She’d been a conundrum to Marlene since they’d met as girls. Edith always silently watching the world, noting everything. And just when she thought the woman was as passive as a lamb, she’d roar like a lion. Not that she needed to do much roaring—Edith and Bear had been together forever, and he did his fair share of bellowing for the two of them.
Helen came over with two glasses of white wine, looking put out that she had to step from behind the bar. The two women shared a quiet chuckle as the bartender walked away.
“She’s a piece of work,” Marlene whispered. “Flirts with everything in pants. And then’s a witch with a capital B to the rest of us.”
Edith sighed, watching Helen get back to work behind the bar. “She is, isn’t she?”
“So why not cut her loose?” Marlene didn’t understand why she kept the woman around. There were any number of people in their town who’d do backflips to get some extra work.
“We all of us have our troubles,” Edith said mysteriously.
“Ain’t it the truth.” Marlene raised her glass to toast that bit of obvious wisdom. She took a big sip, but the wine suddenly tasted too tart. Her friend’s relentlessly forgiving and openhearted outlook made Marlene feel jealous and small. She tried to be kinder in her thoughts, adding, “To women with troubles.”
Edith sipped, but shook her head. “How can you say you have troubles when you’re looking so pretty?”
Marlene smiled, not expecting the compliment. “Oh, Edith,” she replied with grudging honesty, “it’s you who’s looking pretty. As always.”
Edith had blond good looks, and she’d given them to her daughters, too. Weren’t fair-skinned women supposed to age more quickly? Marlene touched her own forehead—she wondered how that Botox stuff worked. She was certain there were any number of doctors in Reno or even in nearby Silver City who worked with it. Maybe it was time to give it a try.
“Enough about me. So”—Edith leaned close to whisper—“you’re meeting a man here tonight? How exciting.”
Hardly. She remembered her blind date and smiled stiffly, nodding. Exciting wasn’t the word she’d use. What would be exciting was if she’d already met the man, and he’d been a classy, gentlemanly sort of fellow. Someone who’d had a good, respectable career. A widower judge, perhaps. Or maybe a retired doctor. Someone who was kind, with a full head of hair, a healthy nest egg, and a nice sedan. Something foreign maybe, with a leather interior that was a color named something like ebony or champagne. She could put this Internet dating nonsense behind her.
And the next time Frank visited Sierra Falls, he’d see her, and see how well she was doing, and how spoiled she was, and he’d be jealous and realize what a fool he’d been to leave her.
“But aren’t you worried about this online stuff?” Edith asked, pulling her from the fantasy. “I’ve heard stories.”
Marlene had heard them, too, and a big part of her was terrified about all the crazies out there. But instead she made herself sound bravely nonchalant. “Oh no, it’s perfectly safe. All the singles are carefully screened.” She hoped. “And what other choice do I have? I’ve lived here my whole life, and as far as I know, there aren’t any retirees zipping around Sierra Falls in any sports cars, looking for wives.”
Edith slumped at that, unable to muster a rebuttal. “Forget men, then. How are you?”
Marlene sipped her wine, considering. How was she?
She was a sixty-three-year-old woman on a blind date. She was struggling to keep hold of her dignity. The last time she’d dated, she hadn’t needed to figure out how to balance her reading glasses on her face in order to put on eye makeup. The last time she’d dated, it’d been with boys she’d grown up with, nice boys her parents knew, not a bunch of strangers who might or might not be kooks.
She’d gone straight from raising four kids—four boys—to taking care of two elderly aunts and an ailing mother who was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. She shouldn’t be sitting in a bar drinking Bear Bailey’s crappy sauvignon blanc.
That’s how she was.
What she said instead was, “I’m plugging along, Edith. You?”
Edith glanced around then leaned in close, looking conspiratorial. “I have news.”
Marlene leaned close. The best cure for depression was gossip. Her friend looked happy—it was good news then.
Dark thoughts were replaced with a flurry of speculation. A smile crept across Marlene’s face as she realized what it must be. “It’s Sorrow, isn’t it?” She slammed her hand on the table, a lightbulb going off. “She and the Simmons boy finally got engaged.”
“Oh…” Edith looked momentarily puzzled. “Oh, no, not that. But it does have to do with Sorrow. She found letters.”
Marlene deflated. Letters wasn’t nearly as exciting as engagement. “Letters?” she asked, trying to sound intrigued.
When Edith got to the word affair Marlene perked back up. Turned out, Bear’s great-great-grandmother had a child out of wedlock with Buck Larsen, of all people. She’d written, but never sent, a stack of letters that featured some pretty juicy details.
Edith’s face was lit up in a way that Marlene hadn’t seen in some time. “It’s just what the town needs.”
Marlene hated to play devil’s advocate—why was she always the one to put a damper on things?—but she couldn’t keep herself from asking, “How do you know they’re real? I mean, those letters must be over a hundred years old.”
“Over one hundred fifty years old.” Edith beamed proudly, adding definitively, “The woman had no reason to lie.”