What Goes Around . . .

By Howard Allen Losness

Caroline Walbrook is an accomplished author whose life is about to change when she learns that the headaches she has been having and periodic passing out bouts are the result of a brain tumor that is threatening her very existence and must be surgically removed immediately.

The operation is successful, but the stress of the procedure leaves her in a coma. While in a comatose state, Carolines husband and his lover, Carolines best friend, Lenore Patterson, develop a plot to kill her. A simple drug introduced into her feeding tube, or a pillow over her face should do it, but before they can implement the plan, Caroline Walbrook comes out of her coma. She has no memory of who she is, nor does she remember anyone that had been involved in her life, including her husband.

Time for plan B to be implemented.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Feb 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469760872

Howard Allen Losness

HOWARD LOSNESS is the author of 22 books and has written and illustrated seven children’s books. He has retired from the commercial real estate company that he formed forty years ago and now spends his time writing, painting, playing tennis and golf and enjoying his family.

Book preview

What Goes Around …

Howard Allen Losness

iUniverse, Inc.

Bloomington

What Goes Around…

Copyright © 2012 by Howard Allen Losness

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

iUniverse

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.iuniverse.com

1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4697-6086-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4697-6087-2 (e)

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 2/3/2012

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgement

What Goes Around …

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Chapter 86

Chapter 87

Chapter 88

Chapter 89

Chapter 90

Chapter 91

Chapter 92

Chapter 93

Chapter 94

Chapter 95

Chapter 96

Chapter 97

Chapter 98

Chapter 99

Chapter 100

Chapter 101

Chapter 102

Chapter 103

Chapter 104

Chapter 105

Chapter 106

Chapter 107

Chapter 108

Chapter 109

Chapter 110

Chapter 111

Chapter 112

Chapter 113

Chapter 114

Chapter 115

Chapter 116

Chapter 117

Chapter 118

Chapter 119

Chapter 120

Chapter 121

Chapter 122

Chapter 123

Chapter 124

Chapter 125

Chapter 126

Chapter 127

Chapter 128

Chapter 129

Chapter 130

Chapter 131

Chapter 132

Chapter 133

Chapter 134

Chapter 135

Other Books by Howard A. Losness

What Goes Around …

The Terrorist

My Journey (Biography)

The Mark

A Dangerous Mind

Honor Thy Father

Betrayal

The Messenger

In Between

Betrayal

Escaped!

The Colombian

The Trick

Damaged Goods

Suicide Cliff

Cross Check

Once I was Lost

The Plot

Lost Woman

Short Stories

A Pocket Full of Pebbles

Young Adult Books

Little Eagle and the Sacred Waterfall

The Secret

Illustrated Children’s Books

It’s Fun to be Small

0The Boy Who Lived Beneath the Sea

Zachary’s Wild Balloon Ride

The Scarecrow and Farmer Rabbit

Humphrey Gets Lost

Sparrow’s Vacation

Water Boy

Illustrated children’s book for Zachary Losness

Land of Black Lightning

Dedication

This book is dedicated to our good friend Shirley Scelsa, whose spirital soul has left this earth to join our Heaveanly Father.

We love you, shirley, and will miss you more than words can say.

Acknowledgement

Thanks to my son, Aaron Losness, for his contribution in proof reading the What Goes Around… manuscript. Without his able assistance I’m sure there would have been errors that would gone undiscovered in the finished product.

What Goes Around …

He was standing next in line, waiting patiently to have his recently purchased book signed by the author, Caroline Walbrook. Caroline Walbrook sat at a simple desk, with a stack of books, six deep, occupying each corner of the desk. She was an attractive woman in her forties, obviously in good shape, as suggested by the tone of her skin. She wore a pair of black slacks, a white silk shirt, unbuttoned at the neck so the cleavage shown gave just hint of sex appeal, tasteful, but not suggestive. She wore her auburn colored hair short, almost boyish. There was just a hint of makeup on her thin lips and a slight showing of eye liner as well.

