October 1997

By Christine Sims

As the two main characters learn about each other through anecdotes and stories, younger readers will learn, and older readers will re-live, a time in our history before rainbow flags and gay pride parades.
The story has conflict and drama, but generally there are more subtle curves than sharp angles. Despite the problems the characters encounter, including coming out to adult children and discovering and fighting breast cancer, they grow together, and the story ends on a high powerful note.
I am sixty seven years old and I live between homes in France and Florida with my partner of twenty three years. We share the challenges and adventures of living abroad, traveling, and athletic endeavors with our two yellow Labrador Retrievers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Dec 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496996794

Christine Sims

I am sixty seven years old and I live between homes in France and Florida with my partner of twenty four years. We share the challenges and adventures of living abroad, traveling, and athletic endeavors, with our two yellow Labrador Retrievers.

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Christine Sims

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AuthorHouse™ UK

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403 USA

www.authorhouse.co.uk

Phone: [phone]

© 2014 Christine Sims. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   12/16/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-9678-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-9679-4 (e)

Cover design and watercolor by Carol Berlin, all rights reserved.

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.

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

About the Author

For Carol

Love does not consist of gazing at each other but in looking outward together in the same direction.

Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Chapter One

Maggie Burns sat sipping a cup of coffee, staring out the giant picture window that framed her view of the tidal marsh and Long Island Sound. As the fog rose from the marsh, it dissolved into a dreary sky. Except for the thin shaft of sunlight that pierced the grayness, any hope for a pretty autumn day had gone.

Maggie watched the mist rise and billow, and amused herself by thinking of gloomy metaphors that described her mood.

Trapped in a faded black-and-white photo.

"Wow, she said aloud. You really did wake up on the sarcastic side of the bed this morning, didn’t you?

How about maudlin? she continued. "My life is as shapeless … No, wait. As aimless as the billowing mist. As vapid as the vapor. As bland and formless as the gray, cloudless sky.

Okay, Maggie Burns, what is this down-in-the-dumps crapola? This isn’t you.

She exhaled loudly and walked close to the window, watching the cattails sway with the breeze. Her breath fogged the windowpane, and a whole new set of sappy metaphors began forming in her head.

Okay, this is it. It’s time for a jog on the beach.

At the sound of her favorite words, Chamie, Maggie’s yellow Labrador Retriever, stood up and shook. Maggie told her dog she’d get her sweatshirt and then they’d go. Chamie stretched and yawned and eagerly followed Maggie. She danced in place while Maggie pulled on her sweatshirt and ball cap.

As she past the hall mirror she stole a glance of herself and scowled, tucking some strands of grey hair under her cap.

They jogged down the back steps and headed for the beach, beyond the far edge of the meadow that bordered her property. As they ran onto the beach, a strong wind out of the northeast hit her face. The sound was choppy and gray, and the beach was empty. The summer sunbathers and swimmers had retreated to work or school, and the tourists had returned home.

Maggie pulled her hands up into the sleeves of her sweatshirt and pumped her arms vigorously as she ran along the curving shoreline. Running always cleared her head and allowed her thoughts to run free without the social filters that sometimes stifled her feelings. She knew her life could measure up to the best of them, college, grad school, law school, work, travel. But she always viewed it as a work in progress, not a finished product. It was the progress part that was a little murky at the moment. She retired early to travel and explore the world, but the excitement had all but been extinguished by a bad break-up several years before.

Chamie walked and sniffed, rolled, and chased a gang of intrepid seagulls as they stood, apparently fearless, until she nearly reached them. Only then did they fly off in noisy protest.

Maggie ran hard, struggling in the deep sand, forcing herself to go faster in an attempt to blow off her heavy mood. A long rock jetty finally came into sight, and she ran faster until she reached the rocks. Slowing to a stop, she breathed heavily and walked in a small circle, her hands on her hips until her breathing came more easily.

