heat is going to be welcome when we go to bed and I turn down the thermostat.”
Sybil waved her agreement then turned into her room. In the master suite, Maggie dropped off her luggage and went to handle the other bedrooms at our end of the hallway.
Upon her return, her cell phone began to buzz. She wasn’t as skilled yet with modern contraptions as Sybil, so all of her calls came in with the factory set sound. While I continued to work on the fire, she dropped onto my queen-size bed.
“Phil, darling,” she crooned into the phone.
Although I mentally rolled my eyes at the theatrics, I was pleased to know who was checking on her. I’d also heard another sound to my right and realized that Sybil had joined us, and had a quizzical look on her face. Clearly, she was thrown by Maggie’s come hither tone.
“It’s not what you think,” I said in a loud whisper. “That’s Father Phil.” Sybil’s blank expression had me reminding her, “Monsignor Lamar in Dallas. Maggie’s stepson.”
With dawning recognition, Sybil whispered, “I’ll get her for pretending she’s got another man again. I’ve only heard her refer to him as ‘Hollis’ son, the Catholic.’”
That sounded about right. Yet, if Maggie didn’t heard from Phil in more than three days, she’d get all anxious and call him regardless of the hour. “One and the same,” I told Sybil. “No matter what she implies, she adores him.”
“I’m sorry I worried you when I didn’t answer the house phone,” Maggie continued. “You remember my dear friend, Retta? She’s invited a few of us to her place to ride out the storm. How are conditions there?”
Not bothering to put her hand over the phone, Maggie announced, “He says the garden Jesus is butt-deep in snow.” A moment later she burst into giggles.
“Oh, I know that’s not what you said, but we’re five widow ladies here. Let us have our fun. Yes, and you check in whenever you have a minute. This rhinestone-crusted cutie is juiced. Not me, the phone, silly.” With another laugh Maggie disconnected.
Forcing myself to overlook the “juiced” comment, I simply said, “He’s always so considerate and tender with you.”
“Hell, he’s already halfway to becoming a saint. Why do you think they moved him up at such a young age?” With a bemused smile she added, “Who would have ever believed Hollis’ only child would have converted to Catholicism let alone felt a calling to become a priest?” Her expression turned serious. “This is just between us, okay? The Pope has stopped a lot of the elevation process because he feels a good deal of it is excessive, but there’s word that he’s very pleased with Phil’s work with the poor and ill, and may call him to the Vatican to expand his responsibilities.”
Both Sybil and I landed on our bottoms—Sybil beside Maggie, and me on the hardwood floor grateful for the brick ledge to support my back. I said, “Why, Maggie, how exciting, and what an honor!”
Sybil added, “I’m Baptist. I don’t know diddly about Catholic stuff, but I have to admit that every time they’ve picked a new Pope I’ve been as glued to the TV as anyone else. How proud you must be.”
In a rare moment of humility, Maggie pressed the black-and-white rhinestone-encased phone to her chest and her eyes welled with tears. “There are no words. He’s the son I never had.”
I wanted to give my friend a hug for this moment of transparency, but knew her well enough to understand she would be embarrassed, so instead I teased. “How many candles will he have to light and Hail Marys will he have to recite for that ‘butt-deep’ comment you pulled on him?”
“Oh, believe me,” she replied with a chuckle, “when he and his compadres get together tonight for an evening drink he’ll share that and get a good laugh.”
I could see the fire was going to be fine now. Replacing the screen, I stood and brushed off my hands, then my jeans and rust-colored tunic sweater that my style-savvy daughter sent me, insisting it would go well with my dark-blond coloring. From the admiration I’d seen in Sam’s eyes when I last wore it I was convinced Rachel was right. Although I usually wore work clothes around here, I knew Maggie would be dressed Dallas chic, and guessed Carly would, as well. I’d had no desire to feel any frumpier than necessary.
“We should get back to the girls, unless you two want to unpack first?” I asked.
“My stuff is mostly wash and wear. These days, if it isn’t easy-care, I ain’t buying it,” Sybil intoned with carefree rebellion. “Besides, those beans need to be stirred.”
“I’ll come back up in a bit and do mine,” Maggie said. “I’d like to finish my wine first.”
As we neared the bottom of the stairway, we could hear hushed voices, that universal signal that secrets were being shared. It made me happy to think that Dana had found a confidant in Carly.
“We’re back and headed to the kitchen,” I called to them. “Can I get you two anything?” When both young women looked at me, something made me pause to correct myself. I stepped aside to allow Sybil to pass me. “I hope y’all know that I want you to feel at home here? Midnight raids to the fridge, or the bar, whatever. Have at it. If you’ve forgotten any toiletries, you’ll probably find something you can use in the bathroom. If you don’t find it down here, I’m sure I have it upstairs. As you can see I’m no glamour girl, but my Rachel is always sending me new products she’s discovering, in the hopes of getting me interested in a semi-serious beauty regimen. She finds my soap-water-moisturizer routine positively archaic.”
With a grateful smile, Dana said, “It works for you, Retta. And you can’t deny that you were blessed with great genes. Thank you for the welcome. For everything. Being here is such a treat. I’ve never been this spoiled before. I feel like I’m at a ski lodge.”
“Oh, she’s right,” Carly added. “Your house reminds me of our honey-moon in Aspen.”
Not realizing that’s where they’d gone, I asked, “Did you get to ski?”
Before she could reply, Maggie opined from behind me, “I can see it now: you, Walter, and the paramedics.”
“Actually, we seldom left the hotel suite,” Carly said.
“I need a drink.” Maggie made a beeline for the kitchen.
Venturing closer to the younger women, I patted Carly on the shoulder. “Good for you. I’m glad you have some beautiful memories to hold close.”
“I’m so envious,” Sybil said, once I entered the kitchen. She had taken the alternate route there, but had heard our conversation. “Elvin and I spent our honeymoon at the Alps Motel in Mount Pleasant.”
“We didn’t get much farther,” I told her. “Charlie and I ended up at the Excelsior House Hotel in Jefferson. Charlie was expected to be back helping at his family’s place on Monday. As much as his father liked me, and approved of the idea of our properties eventually merging, Burnett reminded him that he and Miss Myra had been married on a Friday evening and that he was on the job at six-thirty Saturday morning.”
“Y’all are just too depressing,” Maggie said. “Sybil, did you know that I made it all the way to the Riviera?”
“Yeah, it just took you three weddings to get there.” Of course, after reminding her of that, I half expected Maggie to smack my backside as I refilled Rosie’s water dish. Instead, she offered a theatrical moan.
“No lie,” she admitted to Sybil. “My first wedding night was spent under my in-laws’ roof hoping that Scotty wouldn’t shoot our bed’s headboard straight through into his parents’ room. Talk about being mortified. But I was just a baby then and most of Scotty’s sex education was from watching farm animals go after it.”
As our joking continued, I peeked around the corner to check with Carly about Wrigley’s feeding schedule. When she said she had it under