I ever did,” was now Val’s characteristically blunt summation of the divorce. “I can’t even remember what he used to do that made me think I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had this idea that if I only got rid of George, life would be wonderful. So I got rid of him, and you know what? Nothing changed. Not one damn thing. Except now I don’t have George to blame things on, so, in a way, I suppose I’m a better person.” Then she’d roll her eyes: “Lord, how I loathe those words. I’m sick of being a better person. I’d rather be married and miserable.”
Ellen glanced at the clock once more, and realized that if María didn’t arrive within the next five minutes, she was going to have to choose between waiting for María and going to lunch. Not that the interview would take long—María had been a fixture in La Paloma all of Ellen’s life, and all Ellen really had to do was explain to the old woman what she wanted done, then leave the house in María’s hands.
Lunch, however, was something else. This would be the group’s first lunch since Alex’s accident, and she was sure that Alex would be the main topic of conversation.
Alex, and Raymond Torres.
And, she readily admitted to herself, she was looking forward to the lunch, looking forward to spending even a few hours relaxing with her friends.
It had been a long summer. Once the decision had finally been made that Alex could go back to school, Ellen had begun looking forward to this day. This morning, after Alex and Marsh had left, she had treated herself to a leisurely hour of pure relaxation, and then spent two full hours getting herself ready for today’s lunch. She was determined that Alex wasn’t going to be the only topic of conversation that day, nor was Raymond Torres. Instead, she was going to encourage the others to talk about themselves rather than the Lonsdales’ problems. It would be wonderful to laugh and chat with old friends as if nothing had changed.
The doorbell and the telephone rang simultaneously, and Ellen called out to María to let herself in as she picked up the receiver. Then, when the voice at the other end of the wire identified itself as Dan Eisenberg, her heart sank, and she waved María Torres into the living room as she focused her attention on the telephone.
“What’s happened?” she asked, wearily setting her purse back on the table.
“I’m not sure,” Eisenberg replied. “But I’d like you to come down to the school this afternoon.”
“This afternoon?” Ellen asked, relief flooding through her. “Then it isn’t an emergency?”
There was a momentary silence. When Eisenberg spoke again, his voice was apologetic. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you right away that Alex is all right. It’s just that we gave him some tests this morning, and I’d like to go over the results with you. Both you and Dr. Lonsdale, actually. Would two o’clock be all right?”
“Fine with me,” Ellen told him. “I’ll have to call my husband, but I imagine it will be fine with him too.” She paused; then: “Where Alex is concerned, he tends to make time, even if he hasn’t got it.”
“Then I’ll see you both at two,” Eisenberg replied. He was about to hang up when Ellen stopped him.
“Mr. Eisenberg? The tests. Did Alex do all right on them?”
There was a slight hesitation before Eisenberg spoke. “He did very well, Mrs. Lonsdale,” he said. “Very well indeed.”
A moment later, as Ellen turned her attention to María Torres, she decided to put Dan Eisenberg’s words, and the tone in which he’d spoken them, out of her mind. If she didn’t, the feeling she had of something amiss would ruin the lunch for her, and she was determined that that wouldn’t happen.
María, dressed as always in black, her skirt reaching almost to the floor, still hovered near the door, a worn shawl wrapped around her stooped shoulders, despite the heat of the summerlike day. Her eyes were fixed on the floor. “I am sorry, señora,” she said softly. “I am very late.”
The abject sorrow evident in the old woman’s entire being dissolved Ellen’s impatience. “It’s all right,” she said gently. “I don’t really need to interview you anyway, do I?” Without waiting for a reply, she began giving María hurried instructions. “All the cleaning things are in the laundry room behind the kitchen, but if you’ll just try to get some