followed by murmuring voices—female voices.
She took a tentative step inside and moved close enough to overhear part of a conversation.
“Believe me—it’s different after you’re married. The outside trappings might look the same—the same house, job, schedules—but there’s a fundamental shift.”
That was most definitely Cheri speaking.
“How do you mean?”
That voice belonged to Candy.
“Well, when J.J. became my husband…”
Oh, no! All I intend to do is pick up the bowling shirts! I can’t stand here and listen to this!
“… my love for him blossomed. It’s hard to explain, but almost overnight it was deeper, richer somehow, maybe because it had become permanent.”
Tanyalee slammed the back door closed and made a production of clomping her way down the hall. She headed directly to the closet, grabbed the box of shirts, and turned around to leave, giving a seemingly random glance toward the kitchen. Cheri and Candy were seated next to each other at the large stainless steel island, their heads nearly touching, a picked-over poppy-seed muffin on a little plate between them.
Everything about them screamed that they were sisters of the heart. It was a lovely thing to see, but it cut just the same. Tanyalee felt her eyes sting—the bond between Cheri and Candy was old, solid, and would last until death parted them.
Tanyalee was an intruder.
“Tanyalee!” Cheri smiled broadly, straightening. “Good morning!”
“Hey, come on in,” Candy said. “We’re having a kaffeeklatsch. Want to join us?”
“Oh!” Tanyalee’s feet remained frozen in the doorway. Did she want to? Of course. But could she? Should she? Certainly, anything she had to say about married life, love, J.J. DeCourcy, or permanence would add nothing to their giggly heart-to-heart.
“Thank you so much,” Tanyalee said sweetly. “But I just stopped by to pick up the shirts.” She raised the cardboard box to chest level, her car keys jingling. “I need to pick up Fern and get there a little early.”
The smiles they gave Tanyalee were pleasant enough, but there was a curious anticipation frozen on both their faces. When Candy took a sip from her coffee cup she slid a sideways glance to Cheri, who cleared her throat.
“So,” she said cheerfully. “Did you have a good night?”
Tanyalee shrugged. “Yes, and you?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“So, um…” Candy let her gaze travel up and down Tanyalee’s body. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you two meet?”
Tanyalee was wearing the one-of-a-kind watermelon-pink retro cocktail dress she’d worn at the grand opening, which had been yesterday, which meant she had spent the night away from home. Her first instinct was to explain it away—“it’s merely a similar watermelon-pink retro cocktail, not the exact same one”—but that would be a lie, and a pitiful one, to boot. Tanyalee had promised herself there would be no more lying.
She shuffled over to the kitchen island as if in a daze, dropping the box of shirts on the island. “I met Dante Cabrera on the plane coming back from Arizona,” she said, hearing the turmoil in her own voice. “How do you know when it’s really love?”
“Take my stool.” Cheri dragged it over to Tanyalee and helped her on.
“I’ll get you some coffee,” Candy said. She was back in a flash.
A half hour later, Candy and Cheri sat in stunned silence, the muffin long forgotten and the coffee cold. Tanyalee had omitted most of the more torrid details—she would never again be a woman who would kiss and tell. But she figured Cheri and Candy had enough information to go on.
“I need a cold shower,” Cheri said.
“I need a fire extinguisher,” Candy said.
“I know exactly what you mean,” Tanyalee said.
* * *
Gateway Bowl hadn’t changed a bit since Tanyalee and Cheri’s high school years. Though Tanyalee hadn’t had the slightest interest in the sport itself, she had many fond memories of the laser-light bowling parties after nine P.M. every Friday and Saturday, when the whole place would swirl with red and purple beams and thump with the best pop music the last bit of the twentieth century had to offer.
Arriving in the harsh light of day on a Sunday afternoon many years later, Tanyalee and Fern stepped into a bowling-alley time capsule. Ancient arcade games clanged and beeped against the walls, half-dead fluorescent lighting flashed from the stained ceiling tiles, and miles of hideous brown and mustard-yellow industrial carpeting stretched out beneath their feet. Tanyalee learned the bowling alley had managed to avoid modernization all around when she was given rental shoes older than she was, and a large sheet of scoring paper and a