The Promise of Change Read Free

district that was undergoing gentrification, but it could still be a rough area. It would be light until nine o’clock, so as long as they left before dark, Sarah, Ann, and Becca felt safe.
    Parking on the street a block from the restaurant, Sarah put the top up while Becca worked the tangles from her blond hair.
    “Okay,” Becca conceded, “that was fun, I’ll give you that, but not very practical if every time you arrive at your destination you almost snatch yourself bald trying to repair your coiffure.”
    Sarah laughed as ran her fingers through her curls. “It gives you a nice wind-blown look.”
    “So does hanging your head out a car window, but I wouldn’t do that either,” Becca groused as they walked to the restaurant.
    The two spotted Ann already seated in a cozy booth. Ann looked up from her Blackberry with a frazzled smile. Between her husband and her two kids, she constantly shuffled her schedule to accommodate their many obligations.
    Sarah and Ann Parham had been friends since their freshman year of high school. They’d been through the awkward teenage years, the dating, the crushes, the break-ups, and Sarah’s agonizing career change.
    She and Becca were her Gibraltar when she went through her divorce. She couldn’t have made it through without their love and support . . . and their occasional well-intended nagging.
    “Hey, Sarah, Becca.” Even though Ann had lived in Florida since the age of twelve, she’d never lost her molasses-sweet Alabama accent.
    “What’s up?” Sarah asked as Ann stood up to hug first her then, Becca.
    “Oh, Rob just texted me that he wants to invite some potential clients over for a cook-out this weekend. He’s apparently forgotten that the kids have a soccer tournament on Saturday, and we’re spending Sunday with his parents.” She tucked a strand of corn-silk hair behind her ear and tapped out a quick reply.
    Although she married rather young, she married well. Despite her husband’s busy international travel schedule, they’d been happily married for over twenty years. Maybe that was the secret to their success, Sarah thought with a wry grin.
    “I don’t know how you keep up with everyone’s schedules. Thank goodness I only have my own schedule, and Carlos handles that for me,” Sarah said with a shrug as she turned to her menu.
    Ann gave her a sly look. “How’s it going with Carlos? He still giving you puppy-dog eyes? Not that I blame him. After all, you’re a gorgeous thirty-eight year old divorcee, and you know what they say about divorcees . . . .” A grin spread over her face.
    Stunned by her comment, Sarah dropped her menu. “What?”
    “You know, about divorcees being—”
    “That’s not what I mean, the part about Carlos—”
    “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed. He’s got a first rate crush on you.”
    “It’s true,” Becca piped in. “He does. I’ve seen it.”
    “Ann, that’s not true! Where did you come up with that?”
    “It’s as plain as the egg on your face,” Ann said, shaking her head.
    Ann always mixed her metaphors, confused her clichés, and generally mangled the English language. Sarah usually found it funny, but not at the moment.
    “He’s my assistant, and he’s seven years younger than me. I’m no cougar.”
    Giggling, Ann said, “Oh please. According to Wikipedia, you have to be at least eight years older than him in order to meet the definition of cougar.”
    “You looked it up on Wikipedia,” Sarah stated flatly. Turning to Becca, she said, “Do you believe this girl?”
    “Yes. That sounds about right, and I trust Ann.”
    “That’s not what I meant.”
    “I know that’s not what you meant. I just like aggravating you,” Becca said with a grin.
    “Hey, I was curious,” Ann inserted, “and you never know when that information might come in handy. Like, for instance, now.”
    “Well, anyway, he is definitely not my type.”
    “Who is your type, honey?” Ann asked