Bethann Reynolds.”
I decided I didn’t want to hear what the neighbor thought of this Bethann, whom I didn’t even know, and her family. “Well, I’ll be off. Oh. Bethann Reynolds, did you say?”
“Yes. Did you know her after all?”
“Um, maybe. A long time ago. In high school. I have a vague memory of
We polished off a tub of Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk. It might have been winter outside, but good old-fashioned ice cream met some deep inner needs, for sure—stoked my serotonin and all that. Even so, by the time I said good night to Jack and watched him lope lazily down the stairs to his own apartment, brushed my teeth again, and settled down in my frog pajamas under my snuggly duvet with my two warm little dogs at the end of the bed, all that ice cream hadn’t been enough to put Mona Pringle out of my mind.
All night long, I tossed like a stormy sea.
“What time is it?” I said, staggering out of bed.
I’d been talking to myself, but Jack answered, “Nine.”
He was already back upstairs. I pushed aside the recurring thought that it would be nice if he just lived here. No point in making myself miserable. I grumped, “Since when do I sleep in until nine? I am up at dawn every morning, raring to go. People hate me for it. Nine? Are you kidding?”
“First time for everything. I walked Truffle and Sweet Marie for you. They didn’t sleep in. I fed them too. They didn’t care for the snow much and they’re recovering under their blanket on your sofa. Coffee?”
I nodded. I sat in grateful silence as the heavenly scent filled the room. I would have enjoyed spending the morning in my cozy apartment with Jack, but he had some urgent thing to take care of and needed some time at the shop. He headed off to CYCotics shortly after breakfast, dressed for the tropics as usual.
I glanced at my To Do list. It was full of fun things, but I was sure that I wouldn’t be able to relax until I figured out how to handle this situation with Mona. It didn’t help that everyone seemed to be telling me to butt out. I tried calling her, with no luck. Mona must have been one of the few stubborn souls without an answering machine.
I checked the thermometer and decided that Woodbridge must have broken the record for cold on this day. I suited up: lined jeans, puffy white parka, and my only pair of warm no-nonsense boots. Lined gloves, a scarf, and my least favorite item of clothing: a hat. The dogs declined to accompany me.
Ten minutes later, I drove by the corner of Long March Road and Amsterdam and turned right. This was the site of the fatal accident with the woman who’d had the misfortune of looking like Serena Redding. I pulled in and sat there thinking. Someone had erected a small wooden cross on a snow-covered patch by the side of the road. Two teddy bears and at least a dozen bouquets of flowers were stacked around it. I got out of the Miata and walked over to them. The snow hadn’t been plowed on the sidewalk and it had drifted in front of the makeshift shrine. My feet were still dry, but the drifts soaked my jeans quickly. That didn’t seem important right at that moment. It seemed so sad, a person of my own age struck down because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I shivered.
A red-faced woman walking a large shaggy dog of no distinguishable type stopped and shook her head. The dog sat obediently beside her while she chatted with me. Her breath left frozen white trails in the air. “The guy just hit her and drove away.”
“Yes. It’s hard to believe. Terrible thing.”
“Did you know her, then?”
“I didn’t, but I heard about the accident on the news and I just wanted to”—not the best time for the truth, I decided—“pay my respects.”
“Bethann had her issues, but she was too young to die like that.”
“Bethann? I hadn’t even heard her name.”
She sniffed and nodded in the direction of the house. “She was the best of that bunch, Bethann Reynolds.”
I decided I didn’t want to hear what the neighbor thought of this Bethann, whom I didn’t even know, and her family. “Well, I’ll be off. Oh. Bethann Reynolds, did you say?”
“Yes. Did you know her after all?”
“Um, maybe. A long time ago. In high school. I have a vague memory of
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