Bob? She inquired, looking up into the face of the middle aged man standing before her. Is that with one ‘o’ or two, she said, smiling, hoping that he had a sense of humor. He was probably in his early forties, she guessed from the way he had dressed, his receding grayish hairline and the character lines on his face.

There was a momentary period of silence while he pondered the meaning of her question, and then said, Oh! I get it. Boob! He laughed and pointed his finger at the author. Good one! He turned to the person standing behind him. Boob! He laughed.

His smile was infectious, causing the young woman standing behind him, next in line, to smile appreciatively as he turned around to see if she had heard the dialogue and if so, if she too had gotten the barb.

Boob! he exclaimed. Wait until I tell Susan that one. She’ll never let me forget it. Boob!" he repeated again.

Caroline looked up at him, patiently waiting for his response, wondering what she had started. It was obviously going to be Bob, but she wanted his confirmation, just in case he wanted his last name included. In book signings, you never knew. Caroline had a lady once ask her to write, To Jesus, from Mary, adding, How are the hands and feet, my son?

Just plain old Bob, will be fine, the man responded. Oh, can you give it a personal touch? he asked with a sheepish grin.

What did you have in mind?

How about, ‘I enjoyed our lunch together. Let’s do it again some time.’ And sign your name.

The look in his eyes were a combination of puppy-dog admiration and a little-boy charm, asking for a cookie.

Please don’t say no.

Sure. I can do that, the author replied, putting her Shaffer ink pen to paper. She wrote it down and then signed her name, Caroline Walbrook. She blew on the wet ink softly, and then blotted the page with her handy portable ink blotter so that the ink wouldn’t smudge. She had leaned this trick the hard way. Once, during a book signing, just after she had begun signing books with an ink pen using real ink instead of a regular ball point pen – she always thought that real ink added a little more class to the event –the customer had run her finger over the wet ink, thereby, not only smearing it all over the page, but making the signature illegible.

Then, the lady had insisted that Caroline not only sign a fresh copy of the book, but not charge her for the one that she had just ruined. Caroline explained that she didn’t own the book that she had purchased, but that indeed it belonged to the book seller to whom the lady had already paid her money to purchase the book.

To make a long, boring, story short, the book seller had refused to take the book back, saying that once it left their hands, it was the purchaser’s to do as she wished, and if she had wished to have the author sign the book, that in itself, she explained, made it all the more impossible to return, not to mention the smudged signature, thereby rendering the book unmarketable.

In short, to save face, in the spirit of goodwill and not wanting to have the customer make more of a scene than she already had, Caroline had agreed to pay for a new copy, allowing her keep the damaged book as well.

Anyway, Caroline handed the signed, messaged book back to Bob, Boob, who was beaming ear to ear. Caroline looked around the man to the next customer, a young girl who had been patiently waiting her turn. A glance behind her indicated that only three other people were waiting in line to have their book signed and then perhaps Caroline Walbrook could take a break. She checked her watch, noting that it was five minutes to four. She had been here three hours already. She agreed to be here from one to five.

Another hour to go!

Ugh!

The next woman in line extended her hand and with a big toothy smile, saying, I’m so thrilled to meet you, Ms. Walbrook. She cradled two books in her arms as if they were treasures that she was afraid might be taken from her, and then she extended her hand. I’m Sarah.

She had a limp wash-rag type of hand shake, the kind most authors simply hate. Especially in a man. They preferred a firm handshake. A man’s handshake. They figure, if you are going to extend your hand, at least put something into it.

Glad to meet you, Sarah.

I‘ve read every one of your books, she gushed, flapping her eyelashes.

All of my previous books are thriller’s and murder mysteries, Caroline offered. "This one, Hawk and the Sacred Waterfall, is more science fiction than not, if you like that …."

I’m an inspiring writer too, you know, Sarah interjected, interrupting Caroline. I just finished my first book and am looking to get published. Any tips? Her eyes shined bright in anticipation.

It happens at every book signing. Invariable, someone in line is a wannabe author, or has a story they are just positive will make a great novel, and they want to tell you their story so you can spend the next year and half writing it for them, at no cost to them, of course.

