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how many times I wanted to say, “ Gray , it’s all this ugly gray and thank God you’re here!” But I didn’t.
    â€œHere you two are.” Ruby steps into the library. “With the sun on your hair like that, you look like an angel—but I know different.” She chuckles and sits down opposite me in the bay window.
    She’s wearing a fuchsia pink kimono with matching wide headband that she sleeps in. If it weren’t for her hands being a little blotchy, it’d be hard to guess her age. Let’s not forget she isn’t naturally cinnamon brown either. Meow.
    â€œHardly slept a wink,” I sigh.
    â€œMe either.”
    â€œWhy not?” I ask. “Are you reading another psycho-murder-mystery again?”
    â€œYes, of course I am. But no, that’s not what kept me up. I was worrying you weren’t sleeping because you most likely were worrying—too.”
    â€œGood grief, Ruby. When in the world have I—queen of worry—needed any help worrying?”
    â€œYou have a point there.”
    â€œWhat will I wear? Everything I own makes me look so—not slim. I’m not the slim type. Before I went to bed, do you know how many Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups I had?”
    â€œI couldn’t begin to guess, darling.”
    â€œI ate an entire six-pack!” I pull empty wrappers from my pockets and show her the proof.
    â€œThis is serious.” Ruby lifts her perfectly arched brows. “Does this mean you’re not interested in what’s for breakfast?”
    â€œMaybe…”
    â€œSince it is a special day,” Ruby pats her hair, “I was thinking of making my ‘house special’ omelet.” She gets up and moves toward the door. “But if you’re on this chocolate binge and…” She heads out the door.
    â€œThat wouldn’t be your spinach, goat cheese and herb omelet—would it?” I’m a goner.
    Â 
    â€œWell, what do you think?” I turn this way and that. Modeling my final, final clothes choice. Favorite denim slacks (not those faded kind) over semihigh black pumps, pea-green-colored silk blouse and a roomy tweed jacket. Hair is down and soft; makeup, too. Have to reapply the lips—again.
    â€œI believe you’re glowing.” She orders me to turn around, then she attaches a pearl necklace and gives my shoulder a pat. “There, now you’re dressed proper.”
    I start to tear; we hug. “You make me smear this face I spent all morning on and you’re in big trouble.”
    â€œTrouble’s my middle name, I should think.”
    â€œDamn it…” I say, checking my watch. I give the stump table a smack, but carefully, so as not to chip my nails—Ruckus Red. “I missed the ferry, I can’t be late , what was I thinking ?” It’s not like me to be late—ever. Can we say, “nervous wreck”?
    â€œTake the duck,” Ruby suggests. “Could be a real conversation starter.”
    The duck is our other “vehicle.” It’s a World War II bus that also can be driven into the water. We recently replaced the old awning over the top with a snappy red-and-white-striped affair. It’s a riot, but not the kind of thing you arrive in to impress the daughter you’ve never met. Wait a minute. Who am I trying to be here?
    â€œYou’re right.” I take the keys off the peg and reach for the door.
    For some reason, I part the lace curtain on the door and peek out. Over next to the barn, all in a line, are Sam and Lilly, Howard, Johnny, Marsha, and even Bonnie. I spy Charlie at the wheel of the duck, driving it out. He parks it outside the back door.
    Turning to Ruby, I croak out, “You guys are too much—how’d you know I’d miss the—never mind.”
    â€œSam may have mentioned…yes indeed, we are too much. And so are you—love.” Ruby reaches up and touches me