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He drank too much and was not a nice drunk. I had been thinking about a divorce for a year before his death.”
    â€œKids?”
    â€œBJ—that’s Bill Junior—is thirteen, Tommy’s eleven, and Mike’s ten. Three boys. Where did I go wrong?”
    â€œI remember that you wanted ten kids, all girls. And you never wanted to work.”
    â€œNever work? God, imagine thinking that being a mommy wasn’t work.”
    â€œSo you’re a mommy full time?”
    â€œFortunately Bill left me pretty well provided for. That, and I sell a little real estate. I got my license about two years ago and I put what I make away for college for the boys. Sometimes I think I should work more, what with the boys in school all day and my folks right next door, but I can’t think of what I could do, college degree or no college degree.” Carla put her napkin in her lap. “English literature. A useful degree if ever there was one. Anyway, what about you? Married? Where do you live?”
    Ronnie waggled her left hand under Carla’s nose. The wide gold band on her third finger flashed. She also wore a thin band of diamonds on her index finger and a heavy free-form gold ring on the middle finger of her other hand. “Jack’s an independent geologist who does consulting for a number of oil companies. It’s a combination of lots of travel and a house full of computers. He’s only home about one week a month.” She heaved a sigh. “Unfortunately, no kids. I found out early on that I couldn’t have any and neither of us wanted to adopt. We live in Hopewell Junction, in Dutchess County, almost two hours north of here. What were you doing in town, by the way?”
    â€œDoctor’s appointment.”
    Ronnie jumped in. “Nothing serious, I hope.”
    â€œNothing. A lump in my breast that turned out to be a benign cyst.”
    â€œI’m glad.” She squeezed her friend’s hand.
    Carla was touched. Ronnie was someone with whom she had always shared everything. It felt good sharing now. “So, Ronnie, I couldn’t help noticing the quality of your wardrobe. And the new Cadillac. Jack’s obviously doing well.”
    â€œWell enough. But the Caddie’s mine.”
    â€œYou work?”
    Ronnie smiled in a way that puzzled Carla. “Yes, I work.” She paused, then continued. “And I take occasional courses in creative writing at NYU. I’ve even had a few articles published.”
    â€œThat’s great.” The waitress brought their wine and a basket of bread dripping with butter, garlic, and herbs. When she had poured them each a glass and left, the two women picked up their glasses and tapped them together.
    â€œTo work in all its forms,” Ronnie said mysteriously, then laughed.
    Puzzled, Carla drank.
    For the next hour, Carla and Ronnie caught up on everything that had happened since they lost touch after graduation when Ronnie traveled in Europe for a year. As the two women finished espressos and the last of the bottle of wine, Ronnie looked at her watch. “I hate to say this, but I have to run. Someone’s meeting me at two. But let’s get together next week. Noon. Why don’t we meet out front and eat somewhere else? And, don’t worry about the damage to my car. I’ll let my collision coverage take care of it.” Ronnie took the check, added a generous tip, and split the amount. After settling up, the two women stood and Ronnie reached out and hugged Carla. “God, I’ve missed you.”
    For each of the next three Mondays the two women lunched in the same neighborhood: at a Chinese restaurant specializing in Peking Duck, an Indian hole-in-the-wall that made the best mulligatawny Carla had ever tasted, and today at a sushi bar where Carla sampled raw fish for the first time. Over ginger ice cream and green tea, Ronnie suggested their next meeting place. “I’d like you to