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colors of autumn jewels.
    Beverly would never admit it to the stubborn old goat, but she’d liked the Newtown Pippin.

 

    T he eggplant parmesan was perfect. Golden brown on the top. Cheesy and rich on the inside. Tom shoveled the meal into his mouth. When he cooked for himself, he made something simple like fried eggs. Or meatloaf. Which he could freeze for the rest of the week.
    “Well, what do you think?” Bev asked. She stared at his near-empty plate. “Would you like seconds?”
    “I’d like seconds, thirds, and fourths. This is delicious.”
    She beamed. “I’m so glad you like it. I haven’t made this recipe for years. I guess I didn’t forget how.” She served him a huge portion.
    “Thank you for cooking.”
    Bev looked startled. And then her eyes got suspiciously shiny. “Thank you for…thanking me.” She took a ragged breath.
    Tom wasn’t sure what to say. “You’re welcome.”
    Beverly fiddled with the napkin on her lap. “You must miss Alberta’s cooking. She loved to putter in the kitchen. I remember.”
    He laughed. “Putter is a good word. She puttered in the kitchen, she puttered in the garden, she babbled on the telephone, she tinkered with her crafts projects. She puttered and babbled and tinkered.”
    Beverly slowly, deliberately, placed her fork on the table. “That wasn’t very nice.”
    “What?” He wondered if there was any more garlic bread.
    “Making fun of Alberta, when she isn’t here to defend herself. She was a good wife to you.”
    Tom looked up and was surprised to see Bev seething with anger. “Just relax, Bev. Alberta did the best she could. But I’m being honest. She puttered. She babbled. I tuned her out most of the time. She meant no harm. We were just…well, I guess we had nothing in common.”
    “It’s not easy being a wife and mother. It’s exhausting. There’s not a lot of energy left over to be scintillating and sexy and exciting. Someone has to clean the damned toilet. It’s not sexy, but it needs to get done.”
    Her lips were pursed so tight, her jaw looked like it might crack.
    Tom held up a restraining hand. “I appreciated the work Bertie did for me. Always. And I always helped out.”
    Bev slumped in her chair. “You’re right. I know you did. You two had a good partnership.”
    “No, not really. We got stuff done around the house, but we never talked. She wanted to chat about her knitting project or a television show or her sister’s new dog. Hell, she drove me batty. It wasn’t that great, believe me.”
    “When did you two get married?”
    “I was twenty six. She got pregnant the next year and had John.”
    “I married Roger right after college graduation. I was only twenty-one. I never even had my own apartment or job. My job was waiting on him.” Bev took her fork and poked at the meal. “Do you think anyone has a good marriage? Really? Can you think of one?”
    “Well, our kids seem to be doing okay.”
    She perked up. “That’s true. They’re actually good friends, aren’t they?”
    “Yep. They are.” Tom swallowed another mouthful of casserole.
    “Tom?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Aren’t you lonely? I sometimes feel odd being alone in my big house. It echoes so much…all that empty space. If I didn’t have my weekly activities, I’d go stir-crazy.”
    “Nope. Not lonely. I have work. I have chores. I don’t bother anyone, and they don’t bother me. That’s the way I like it.”
    “Doesn’t your neighborhood have a street party every fall? Did you help with that?”
    “Don’t get me started. Bunch of irritating househusbands who don’t know how to start a grill. They want me to loan them a table, and chairs, and a grill, and bring hamburgers, and make a bonfire for the kids. Bunch of moochers.”
    Beverly rolled her eyes. “For goodness’ sake, Tom, not everything is a battle. Maybe your neighbors just wanted to see you and get to know you better.”
    She crossed her arms and surveyed him with a critical