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think no one grows up, we just grow old.”
    “Women grow up, we have to.” She slowed as she neared Julia’s small house with its neatly trimmed hedges. “Maybe you’re tired. I feel edgy when I’m tired.”
    “No, I’m not tired. Not after two Co-Colas. I just have afunny feeling. Like life is going to throw me a curveball.” She paused a moment, then pulled herself back up with a big smile. “That’s why I need that Orioles cap.”

7

    R ambunctious lived up to his name. By the time Celeste returned to the stables from what was to have been a relaxing hack, she was exhausted, out of sorts, and wondering if age was creeping up on her. If she heard the phrase “still beautiful” one more time, she thought she’d scream. A biting wind out of the north lashed her face. Her cheeks glowed rosy and moist.
    “How was he, Miz Chalfonte?” asked O. B. Huffstetler, Popeye’s brother.
    “Naughty. You know how he can get when he wants to see if you’re asleep at the wheel.”
    O.B. laughed. “Time for a come-to-Jesus meeting?”
    “I’ll give him a day to think about it. If he’s bad tomorrow then I expect I’ll have to remind him of his manners.” She slumped in a chair in the tack room as O.B. untacked Rambunctious, now an angel. She called out, “When’s your wife due?”
    “Another six weeks or so. Starting to tell on her.”
    “I should wonder.” She used the old phrase that was actually a form of agreement. “You’ll be a good father.”
    “Thank you, ma’am.”
    “You know, your brother is in deep trouble with the Hunsenmeir sisters.”
    “I told him last night that he better write something good about them real soon or his goose will be cooked.”
    “Cooked, he’ll be pate.”
    “Ma’am?”
    “He’ll be cooked, then ground up into little pieces.”
    “Oo-whee.” O.B. shook his head.
    “I have an idea that might help him.” O.B. stopped brushing Rambunctious and looked over the horse’s withers as she continued.
    “You know the girls are opening a beauty salon in Barnhart’s old shoe-repair shop. Maybe on the day they open their doors for business, Popeye could write a story. Any new business is worthy of the
Clarion’s
attention, after all.”
    “Wish I was as smart as you, Miz Chalfonte.”
    “That’s very kind of you, O.B., but you know more about horses than I could if I had three lifetimes to learn. There are many different kinds of smart.”
    “Thank you, ma’am.”
    “Doesn’t it surprise you that you and Popeye are from the same family? You’re so different.”
    He started brushing again. “Popeye always thought he was better than the rest of us. Going to the University of Maryland put the cherry on it.”
    “For Carlotta it was her summer in Rome in nineteen hundred and three. She saw one too many cardinals in a red dress. I think if you can get along with your family you can probably get along with anybody.”
    “You got a point there.” He paused. “My brother better do something fast. He’s twenty-five and can’t find a girl to please him. I never saw such a picky man.”
    “Miss Chalfonte.” A voice called from the end of the stable where the big doors were open.
    “I’m in the tack room.” Celeste recognized Rillma Ryan’s voice.
    Rillma greeted O.B. as she passed, then bounced into the oak-paneled room. “Thank you so much.”
    “For what?”
    “For getting me the job in Washington.”
    Celeste noticed how soft Rillma’s brown eyes were, how glossy her black hair, her lips perfectly shaped. She’d known Rillma was pretty, but somehow in the last few weeks she had matured into a beautiful woman, or maybe Celeste was just now noticing.
    “I’m glad you can go. It’s a wonderful opportunity. And you’ll be a big help to Francis. He’s like all Chalfontes, a strategist, not a tactician. I know you’ll take care of the details in his office.”
    “If there’s anything I can ever do for you, Miss Chalfonte, please tell me. I’ll do