For a moment, Maggie just stared at her, utterly dumbstruck. Then she started snickering and looked at Jo Ellen, who was visibly fighting the urge to do exactly the same thing.
“Me and…Artie?” She choked the words.
“That’s not all,” Vivien said, which was almost enough to make Maggie stop laughing. “At the same time, in a different room, Frank told Eli that Roger and…you…” She looked directly at Jo Ellen. “Were…involved.”
Jo Ellen gasped noisily. “No!”
“Oh, my…” Maggie couldn’t quite find the words. “That’s…that’s…”
“Preposterous!” Jo Ellen burst out. “Was Betty drunk?”
Maggie snorted. “Was Betty evernotdrunk? The woman chugged chianti like it was afternoon tea.”
Jo Ellen leaned in and made that face that Maggie knew oh so well. Whatever was about to come out of her mouth would be just a little…scandalous.
“Because,” Jo Ellen stage-whispered, “unless she had some juice, she didn’t…you know.”
Maggie bit her lip against another laugh and an age-old ache to sit in a corner with Jo and just…gossip. What a guiltypleasure. And yet another thing Roger had stolen when he forced her to make that promise.
“I don’t know,” she lied. “But that much booze probably went a long way to causing today’s confusion. Artie and me? I mean, give me a break.”
Jo Ellen gave a sad smile. “He was a wonderful man and incapable of infidelity and just let me tell you, Mags—your husband might have had his flaws, but he adored you. Worshipped the ground you walked on. He?—”
Maggie held up a hand. “I know, Jo. I remember.”
For a few seconds, they were both quiet, then Vivien cleared her throat to ask, “Do you want their address?”
Maggie and Jo Ellen shared a look, silent, then they both shook their heads, proving that they could still communicate without speaking.
“But I’ll tell you what I do want, Vivien,” Jo Ellen said.
“Anything,” Vivien replied.
“That recipe. Do you still have it?”
“Yes. It’s on the back of that diary entry, if you want to write it down.”
“I do, and I want to take it to the store.” She reached a hand over the table toward Maggie. “Because tonight, my old friend—notold-old, you know what I mean. Tonight, we are…”
“Making bolognese,” Maggie finished, a smile pulling.
“I’ll get the recipe,” Vivien said, shooting up as if hesitation might break the moment.
“I’ll get my handbag.” Jo Ellen rose, too. “Can you still drive, Maggie?”
“Honey, please. I’m seventy-eight, not a hundred.”
“She’s a great driver,” Vivien called as she went inside. “You guys can take my car.”
They both left the deck, and Maggie stayed very still, staring back at the water, trying to process all her feelings. It wasn’t easy.
From the disappointing news about the files, to the ridiculous rewriting of history by Frank and Betty, to the sweet release of endorphins from being with the woman who was once her best friend.
Not to mention that every time they spoke, she was breaking a promise to Roger.
Vivien breezed back, holding a colorful notebook. “Here you go. Let me take a picture of it for you and?—”
“Just give me the recipe, Vivien,” Maggie said as she stood. “I can’t read tiny words on a screen.”