She climbed on the rocks and stood atop the jetty, bracing herself against the gusts of wind, and looked east. Beyond a narrow inlet, the beach continued on the other side, following the contours of the craggy coastline.

A hazy sun climbed in the sky and struggled to break through the grayness. Maggie willed the sun to win. She thrust her arm into the air as it finally broke free from the strangling mist and a blue sky emerged.

Not today, girl, she said as Chamie joined her on the rocks, eager to cross the inlet and continue their walk along the other side.

Too cold for me. You can go if you want.

Chamie retreated with Maggie, who was happy to have the wind at her back as she headed toward home. She meandered along the high-tide line, head down as she looked for shells and sea glass. Chamie dropped a stick at her feet and Maggie picked it up, fulfilling the ancient ritual that existed between dogs and their owners. She leaned back and heaved the stick as far as she could, delighted as Cham leaped through the waves with single-minded determination to retrieve her quarry.

No, no, don’t you shake on me, she said as the dog raced back. She tried to dance out of the way. Oh, that’s cold, Cham. I can’t believe you did that. She shivered and pulled the hood over her head and stuffed her hands in the pouch pocket.

Come on, let’s get home and I’ll dry you off. And do not roll in the sand.

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The phone was ringing as Maggie pushed open the back door. It was her friend Kathy, inviting Maggie to a get-together Saturday.

Hello, she said sounding slightly out of breath. Oh hi, Kathy. No, I’m fine. Just back from a run on the beach. How about you? Oh, that’s right; you’re going back soon, aren’t you? Forgot all about it.

Saturday? Maggie repeated. Yeah, fine, thanks. Shall I bring anything? Okay, see you around 7:30. Bye.

She groaned as she hung up the phone. Sometimes I’m just not up for Kathy and all her friends, she said as she stroked Chamie’s head. "Sorry, girl, I don’t mean to be a grouch. It’s just that sometimes Kathy and her get-togethers are a little over the top. Just not up for it, I guess.

Okay, she’s bright, gregarious, and lots of people love her. It’s just her Gertrude Stein persona drives me a little nuts. I can see her sitting in her salon on rue de Fleurus, holding court. And if she would just accept the fact that she wanted an Alice B. Toklas, not an Ernest Hemingway, that would go a long way too.

Maggie liked Kathy, in spite of her Gertrude Stein-isms. She’d known her for a long time. They had met in 1969; Kathy had been her mentor in graduate school. It had been a complicated time in many ways. Nixon was in the White House, war raged in Viet Nam, racial tensions divided the country, and the hopes of so many had been shattered by the assassinations the previous year. But amazingly, hope lingered, and the energies of millions of people were dedicated to trying to make a difference in the world. It seemed that the bonds of friendships forged in those turbulent years were strong, and they endured both the passage of time and physical separation.

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Maggie pulled into the parking lot outside Kathy’s condo and sat for a few seconds,

gathering herself and trying hard not to yield to the temptation to go home. An evening with Chamie, a good video, and popcorn sounded very good.

Okay, just do it, she said. She opened the door of her old VW and hopped out.

Kathy greeted her with one of her giant hugs. Haven’t seen you lately, she said. Come. She turned and curled her finger, motioning Maggie to follow. "I want you to meet a woman I met recently Jan … Jan something. I’ve forgotten her last name. Anyway, I think you’ll like her. Oh, there she is.

Jan, Kathy called out as she walked toward a tall, slender woman with short gray-blond hair.

Maggie’s mouth dropped open. She had never seen anyone look that good in a pair of Levis. Jan, last name unknown, turned to answer Kathy, and as she did Maggie could feel her heart pound all the way down to her toes.

Jan, this is my friend Maggie. I thought you two might enjoy getting to know one another. Kathy paused for a second and then wandered off toward the other side of the room.

Well, hi, Jan said as she extended her hand to Maggie. Her smile could have melted the polar ice cap.

Hi, really nice to meet you, Maggie said, not wanting to let go of her hand. Would you like to get a glass of wine? Kathy usually has something interesting. Then maybe we can find some quiet corner and talk a little.

