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spends all day with fertilizer…”
    “You know he’s retired now, Mother,” Maggie firmly redirected the conversation. “So, Dorse, how’s it going with your carpentry job? Dorsey’s very skilled with her hands,” she added as an aside to her cousin. Heat suffused Dorsey’s face again as Sarah smiled, her blue eyes focused on applying the perfect amount of syrup to her delectable-looking pancakes.
    “It’s no big deal,” Dorsey said, feeling embarrassed for some reason to be the center of attention. She was often more comfortable with listening than talking, especially in a group situation. “I’m just fixing up the Bartholomews’ deck,” she told them, naming an affluent family who farmed about ten miles west of town.
    “When do they get back from their cruise?” Mrs. Bigelow wanted to know.
    Between Mother Bigelow and her rival Mrs. Blankenship, they had their fingers on the pulse of just about everything going on in Romeo Falls. The Bartholomews were off on a month-long Mediterranean cruise to celebrate their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.
    “A couple more weeks,” Dorsey said. “I’ll be done before they get back, though. I’ll be out there every night this week, probably.”
    “Well, maybe we’ll come visit you,” said Maggie, meaning herself and Sarah. “We’ll bring a picnic supper and show Sarah a real live farm.”
    Dorsey wasn’t sure how much of a treat that would be, but she knew Maggie only meant well.
    “Yeah and if they have a pool, so much the better!” Sarah said, fanning herself with the little laminated card that showcased the desserts. “I heard the weatherman say this morning that it’s supposed to heat up tomorrow.”
    “No pool, but they do have a hot tub,” Maggie told her, eyes alight with fun. Clearly, she’d already begun planning the picnic in her head.
    “Now, girls,” Mrs. Bigelow began in a lecturing tone. “I don’t think you should be having a party at someone else’s house while they’re away.”
    “No, it’s okay,” Dorsey said. “Mr. Bartholomew gave me the keys and told me I could use the hot tub if I wanted. I’m watering their plants while they’re gone too.”
    “Well, how very enterprising of you,” Mrs. B. sniffed, clearly disappointed that she wouldn’t get to finish her sermon on Thou Shalt Not Par-tay.
    They got through the rest of brunch, despite Mrs. Bigelow’s propensity to dominate the conversation with her views on her five favorite topics: (1) Why Every Young Woman Needs A Man, (2) The Economy (See Previous Topic), (3) The Liberal Media Is Brainwashing Us All Straight To H-e- *-*, (4) Kids These Days! and (5) Mary Margaret’s Weight, Divorce, Job, etc. Dorsey tuned the old harpy out as best she could and divided her attention amongst the excellent food, replies whenever Maggie engaged her in the conversation and occasional glances at Sarah across the table. Her bare arms, pale, slender fingers and soft black hair were all entrancing. She had to be careful not to get lost in contemplation of the erstwhile Goddess, however—she didn’t want to cause problems for Sarah, herself or anyone else. A couple of times, she found Sarah’s eyes composedly regarding her from across the table. Dorsey wondered what she saw.
    Mrs. Bigelow insisted on picking up the check, for which Dorsey was grateful. She hung back, though, as the rest of them headed toward the exit and covertly slipped a few extra bills onto the table. Mrs. B. was a notoriously bad tipper. While Mrs. Bigelow paid the bill, the three younger women walked outside to the parking lot for a breath of fresh air. It was a beautiful spring day with the temperature in the high sixties and a light breeze. A perfect cornflower blue sky stretched above them, with not a cloud in sight, although thunderstorms were a possibility for later in the day.
    “You walking, Dorse?” Maggie asked, scanning the parking lot for her friend’s little pickup truck.
    “Yeah, I’m due at