It’s a story about …. She started to tell Caroline.

Writer’s digest, Caroline Walbrook quickly interjected before the woman could go on with her precious story.

Pardon?

"Check out a copy of the latest addition of Writer’s Digest. In there you will find every publisher, both large and small, local and international, listed with not only their names, address’, and telephone numbers, but what type of manuscripts they are looking for."

Caroline didn’t bother to tell her that ninety-five percent of them require an agent, which is a major undertaking in itself, and even then, the rejection rate is nearly ninety-nine percent. On her first novel, she had submitted and had been turned down by thirty-seven publishing houses before one decided to give her a try.

Do you think they might have a copy at the library? I mean, I don’t have the spare funds to buy one. She fluttered her eye lashes. I’m on a limited income, you know.

I’m sure they would have a copy in their inventory.

She turned the book over to the back cover where Caroline’s picture was displayed and then turned to the inside cover where she read:

Now that Hawk had successfully completed the rigorous, dangerous task required of every young Indian boy his age, surviving in the wild for five moons by their wits and skills, without tools or weapons, and then bringing back a trophy worthy enough to be called a warrior, Hawk was about to enter the forbidden area known as The Sacred Waterfalls. Once he had penetrated the barrier of the falls, he would enter into another form of living. In doing so, life as he had known it would never be the same.

Wow! This sounds exciting. I can hardly wait to read it. I bought two copies, one for my boy-friend, Paul, and one for my mom. She’s a shut in, don’t you know? She nodded in affirmation as if Caroline was already aware of that fact.

Caroline smiled and then nodded, although she really didn’t know, and for that matter, could care less.

Come on, five o’clock. Where are you?

Caroline glanced over to the opposite table and caught the eye of Walter Knoll, the other author who had been scheduled to have his book signing at the same time as Caroline Walbrook.

He was a handsome man, boyish in looks, the same age as Caroline. He wore his hair short, mostly because he was also a runner and didn’t care to be brushing it aside all the time. He wore a pair of comfortable Hushpuppy loafers, no socks, a pair of fashionable torn acid washed blue jeans and a white cotton shirt, open at the collar - two buttons down, just enough to have a slight showing of his tanned buff chest. His eyes were a quick blue-green, not unlike the onyx ring that he wore on his right ring finger.

Caroline was a nationally known author whereas Walter Knoll was in the process of attempting to market his first published book. By having two author signings at the same time, the bookseller rationalized that she would have double the exposure and maybe even double book sales.

Unlike Caroline Walbrook’s book, Walter Knoll’s book was a sappy romance full of sex and debauchery. The audience he was shooting for was the young and restless female population. He hoped that his masculine picture on the back cover would attract the young women he was seeking.

Caroline’s novel consisted of four-hundred-thirty-six pages and had been published as a hardback novel. Sales price – twenty-six dollars and ninety-five cents, and the art work as presented on the cover had obviously been done by a professional marketing firm.

Walter’s book was one hundred-thirty-six pages and was being marketed in soft cover. The cover looked as if it had been done by a first year college journalist. Sales price, Twelve dollars and ninety-five cents.

Caroline’s publisher, a nationally recognized publishing house, printed and sent out two-hundred-fifty-thousand copies, where as Walter’s publisher only printed five thousand copies and depended in large part for the author to market his own book. All this is to say that it would appear that the bookseller – the store owner – had covered all her bases in this joint signing.

After graduating from college, Walter Knoll had married his high school sweetheart, Nancy Murray. She had been killed in an unfortunate automobile accident after only two years of their marriage. Walter became distraught, took to drinking and subsequently lost his job at Lockheed Aerospace. After three years of drunken self-pity he found religion and his sanity at the same time and decided that he had a message to share, which he turned into his first novel, Time to be Killed, a story about a young couple who fell in love and then the woman’s husband had been killed in a tragic automobile accident. In other words, he wrote his personal life’s story, reversing the character’s roll.

