Touched by Angels Page 0,28

It hadn't been this difficult to answer Trey's card. Her brief note to her former neighbor had been cheerful and witty when she'd sent along her regrets.

Anyone who knew her well might have been able to read between the lines of her lighthearted message. But not Trey, she decided. Her witty note would amuse him.

In the end, Jenny penned three short lines to her parents and left it at that. She couldn't come. She was sorry, and she'd miss them terribly.

Not once did she mention the Off Broadway production she'd told them she was in. Jenny refused to perpetrate the lie any further than she had already.

By the time Michelle returned from her errands, Jenny was in a real funk. Depressed and miserable, she battled off a case of the blues, determined not to get caught in the trap of feeling sorry for herself.

"You know what we need?" her friend said.

"What?"

"A little fun. It's the season of joy, and yet here we are, moping around waiting for the phone to ring." Their agent hadn't called, and Jenny didn't care what people said. No news was not good news. No news was no news. And this time the waiting had never seemed more interminable.

"What if we had a party?" Michelle asked.

"A Christmas party," Jenny added, warming to the idea. "That's perfect." Then reality set in. "But how would we possibly feed all our friends?" It was difficult enough to scrounge up meals for the two of them.

"We'll make it a potluck," Michelle suggested. "All we need supply are the drinks, plus plates and silverware. Between us we could manage that, couldn't we?"

"Sure we could." Jenny's nod was eager. Her spirits lifted just thinking about the celebration. She needed this, needed something to take her mind off how much she would miss Montana. "We can make the invitations ourselves."

"Let's hand them out. That way we could save on postage," Michelle said, offering another money-saving idea.

"Who should we invite?"

"Bill and Susan," Michelle suggested.

The couple had met in drama school and had married that summer. Jenny and Michelle had been bridesmaids. Jenny had joked about how the two of them always seemed to end up as bridesmaids.

"What about Cliff?" Jenny asked.

"Abby, too."

The list continued until they were afraid they'd forget, so they decided to write them all down.

Michelle sat at the table and reached for a pen. "Good grief, what happened here? It looks like a paper massacre."

The tightness gripped Jenny's throat. "I finally wrote my parents and told them I wouldn't be home." Just saying the words aloud increased the ache.

"Next year you'll be with your family," Michelle said with confidence.

"You're right," Jenny said, forcing herself to think positive thoughts. Surely living in the same city in which Norman Vincent Peale had preached his philosophy of positive thinking should teach her something. Yet here she was doing it again: stinking thinking.

"Bill and Susan," Michelle mumbled as she repeated the names of their mutual friends. "Abby. Cliff. John."

The phone pealed and they froze.

Michelle looked to Jenny.

Jenny to Michelle.

"You answer it," her roommate instructed.

"You," Jenny insisted, shaking her head. It had been like this all week. The instant the phone jingled they hoped, prayed, it was Irene, their agent. If it wasn't Irene, then perhaps it was the casting director and maybe even the great and mighty John Peterman himself. It wasn't likely, but they could dream.

"It's probably some schmuck wanting to sell us aluminum siding," Michelle joked.

"Or someone doing a survey on cat food."

But Jenny noticed that neither one of them took their eyes away from the kitchen telephone.

Michelle edged herself from the chair on the third ring and reached the phone. "Hello, this is Jenny and Michelle's place," she said cheerfully in a perfect rendition of the efficient secretary.

Jenny studied her friend. Afraid to hope. Afraid to care.

"It's for you," Michelle stated, and handed her the receiver. Then she mouthed, "It's a man."

Jenny pointed her finger at her heart, wondering if she'd misunderstood. "For me?"

Michelle nodded.

She took the phone and said in a friendly but professional-sounding voice, "This is Jenny Lancaster."

"Hello, Jenny."

Trey.

Jenny couldn't have been more shocked if it'd been Andrew Lloyd Webber himself, wanting her to star in his next musical.

"Trey!" she said, barely managing to hide her shock.

"I got your note," he announced.

"It was a surprise to get your Thanksgiving card," she said, holding the receiver with both hands. She felt lightheaded and wasn't sure if it was the shock of Trey's call or the fact that she hadn't eaten all