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known to happen.
    “It’s true,” Grace confirmed. “I know it sounds silly, but I don’t half blame them. If Abigail shows up, the party is bound to be a success. She flits from group to group like a bumblebee among the flowers, touching down here and there and kind of pollinating the conversation before she moves on. Next thing you know, everyone is talking and laughing and having a marvelous time.”
    There was a rustle of tissue from inside one of the stalls. I took a silent step backward and put my hand on the door, just in case.
    “Well, she seems really lovely,” Margot said. “You’re lucky to have someone like that for a friend.”
    “A friend? I’ve known Abigail for decades, but I don’t think you could say we’re friends.”
    “No? Then who are her friends?”
    Grace was quiet for a moment, considering. “I don’t think she has any, really. Not the way most people think of friendship. I adore Abigail, of course—everyone does, and she likes us—but I don’t think she thinks of any of us as friends. She doesn’t let anyone get that close.”
    The sound of rushing water told me that it was time to leave, so I slipped out of the room undetected. It might have been interesting to hear more, but I didn’t really need to. Grace’s revelation to Margot was no surprise to me. She was quite right.
    I like people. They like me. And I like me too. But I don’t have close friendships, and I see no need to develop any.
    Friends, in my opinion, are supremely inconvenient; they are people who have a grasp on one’s affections and therefore have the right to call upon one for financial or emotional support, usually at the most inopportune moments. I suppose that’s why I’ve always avoided them.
    The first prospect doesn’t distress me too much. I’m certainly in a position to be generous. But the second? That is a different matter. Emotions are sticky things, and even more inconvenient than friendships. I don’t trust them.
    Truthfully, I don’t trust in much of anything except my own ability to handle whatever life sends my way. If I am proud of anything, it is that. I can take care of myself, and I always have.
    My father used to say, “Never complain and never explain.” Which I took to mean that the only person you can or should depend upon is yourself, so it’s best to keep yourself to yourself.
    It was advice I took to heart, and, until my phone rang at nine forty-five on the day after my birthday party, it was advice that served me well.

4
Abigail Burgess Wynne
     
    I don’t have e-mail or, for that matter, a computer. I don’t trust machines. When I want cash, I walk into the bank and let the teller know how much I need. And I’d open a vein before I’d ring up my own groceries on one of those automated check-out lines. But caller identification? The ability to see who is ringing and decide if it’s someone you want to talk to or to avoid? That’s one innovation I’ve embraced wholeheartedly.
    Of course, technology does have its limitations. Even when the caller is someone you do wish to speak with, you can’t guarantee that the subject they’re calling to discuss is a welcome one. If such a thing were possible, I doubt I’d have picked up the phone that morning. But as soon as I looked at the screen and saw that Franklin was phoning, I picked up the receiver. I assumed he was calling to talk about the party.
    “Franklin, you’re a darling! Thank you so much! You shouldn’t have gone to all that trouble, but it was a wonderful birthday. I had such a lovely time. Everyone else did too, don’t you think?”
    “Yes, Abbie. They did. It was a great party.” His voice sounded distracted, but I didn’t think anything of it. Franklin is a founding partner of Spaulding, Ketchum, and Ryan, the largest law firm in the county. He was calling during business hours, so I assumed he was just thinking about business, as usual. He’s a very conscientious attorney, and a very good one.