Caroline Walbrook and Walter Knoll lived in the same town and in fact went to the same high school together. After high school, they hadn’t associated with one another, or for that matter, hadn’t even realized that they were both authors until they met at an author’s conference in San Francisco two years ago. From that moment on, they had renewed their acquaintance and had subsequently become good friends.

This was Caroline’s twentieth book and umpteenth book signing. At first, when she had published her first novel, it was exciting, setting up book signings at various towns and shopping centers, traveling the state and meeting with new people, talking to them, explaining what her latest book was all about, but now, it had become a truly laborious task. One that, frankly, she could do without, but her contract specifically dictated that she must have at least five public appearances. This was number four.

Caroline glanced over at Walter’s table. He was sitting there with his arms folded, four stacks of books neatly piled on either side of himself, patiently waiting for someone to purchase a copy of his masterpiece and then have him sign it.

He caught Caroline’s eye and smiled weakly.

She winked and gave him a little wave and then turned her attention back to the next person in line that had purchased two books.

How would you like me to sign them? She inquired, looking past her to the last person in line.

The buyer handed Caroline the first copy. This is for my boy friend. If you would, say, ‘Paul: This is from my good friend, Sharon. I hope that you enjoy it’. And then sign it. That would be sooo cool. She squealed with delight.

Caroline did as requested. And the other?

This one is for my mom, Laurie Henderson. She looked up at the ceiling and rolled her eyes as if thinking. She pointed a finger in the air and said, Say, ‘Mrs. Henderson. You are lucky to have a great daughter, like Sarah. Look forward to meeting you one day’. And then sign it.

Caroline took a deep breath and then inscribed the book under her printed name as the author and then handed it back to her. Caroline smiled and said, Thank you for your loyalty and for purchasing the books.

"Have you ever thought of converting one of your books into a screen play? I mean, there are so many stupid movies out there now. Take your latest book, On the Edge, for example. That would make a great movie."

Strange you should ask. I am, in fact writing a screen play now. Converting one of my novels into a screen play as you put it.

She smiled her large toothy smile and asked, Which one? If you don’t mind my asking.

Caroline hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should share her secret with a total stranger. Why not? Cross Check, she said.

Oh, I liked that one. She wrinkled her nose for a moment and then remarked, That would make a great movie.

Thanks. I think so, too. Caroline peered around her with an exaggerated gesture, indicating that there was still another person waiting in line.

Oh, she said and hunched her shoulders. Sorry, and turned to go. Good luck, she said over her shoulder. And it was great meeting you.

Caroline Walbrook smiled and thanked her.

When she had finished signing the last customer’s book, she stood up and stretched.

Long day, huh? Walter said, rising from his chair to come over to Caroline’s table. How many have you sold so far?

Sixty-four, she said, looking down on the sheet where she keep not only a record of whose name she had put in the book, but how many she had signed for at this particular book event. She didn’t know why she kept such records. They were of no use to anyone, including herself. It’s just a habit that she had gotten into when she had first started signing books.

How about you?

Thirteen. He looked sheepish. Not that all that great, huh? He glanced over at the pile of books that stood at the front of Caroline’s table.

She patted him on the shoulder. You’ll do better. It takes time. Believe me, I know.

He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes to go. Want to wrap it up?

Caroline glanced at her watch. Why not? It appeared that no one else was going to come in to purchase a book, so she started to pack up her materials: her trusty Shaffer ink pen, the yellow pad where she faithfully logged in the name of everyone who had purchased a book, and, of course, her shark skin purse.

Can I buy you a cup of Joe? Walter offered.

About ready to wrap it up? the store owner, Judy Allen asked, walking over to where Walter and Caroline were standing.

Caroline nodded and said, Looks like we’ve picked ‘em clean.

Yes, it was a good signing.

You did good, she said, directing her comments to Caroline. You too, Walter, she added.

Thanks, was all he said.

I think I’ll get ready to close up myself, she said.

What are the most books that you’ve ever sold at one sitting? Walter inquired, once Judy Allen had left.