Sounds good to me, Jan said. I’m not a real groupie, and things were getting a little deep over there, if you know what I mean.

I definitely do. I’ve known Kathy for a long time, and she thrives on the excitement of bringing people together to share ideas, and stimulating conversation. Most of the time lately it doesn’t do much for me. Guess I’m just getting old.

Guess I’m getting old too, Jan said as she filled a wineglass for Maggie and another for herself.

What do you think? Maggie said as she picked up the half-empty bottle. Shall we take it with us?

Ah, a woman after my own heart. And there are two chairs over there. Jan pointed to the corner of the room near the glass slider that led to the terrace. Shall we grab them?

They sat and Maggie raised her glass. To getting to know you.

Yes, to getting to know you too.

They looked down for a moment, staring into their wine as if they were both slightly uncomfortable by the obvious interest they had in each other.

So you’re from California? Maggie asked.

Yes, but I actually started college in New York. Spent a year at NYU.

Really? Cool.

Yeah, I arrived in a skirt, argyle knee-highs, and loafers, and by the end of the year I was in bell bottoms, tie-dyes, and sandals.

Wow, I know. Things changed so fast in those years. I mean, we grew up with Ozzie and Harriet, went to high school with Rob and Laura Petrie, and then suddenly there were drugs, sex, and rock and roll.

Where did you go to school, Maggie?

Ithaca College in upstate New York, which was a wonderful place. Just far enough away from my folks to be able to sprout my wings and do lots of stupid things. But, as you said, it was a strange and intriguing time to be in college anywhere.

I always thought so. Then I wonder if every generation of kids, off to college or out on their own, away from their parents, feels the same way. You know, maybe we tend to glorify our own coming of age.

I never thought about it that way, Maggie said, but you might be on to something there. I mean, let’s face it, our parents grew up in the Depression and then were thrust into World War Two.

Right. During the Depression there was stagnation, where everyone just hung on and lived the best they could. Then Pearl Harbor changed everything. That was a radical adjustment, moving from the harsh innocence of the Depression to the cruel brutality of war.

"exactly. It makes our transition from crew cuts and loafers to long hair and tie-dyes pale by comparison. Yet we did experience a kind of social upheaval, though not such a physical one. Not like a world war, but our belief systems were shaken to their roots. Still, we weren’t galvanized together in common purpose, as was the case with our parents.

So anyway, Maggie went on, where were we? You spent your first year of college in the city. That must have been anything but boring.

Definitely not boring. And the neat thing for me was that I could get out of the city if I wanted to. My grandparents lived on Long Island. That’s how I first got to know the north shore. I would escape from the city and go walk the beach and eat clams.

Wow. Did you ever see me? Maggie grinned. It seemed I spent half my life walking the beach. And the tang of a hard-shell clam has been etched into my memory. I can remember the taste like it was yesterday.

My grandfather would go clamming, and then he’d stand in front of their big porcelain sink and shuck those huge chowder clams into a bowl. My grandmother would make the best chowder. I would stand next to him—probably only came up to his waist—and he would feed me the tiny pink sweet muscle of the clams right off his knife. It was heaven. I still have his old knife.

Bet you have a great chowder recipe too, don’t you?

Sure do. Maggie raised her eyebrows and smiled. I’ll make it for you sometime, she said, hoping to keep a window of opportunity open. She’d also enjoy the chance to reminisce more about some of her warmest memories.

She and Jan sat and talked about their connection with the sea, about skipping stones and looking for sea glass. They talked about their college years, filled with learning, growing, and experimentation, as well as political change and turmoil.

They spoke about walking the same paths, loving the same songs, going to the same concerts, and marching in the same peace demonstrations.

It is really surprising we never met, Jan said after emptying her glass.

Yeah, except you went back to California. We did all the same things, we just did them a continent apart.

Oh, yeah, I forgot that part. It is funny, though. I wonder if we would have ever met had I stayed in the East. What do you think?

