As they climbed out of the SUV, the front door opened and a much older version of Frank Cavallari stood peering suspiciously at them. At eighty-seven, his hair was thinner andall white, and his bushy brows more salt than pepper. He’d never been a tall man, but he’d shrunk to about Maggie’s height of five-foot-six, and the sorry-looking overalls he wore just made him look shorter.
He took a step out to the small porch, clearly wary of them. “You ladies sellin’ something? ’Cause I ain’t buyin’.”
Maggie stiffened, lifting her chin as they reached him, noticing that his brown eyes were still penetrating, if a little cloudy and surrounded by deep wrinkles. Did she look that much older, too? Probably, but in true Scarlett O’Hara fashion, she didn’t want to think about that right now.
“Frank Cavallari,” she started. “You don’t remember?—”
“Maggie!” He spread his arms and swooped her into a hug, surprisingly strong for his shrunken body. “And Jo Ellen?” Another hug, then he yelled over his shoulder, “Betty, get yourself out here, woman! Maggie and Jo Ellen are here! In the flesh!”
Maggie couldn’t help smiling at the response, but she didn’t know why she’d be surprised. They’d left on fine terms that last summer. She and Roger had had one more dinner with Frank and Betty after the Wylies left in such a hurry. Neither one of them breathed a word about the big fight, or that the Wylies had left for any reason other than Artie’s job.
They’d all lost touch shortly after the hurricane that hit in September, so there’d be no reasonnotto have a loving reunion.
“Mags and Jo?” Betty called from inside the house just before appearing in the entryway. She gasped and covered her mouth. “Are you kidding me?”
She came out and they hugged again, a little more effusively than Maggie liked, but there was never any stopping Betty Cavallari. She’d aged a little better than Frank—pickled from all that chianti, no doubt—though her hair was white and she’d put on a decent amount of weight, most of it in her bosom.
But her laugh hadn’t changed, nor her bright and warm smile, flashy earrings, or the bubblegum pink top they matched.
After the infernal hugging finally ended, Frank invited them in, sweeping them past a formal living area into the kitchen. With non-stop chatter—mostly from Betty—they eventually took seats around a breakfast table in a nook overlooking one of those fake Florida reservoirs that people called “lakes.”
Betty insisted on bringing out her powdered sugar cookies and Maggie and Jo Ellen accepted her offer of some coffee. While she brewed a pot, Betty beamed her huge smile at them.
“So I guess you heard your kids were here a while back,” she said. “Surprised us just like you two.”
Jo Ellen nodded. “Kate told me all about your visit.”
“And everything you said,” Maggie added, getting a raised eyebrow from Betty. Well, too bad. She was not interested in beating around the bush with small talk. They could do that later, but she had too many questions that had to be answered.
“I don’t know what all we said,” Betty responded. “But they told us you two hadn’t talked in thirty years. Happy to see you’re best girlfriends again.”
“I wouldn’t gothatfar,” Maggie said dryly.
Frank gave her a smirk. “So you haven’t lost your, uh, sarcastic sense of humor, Maggie?”
“No, but I have lost my husband,” she said. “I assume you heard that Roger was incarcerated and passed away in prison.”
Anytime she spoke the words it felt like gravel in her mouth, but today was particularly bad. These people had known Roger, and loved him. But the elephant was too big in this kitchen to gloss over it.
For a moment, no one spoke, then Frank let out a soft groan. “It’s so sad, Maggie. I’m sorry. And Kate told us you’ve lost Artie, Jo.” He reached over the table and put a hand on hers. “We were so devastated to hear that.”
“Thank you,” she murmured as Betty came back with a small tray holding four coffee mugs and fixings. “Kate and Eli told us your families are sharing that old beach house after a renovation. How exciting!”
“Very,” Maggie said as she fixed her coffee.
Betty fussed with the cookies and, finally, the four of them sat facing each other in an awkward silence.
“Oh!” Betty exclaimed, pushing her chair back. “I have to show you pictures of our grandchildren.”
“No.” Maggie underscored the single syllable by putting her cup down with a thud. At their looks, she shuttered her eyes in apology.
“As much as we’re enjoying this reunion,” she began, hearing her clipped tone, but not caring, “Jo Ellen and I actually came here for a reason.”
Jo Ellen leaned in. “Maggie’s right. We need to find out a few more details of…some things we don’t understand. We hoped your memories would be better than ours.”
“My memory is fine,” Maggie interjected. “But the fact is, our husbands both made us promise not to speak to each other. We accepted that edict, but now, thirty years later, both men are dead. We are trying to find out why they wanted us separated.”
“We certainly don’t know,” Frank said quickly.