I think it was sixty-sixty, she said, wrinkling her nose and looking up at the ceiling. My husband, Bruce, hates it when I did that – wrinkle my nose and look up at the ceiling. He said it looks like I’m looking into a crystal ball. Very annoying, according to him. But then there seems to be a lot of things that I do that annoy him, she mused, gazing in the distance for a moment.

Do you want to schedule another session for next week? Judy, the store keeper asked, her question obviously directed at Caroline Walbrook.

Let me check my calendar and get back to you on that.

In other words, not if I can help it.

I never bothered to think, what would happen if I simply didn’t show up for any of the book signings. Would my publisher know the difference and if so, what could they do about it? Fodder for thought.

I’ll get back to you, Caroline reiterated. She picked up her belongings and walked over to where Walter is waiting.

Thanks again, they both said over their shoulder to Judy Allen as they walked out of the store.

Chapter 2

It was chilly outside as Walter and Caroline strolled out onto the sidewalk. Caroline smiled and shivered at the same time.

Walter slid his arm around her shoulder and said, Cold?

Caroline looked at him as he removed his tweed coat and slipped it around her shoulders.

Thanks, she said, giving him a warm smile that conveyed nothing more than gratitude. Where do you want to go? she inquired with a foxy smile that suggested playfulness.

There’s this little coffee shop that I found, just down the street. It just reeks of ambience and the drinks are suburb. If you’re up for a little adventure, I thought we might give that a try.

Sounds good. You lead and I’ll follow.

The Hidden Village Coffee Shoppe was indeed just down the street and over a block, off the beaten path, and hard to find if you didn’t know that it existed, hence the name Hidden Village. It was nestled in between and behind several Japanese maple trees, large elephant ferns and deep green succulent plants. The gravel path that led up to the front door emitted a sound like pop corn when one walked on it. A single unlit wooden sign that had been carved out of walnut hung partially hidden amongst the Japanese maple announced The Hidden Village Coffee Shoppe.

Here we are, Walter said, taking her arm, leading her to the leaded glass door that had been decorated with a tropical bird scene.

A charming little bell tingled as they entered the darkened room. The walls were filled with exotic oil paintings of an unknown local artist depicting various spheres of various colors, such as clear marbles, much like a Salvador Dali painting. Soft guitar music filtered throughout the room. The scent of sandalwood incense permeated the air. Tables that stood twelve inches high with soft pillows surrounding each table had been scattered about the room. Some of the tables had been equipped with GO games while others had chessboards that were already set up, while other just sat bare.

There were only two other couples in the room, each partaking of wine and various selections of cheese and cracker dishes that they had purchased from the scantly clad young woman in an Egyptian outfit, complete with bells and chains around her ankles, wrists and waist.

Caroline and Walter choose a vacant table in the far back corner of the room.

"I love this place, Caroline said, looking round, taking a deep breath, digesting the ambiance of the whole setting. How did you find it?"

It’s been so long since I’ve first been here, that to be perfectly frank, I can’t remember.

The hostess allowed Walter and Caroline a few moments to nestle in and get adjust to their surroundings before inquiring as to what they desired.

Let me ask you a question, Walter said, addressing Caroline. Do you like sweet wine?

She shrugged her shoulders. I guess I’m used to Merlot and Chardonnay. I did have a taste of blackberry wine once. That was pleasant. Why?

If you are a wine connoisseur, you’ll hate what I’m about to suggest. But ….

She shook her head. No, whatever you order, I’ll like. I promise, unless it’s vinegar. She laughed.

The young Egyptian dressed girl came over to where they were seated. Good evening.

Good evening to you as well, Walter said, smiling.

Can I take your order?

We’ll have two glasses of blackberry wine and a plate of cheese and crackers, Walter ordered.

Blackberry wine! Caroline said, seductively once the girl had departed. Walter Knoll, you wouldn’t take advantage of a poor little intoxicated girl, now would you? she said in her best southern accent.

Only, if she was willing, he smiled affectionately.

They both laughed.

What’s that game over there? Caroline asked, pointing to the wooden board with lines all over it.