Maggie’s fantasies were running in other directions as she thought about kissing Jan and getting lost forever in her mouth. She realized she must have been staring at her, because Jan asked, What are you thinking about so intensely?

I guess I’m just thinking about how close I feel to you, and we’ve only just met.

We’ll have to get together for dinner sometime.

Maggie died inside. Get together for dinner sometime. That sounded like a million years away. She wanted to take Jan home tonight. Not someday, not maybe sometime.

That sounds great, she said.

"Great. Well, it’s getting late. Wow, it is late, Jan said as she checked her watch. I had no idea. We’ve been talking for hours. Guess I’ll say my good-byes to Kathy."

Me too.

Kathy was sitting in the middle of her overstuffed sofa surrounded by people. Maggie and Jan signaled for her not to get up. Maggie made a telephone gesture with her fingers and then waved good-bye

Jan and Maggie walked across the courtyard to the parking area and then awkwardly said good night before heading to their cars.

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Maggie sat in her dark car, feeling like a deflated balloon when she heard a gentle tap on her window. I locked my keys in my car, Jan said

Oh, that’s a bummer.

I have an extra set at home, if you could drive me.

Sure, sure, hop in, Maggie said, her heart starting to race. She backed her car up, then stopped and smiled at Jan. I have no idea where you live. We talked all night, about everything in the world, but I don’t know where you live. That is so funny.

Yes, it is funny. Really, it was wonderful, Maggie.

A warmness swelled inside Maggie just hearing Jan say her name. But anxiety at not knowing what would happen next crept in and settled like a stone in her stomach. She hadn’t felt these feelings in a long time, and as much as they thrilled her, they terrified her too.

What year is your car? Jan asked.

He’s a ’66.

He?

"Yeah, that’s a little embarrassing, isn’t it? And I know cars and boats and things are supposed to be she’s, but his name is Pheidippides."

Pheidippides? Jan repeated. That’s the Greek who ran from Marathon to Athens, right? The first marathoner.

Yes, Maggie said, astonished that she knew.

But didn’t he die when he got there?

Yes, but in the arms of adoring Greek women. So I guess if you have to go, that’s not such a bad way? But all kidding aside, apparently this poor guy had also just run from Athens to Sparta to ask for their help in the battle against the Persians, and that was about 140 miles! And then he ran back just in time to fight in the famous battle. And then if that wasn’t all, he was called upon again to run to Athens, a mere twenty-six miles. Maggie paused. Sorry about that. I’m sure that’s way more information than you ever wanted to know.

"No, that’s really neat. I never knew all that. I guess I wasn’t even sure he was a real historical character. I thought he was like one of those guys in the Odyssey, some truth but a lot of mythology."

Maggie turned onto Jan’s street and asked which house was hers.

It’s the last one on the right, the one with the wraparound front porch and the light on. She pointed. Right there.

Maggie pulled next to the curb and waited, hoping for an invitation.

Why don’t you come in for a glass of wine?

That sounds really nice. Thanks. It’s not too late for you is it? she asked with her fingers crossed.

No, come on in.

Maggie turned off the engine and took a deep breath. Slow down, girl she said to herself as she got out of the car.

The house was cottage style, probably built in the late 1920s, with a covered front porch and pots of overflowing geraniums hanging between the white pillars. Love your porch, Maggie said as she playfully picked up Jan’s hand and pretended to examine her thumb. And a green thumb too, I see.

Oh, my geraniums. Well, they’re my little success story. I actually got them to survive the winter. I cut them way back and put them in the cellar, watering them only occasionally, then transplanted them outside in April. I think they were so happy to be out of the dark basement, they just started growing and blooming like crazy.

Jan pushed open the front door and Maggie followed her in. The ceilings were high, giving the sensation that the house was larger than it was. There was lots of wood molding, deep windowsills, and highly polished wood plank floors. The walls were a nice old plaster, and hung with beautiful watercolors. A large tapestry ran down the hallway.

