The Listener Read Free

of
you
.
    At their ages? What are they doing having sex, anyway? Daddy had that spinal fusion last year. They were worried he’d be paralyzed. Now they’re having sex?
    Cornelia’s fingers itched to type,
Grow up.
    But she’d hopped into a conversation a couple of times, and discovered that while the people involved didn’t know who interrupted them—she didn’t tell them—some of them speculated about her, and skittered away whenever Cornelia walked by.
    Erica typed:
What will the people in our church say?
    Cornelia laughed drily. “Congratulations?” she said out loud.
    Erica cast a startled look at her.
    Cornelia kept her gaze on her screen.
    When did you find out?
Meghan asked.
    They told me a half hour ago.
Even though Meghan couldn’t see her, Erica dabbed at her eyes.
I wanted to run for the church board. But this is going to reflect so badly on me.
    You poor thing!
    Poor thing? Erica was a selfish idiot. The blessed event had nothing to do with her or her religious aspirations.
    Poor Mr. and Mrs. Copeland for bringing another child into the world who could possibly turn out like Erica.
    Cornelia made a mental note to send a baby gift to Mr. and Mrs. Copeland. They were old… . Babies were up the middle of the night … so she would send a coffeemaker.
    She promptly ordered online and sent it anonymously. After all, she couldn’t sign the card; she wasn’t supposed to know about the baby.
    When she got back to Erica’s conversation, she was confused, because Erica was saying,
I can’t tell another soul about this. Promise me you won’t tell. Although sooner or later everyone will know.
    Had there been a shift in the time/space continuum?
    Then Meghan said,
Huh? What’s up?
    And Cornelia realized it wasn’t Meghan anymore. Erica had started over, confiding her top-secret news a different person.
    That was Erica, all right. She would make the rounds of her pompous, self-absorbed friends until she’d racked up sufficient amounts of sympathy.
    Cornelia looked up in time to see Kateri finish her latte and stand up.
    “Gotta go back,” Kateri said. “I can’t wait to tell Landlubber about his new nickname.”
    Rainbow bunched her fist and swung it at an imaginary target. “You’ll knock him into shape in no time.”
    “You know, with some guys, there’s no win to be had.” Kateri turned, caught Cornelia’s gaze on her, and lifted a hand. “Hi, Cornelia, how’re things?”
    “Things?” Cornelia didn’t know what she meant. “What things?”
    Kateri strolled over. “How’s work? How’s the husband?”
    “My work is fascinating. And my husband is pleasant.”
    “He is,” Kateri agreed. “I always liked Mason, even when he was a little boy.”
    “Did you babysit him?”
    Kateri looked surprised. “I’m not that much older than he is. Or you, either.”
    “I’m twenty-six.”
    “I’m twenty-eight.”
    “He’s twenty-six.”
    “I know. I remember. You were in my class because you advanced two grades.”
    “Yes. I should have done more, but the teachers said I was emotionally immature.”
    “Imagine that.” Kateri patted Cornelia’s shoulder.
    Cornelia didn’t know if Kateri was being comforting or patronizing. In fact, she didn’t know what she thought about Kateri. Kateri was tall, but no taller than Cornelia, and well-built, but not more than Cornelia. Yet unlike Cornelia, Kateri moved well. She wore her uniform with authority. She carried her Native American ancestry with pride, looking a little like Disney’s Pocahontas, but without the swirling leaves and the wild swishy hair. Kateri’s hair was black, gleaming black, but she wore it cut shoulder-length and, when she was in uniform, pinned up against her head.
    Kateri was more than pretty. She was beautiful. She was stately. She was dignified. People liked her. Kateri was everything Cornelia was not.
    Many times, as Cornelia was growing up, Cornelia’s mother had said that Cornelia could be pretty if she