That’s a game called Go. Ever heard of it?

No. But it looks interesting.

Want me to teach you how to play?

Is it difficult?

Any child can play it. Here, let me go get it.

He got up from his pillow and retrieved the game board along with two bowls, each filled with white or black buttons.

Okay then, I’ll be black and you can be white. He placed the bowl of white buttons next to Caroline.

But I wanted to be black, she said with a pout.

No problem. Here. He slid the bowl of black buttons over to her side of the table.

I was just kidding. You can take a joke, can’t you? She smiled seductively and then slid the bowl of black buttons back to Walter.

Walter felt foolish for a moment.

Okay. The object of this game is simply to occupy as much space on the board as you can. Think of it as a war, and the object is to occupy as much land as possible. If you surround your opponent’s buttons, his land, then you can remove them from the table and now, that space belongs to the conqueror. The game is over when there is no more space to claim or fight over. The person who has the most space, or land, under their control, wins the game.

Sounds like a marriage.

Walter smiled. I wouldn’t know.

Sorry.

No problem. Okay, I’ll move first. There is no right or wrong move to place your button at the beginning of the game.

He placed a black button midway on the board.

Okay, you’re turn. You can either place your button near mine or anywhere else on the board.

I think I’ll put mine next to yours, she said, looking at him seductively. I like copinquity.

Copinquity. He wrinkled his nose. Never heard that word before.

Means, togetherness.

I love the sound of it. Copinquity, he repeated the word. Remind me to look that one up when I get home.

You won’t find it.

Pardon?

The word. Copinquity. You won’t find it."

Why is that?

Because it’s my word.

What do you mean, ‘your word’?

I made it up. It’s exclusively a Caroline Walbrook word. I use it in every novel that I’ve ever written. Keeps my readers on their toes. She laughed.

Walter glanced up at the ceiling, as if thinking. Copinquity. I like it. Do you mind if I use it. I mean as the founder and originator of the word, you have exclusivity. He smiled as he looked into her eyes.

She reached out and laid her hand on his. Feel free to use it without restraint.

Walter blushed.

What? Caroline inquired, removing her hand from his.

What do you mean, what?

You’re blushing!

He smiled and shook his head.

Come on. You can tell me. Why are you blushing? She grinned as if she were the cat that swallowed the canary. What is it?

Walter looked down at his hand. Promise you won’t laugh. And then he looked her in the eye. Or get mad.

Get mad? She smiled. I promise.

This is going to sound foolish.

She settled back in her pillow and smiled.

Tell me, she insisted, reaching out to touch his hand again.

There, you did it again.

What? Touched you? A seductive smile came across her face.

I know it sounds adolescent, but every time you touch me, I swear it sends an electrical shock throughout my body. He held up his hand. I don’t mean an electrical shock in a bad way. It’s just something that I can’t explain. He grinned sheepishly. I shouldn’t have said anything. Stupid! I’m sorry.

She reached out and touched him again. Don’t be. She blushed. Now you have me doing it.

Walter grinned from ear to ear.

That’s sweet.

Just then the waitress returned with their wine and cheese and crackers.

Saved by the bell, Caroline said.

They each took their wine and touched glasses.

To friendship, Walter said.

To friendship and copinquity.

Chapter 3

Do you mind if I ask you a personal question? Caroline said, taking a sip of wine.

No. Go right ahead.

It’s personal. I mean, really personal.

Walter laughed. My life is an open book, and not all that great reading at that, even if I do say so myself. He looked deep into her eyes. Fire away, figuratively speaking, of course.

You’re a handsome guy, well read, athletic, liked by everyone by my standards. Why …..

Haven’t I remarried?

Yeah.

He smiled, and then leaned over close to Caroline’s ear. I’m gay!

She blinked and straightened up as if a bolt of electricity had just hit her.

Walter laughed. Just kidding.

Whew! You had me going there for a moment. Not that it would have mattered, she added quickly."

"Truth of the matter is, after Nancy had been killed in that auto accident, I simply lost interest in any relationship. And, until