Jan told Maggie to sit while she got the wine. Is red still good?

Great, Maggie called back as she surveyed the warm, comfortable living room. She looked for clues, pictures of family, guys, kids, anything that might give her some insight into Jan’s history.

Here we go, Jan said as she handed Maggie a glass. Cheers!

She plopped onto the sofa and told Maggie to sit. Maggie wanted to sit next to her, but sat instead in the wingchair beside the sofa.

Really love your house. You must have done so much work to get it into this condition. It’s lovely.

Thanks. It did take a bit of work to make it mine, as they say. But it was generally in good condition. I totally remodeled the kitchen, though. The old one would never have worked. You know, not enough work space, ancient cupboards, and an old yellow Formica countertop that was pure 1950s.

Well, I haven’t seen the kitchen, but everything else looks fabulous. By the way, I almost forgot, did you want to get your car?

I guess I should, but really don’t feel like it tonight. Maybe I’ll jog over in the morning. Sunday’s my day for a long run.

I didn’t know you jog. I do too. But I’m kind of slow, usually around an eleven-minute mile. Strictly recreational. She laughed. Basically I jog so I can eat and drink. Oh, that’s how you knew about Pheidippides, she said as an afterthought; You’re a runner.

Yeah, but I’m no marathoner, that’s for sure. I’m slow too, but the way I figure it, at least I’m out there. I mean, I could be home snug in my nice warm bed at 6:30 every morning.

The thought of a nice warm bed and Jan came together in Maggie’s mind and she couldn’t stop a loud exhalation.

Would you like to jog together tomorrow morning? Jan asked. If you want to, I mean, if you don’t mind. You could drive over and we could jog to my car. Then we could stop at Panera for bagels and come back here for breakfast. What do you think of that idea?

Couldn’t have come up with a better plan myself. What time?

How about 7:30?

Sounds great.

They sipped their wine, and as Maggie looked around the room she said, I love the watercolors. Do you know the artist?

Well, I guess you would say so. I’m the artist, and thank you for the nice compliment.

Wow, really? They’re wonderful. You didn’t mention that you’re an artist.

Yeah, in the thirty years we’ve known each other, Jan said with a smile.

Gee, Maggie said pensively. You’re right. She’d known this woman for only four hours. You know I really do feel I’ve known you for a long time. Like we have this history, and somehow we got separated, and now we’ve been rejoined.

That’s such a nice thing to say, Maggie.

There’s just something, and it’s quite mysterious really, that attracts you to a certain person. Some people call it chemistry, or a human pheromone. It’s the way someone looks to you. The way they walk or carry themselves. It’s just some undefined thing. Quite remarkable, isn’t it?

Maggie went on. "I remember reading this book, oh, back in the seventies I guess. It was by Herman Hesse, and the book was called Demian. In it, Hesse wrote about that idea and some other Eastern-type philosophy. How one is attracted to another person because they are distinctive, because they have a special mark, the mark of Demian … Wow,that is so amazing. I can’t remember the last time I even thought about that book, and it was very significant in my life. I even named my dog Demian."

The book sounds interesting, maybe we can read it together sometime, Jan said.

Yeah, I’d like that. She could sit and talk to Jan all night, but Maggie knew she should go. I guess I better get going. I don’t want to overstay my welcome …

Oh, no fear there. You could never overstay your welcome.

The words reverberated through her. Thank you for saying that. That was really nice. She slowly stood up and put her wineglass on the table.

Jan walked her to the door. Neither wanted the evening to end, but each knew that it should.

Maggie reached for the doorknob, but then Jan’s hand covered hers. Maggie turned and looked at Jan. Without saying a word, she put her arms around Maggie’s waist and pulled her close.

Maggie’s heart pounded as Jan’s breasts pressed against hers and she smelled Jan’s fading perfume. She moved her face so that it touched Jan’s cheek, and Jan turned, her lips parted. Maggie brushed them with hers. They moved their mouths over each other’s, lightly, softly, barely touching.

