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Coltrane is our local veterinarian and my Significant Other.
    “Hey,” he said, and my heart went pitty-pat. I can’t help it. When he calls or I see him I revert to my teenage years. It’s one of the facets of being over fifty that I find most unnerving.
    “Hey yourself,” I responded cleverly. Witty repartee is not my strong suit. “What’s going on?”
    “I just wondered if you’d like to take a break one evening this week. We could go out to dinner and a movie. What nights are you free?”
    I could have said every night. It’s usually true. This week, however, I’d reluctantly agreed to go with Bitty to one of her meetings for the upcoming pilgrimage. I wasn’t looking forward to it.
    “Any night but Thursday,” I said, and Kit promptly suggested we go out Tuesday night. I agreed, of course. I may not be interested in remarrying, but I’m definitely interested in keeping company with the handsomest man in all of Holly Springs.
    I was still smiling when I went into the house to clean up after my stint as zookeeper. Brownie met me in the kitchen. He was sulking because I wouldn’t let him out while I fed all the cats. He likes to keep the yard bird and squirrel-free, and while the cats may have the same goal they aren’t that fond of a beagle-dachshund mix running crazily around and baying at the sky while they’re lining up at food bowls. It makes my life a lot easier when I skip that part of the routine.
    My mother had left Brownie’s food frozen in ice cube trays. Each little cup held exactly the right amount of homemade food to go atop his dry food. It had to be microwaved first so he didn’t have to eat cold food, of course. Mama chooses to ignore the fact this is the dog that ingests metal, paper, and cat poo without regard to proper warmth or consistency. But I dutifully heated his food, mixed it in with his dry, and set his bowl on the nice little placemat my mother keeps in a kitchen corner. For a dog that showed up as a stray on the back deck one cold day a few years ago, he certainly has it good now.
    I’d just put a frozen pizza in the oven for me when the house phone rang. There’s one on the wall in the kitchen and another cordless phone in the den. I grabbed for the kitchen phone.
    Bitty said without preamble, “Have you been watching the news?”
    “What news? You mean on TV? Has something happened I should know about?”
    “Just go turn on the TV, Trinket. And don’t hang up. I want to be with you when you hear about it.”
    “Hear about what? Bitty, is this another one of your silly dramas? Has the price of gold gone up? Or there’s an embargo on designer shoes? Has—”
    She rudely interrupted with, “Turn on the TV, Trinket. CNN or MSNBC.”
    Annoyed, I went into the little den off the kitchen, found the remote, and switched on the TV. It took a moment, but I found CNN just as the announcer said, “. . . and the Italian cruise ship that ran out of fuel and power in the Mediterranean is in danger of drifting out to sea. Authorities have begun to rescue passengers. More details as soon as they become available.”
    My head got light. Black spots danced in front of my eyes. I didn’t even remember sitting down, but I must have because suddenly I wasn’t standing up. Bitty’s voice in my ear sounded far away.
    “Trinket? Are you still there? Talk to me. Talk to me, or I’m calling nine-one-one. Trinket?”
    There was a loud buzzing in my ears, but I managed to say, “I’m here. Did they say the name of the ship?”
    “ Costanza Regencia . Is that the one they’re on?”
    I tried to think. They’d told me of course, several times in fact, but the information hadn’t stuck since I was so annoyed and apprehensive about them going anyway. But I did recall that they’d left their itinerary under a magnet on the refrigerator. Somehow I made my way to the kitchen. There it was. I took it off the refrigerator door and anxiously scanned it. It listed their departure and