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back from the road. The glistening water of Long Island Sound could be seen in the background. She didn’t even have to look at the meter; she knew from having made this ride many times what the fare would be. She handed him the money. “Keep the change.”
    â€œThanks.” The cabby looked at the impressive house. “You work here, huh?”
    She sighed. She’d heard this many times before. “No, actually, I live here.”
    The cabbie chuckled. “Yeah, and I’m George Dubya.”
    Having already placed her wallet back securely inside her shoulder bag, Alicia grabbed her nylon duffel bag and opened the cab door, slamming it shut behind her forcefully. She heard these types of remarks all the time, and they never failed to tick her off. No one wanted to believe that anAfrican-American family could reside in the fashionable Green’s Farms section of Westport, one of many monied suburbs in Fairfield County. But Fletcher Timberlake, her father, hadn’t believed in living small. A successful criminal attorney who served clients of all races at a time when African-Americans were just beginning to rise in the private sector, he’d become only the second person of his race to own a seat on the New York Stock Exchange. He didn’t care whose eyebrows went up when he purchased this house over twenty-five years before. Most of the neighbors welcomed them, whether out of honesty or out of a wish not to be viewed as bigots.
    Alicia smiled at the memory of her father. He truly had been larger than life, and he enjoyed himself right up until the day he died of a sudden, massive stroke.
    She let herself in the front door. She put her bag down in the large foyer with its sweeping staircase. Before she could go into the living room on the left, a full-figured woman clad in a light blue blouse and navy slacks appeared in the doorway. Her concerned expression quickly turned into a smile. “Alicia!” she said happily, arms outstretched. “I’m so glad to see you, dear.”
    â€œHi, Martha!” Alicia warmly embraced the woman who’d worked for her parents since she was in college, probably about fifteen years now. “Didn’t Daphne tell you I’d be up today?”
    â€œShe sure didn’t. But she’s been having a hard time of it lately. Your mother’s illness has her worried and unhappy.”
    â€œShe also doesn’t think of anyone outside her own little circle,” Alicia remarked. She regretted her words when she noticed the uncomfortable expression on Martha’s face. After all these years, Daphne still treated Martha like a servant, but Martha simply regarded it as part of the job. She was much too conservative to ever complain about it, nor would she be at ease with anyone else speaking badly of Daphne.
    Alicia changed the subject to put Martha at ease. “How’s Mom feeling today?”
    â€œAbout the same. Daphne is up with her. Todd and Fletcher are out somewhere. They took Lucky with them.”
    Alicia nodded. Daphne’s husband and son loved the gentle Irish setter that had been part of the household since the cocker spaniel that had been their childhood pet passed on. “No wonder Lucky didn’t come to greet me.” Lucky had always been more attached to her than to Daphne, who, it was discovered soon after the arrival of their first pet, had an allergy to dog hair. Unfortunately, Alicia’s studio apartment simply didn’t have the space a dog of Lucky’s size needed. Here in Green’s Farms she had plenty of room to run around, plus she was well cared for. Her presence made it seem less like a house of sickness.
    â€œWhy don’t you go on up, and I’ll bring you something to drink,” Martha suggested. “What would you like? Coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate with whipped cream?”
    â€œHot chocolate sounds great. It’s a little nippy out this morning. Thanks. Hey,