Maggie kissed Jan’s closed eyes. Jan moaned and opened her eyes. Maggie smiled.

Do we know what we’re doing? she whispered.

As if not wanting to break the spell, Jan whispered back, All I know is that it feels wonderful.

It does indeed, Maggie said, brushed her lips across Jan’s. I guess I’d better go, but we’ll see each other tomorrow morning? At 7:30, right?

Oh, I’ll be waiting, Jan said, and watched as Maggie walked down the steps.

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Maggie turned into her driveway and stopped the car in front of the garage door. She took her hands off the steering wheel and covered her face. What am I doing? Her heart raced, and she realized it had been a long time since she’d felt this kind of excitement, this new, scary, vaguely sexual excitement.

The doggie door opened and Chamie came clattering out to greet her. Maggie hugged her tightly, Hi, girl, sorry I’m late. How you doing?

Chamie returned the affection with a wet nose and dog kisses. Inside the house, Maggie walked past the large black cage that was home to her parrot. Hi, Kiwi, she said. Kiwi fluffed and fluttered her wings and called back a greeting.

Maggie sat on her sofa, where she had been sitting hours before when things were far less complicated. She looked out across the sound to the sparkling lights of Connecticut in the distance. I love this view, she thought.

What she knew, she had always known. Northport was so much a part of her. She could move away or travel the world, but her roots were deep in this place. She loved its feel, its textures and colors, and sometimes just the smell of something would transport her back to a childhood of memories that made her absolutely certain of who she was and her place in the universe.

Tonight, a sense of anticipation made her stomach feel as jumbled as her head as she wondered how things would unfold. Did she want to leave the comfort of her simple, single existence where things were straightforward and uncomplicated? Did she want to risk failing again?

It was late when Maggie flopped into bed. She pulled the comforter up to her chin and slid her feet back and forth to warm the sheets. Almost time for the flannel sheets, she thought, and her feelings instantly, without warning, turned to Jan’s lips and the smell of her hair. Maggie allowed herself to remain there, remembering their lips touching and teasing. With her mind full of these thoughts, she fell asleep.

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Awakening early and filled with excitement, Maggie bounded into the shower. Her stomach signaled anxiety, that sweet anxiety generated by a sexual excitement she hadn’t felt in years. What should she wear? A sweatshirt or just a long-sleeved T-shirt? Or maybe a racing T-shirt over a long-sleeved T? She hadn’t given this much thought to her prom dress. She pulled on her favorite, good-luck racing T-shirt, tied on her running shoes, hugged Chamie, and jumped into the VW.

At exactly 7:25 she pulled into Jan’s driveway with her stomach in a knot. Would Jan be happy to see her? Would she be angry or distance or dismissive? The door opened and Jan came out wearing a bright blue running shirt. A smile spread across her face as she motioned for Maggie to come in.

Maggie jogged up the front porch steps two at a time and tentatively pushed open the door.

Hi? she said, poking her head around the door.

Hi, Jan said back as she pulled a gray hooded sweatshirt from a wooden hook behind the door. And how are you? Wow, it looks like you got your beauty sleep last night.

Maggie closed her eyes and blushed, the compliment leaving her momentarily speechless.

Jan gave her a sweet peck on her cheek and smiled. I figured I’d start with a sweatshirt, she said.

Good idea. You can always tie it around your waist if you get too warm, Maggie said as she helped Jan pull it over her shoulders. You really look great, and you smell great too.

Well, thanks, but I think that’s about to change. Are we ready? Jan asked as she set her watch.

Which way do we want to run?

Well, do you want hills or more hills?

I think just hills this morning, Maggie said. She didn’t want to sound like a wimp, but she didn’t want to totally embarrass herself either.

Their pace was comfortable and they talked of casual things, such as the weather and Kathy. How sly and insightful she had been to invite them both to her party. They were sure she’d known they would hit it off.

Gee, I’m going to feel really weird sneaking into the parking area, Jan said. Do you think she noticed my car?

Don’t worry, I’m sure she didn’t. Besides, she’ll be off to church in a flurry this morning. Early mass. She won’t notice a thing.

That’s right, she goes to church. I forgot. It’s not that I would mind seeing her. I like Kathy, just not this morning, Jan said, wrinkling her forehead.

"I know what you mean. Kath’s a good egg, but I’m not quite up for her knowing glances and I knew before you knew looks."

Yeah, but I bet she did.

Maggie looked at the narrow land spit that separated the harbor from the sound. Wow, the water is beautiful this morning, isn’t it? It’s so blue. I just never get tired of seeing it.

Its color is so rich and deep, like cobalt blue on my palette, Jan said. But look at that hill, Mag. She pointed, Are you ready for it?

You bet. Let’s storm it!

They took off, short quick strides, pumping their arms and pushing, harder and harder, as the road wound to the right and plateaued slightly, allowing them to catch their breath. Then the road straightened and steepened as the top came into view.

Eighth of a mile to the top, Jan said, spitting the words out between gasps for air.

They ran like they were approaching the finish line of a marathon. Breathless and panting, they finally reached the crest and slowed to a stop.

Maggie bent over with her hands on her hips. That was something! Puffing, she looked over at Jan, who was walking in small circles with sweat rolling down her reddened face.

God, I hope Kathy doesn’t drive up now and see us. We would look very peculiar, huffing and puffing out here right in front of her house.

They walked back toward Kathy’s as their heavy breathing returned to normal and their elation started to grow.

Great run, Jan said.

Maggie looked at Jan and couldn’t help staring at her beautiful legs and lean body, which looked awesome in running tights. Phew, she said, not realizing she’d said it loud enough to be heard.

What?

Oh, nothing. She tried to keep herself together. Hey, let’s get your car before Kathy really does drive up and catch us.

My car’s over there, Jan said. The dark green one.

Wow, that’s not just green, that’s British racing green. What year is it?

It’s a 1974.

Very cool MG, Jan. That was one of the last years that had real chrome bumpers. I swear, cars are all made out of plastic these days.

Jan slid in and reached across, opening the door for Maggie.

Oh, great car, Maggie said as she got in. I love it.

Thanks, I love it too. I got it about a year ago. It seemed that everyone was getting these big, bigger, biggest cars like SUVs and giant SUVs. So I opted to go smaller.

Jan started up the MG and pulled out of the parking lot. Isn’t it funny? Interesting, really, the sound a car makes when it starts? It’s so MG-ish, or VW-ish. Have you ever noticed that?

Yeah, and the smell too. I think there’s an MG smell. I believe they build in the smell somehow. Builds customer loyalty or something. Well, maybe that’s a little far out.

Shall we stop for some bagels and take them back to my house? I have smoked salmon and cream cheese.

Fantastic.

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Jan paid for the bagels and they got back in the car and headed home. She led the way to the back door, pushing it open with her hip and allowing Maggie to precede her into the house.

Oh, this is such a neat kitchen! And wow, look at all your cookbooks. Maggie twirled around, taking it all in. And the work space is great. Julia Child would be jealous.

Jan looked around the kitchen. I do love to cook, try all sorts of different recipes. But I have this silly habit of trying new recipes for company. Not smart and definitely stress producing. Do you want coffee? I’ve been known to make a pretty good pot.

She ground coffee beans and flipped the switch on the coffee maker. Nothing smells like fresh-ground coffee.

Yeah, I got a little chill, so it will taste good.

Jan reached over and felt Maggie’s hand. Oh, you are cold.

I guess my sweat’s drying. She shivered and stuffed her hands in the front pouch pocket of her running shirt.

Hey, why don’t you take a hot shower? You’d feel so much better.

Oh no, no. And I don’t have anything to wear.

Don’t be silly. I only have about forty thousand sweatshirts and ten thousand pairs of jeans. Why not? You’d feel lots better.

You wouldn’t mind?

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