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apparently Laurel is going to take vows! Now, I haven’t heard what kind of vows, but will the church let a woman who’s been married five times…”
    â€œAnnie, I left word on Laurel’s machine, but she hasn’t called. Please tell her we’d like to have her speak at ourluncheon next week and tell us about the Other Side. Everyone is so excited…”
    â€œAnnie, I hope you can arrange things quietly for Max’s sake. Perhaps a nice rest home might be…”
    â€œAnnie, Go-Dog is my very favorite driver. I haven’t been able to get in touch with your mother-in-law, but I’ll do anything…”
    In the pause after Annie’s plea, Laurel placed a hand over her heart. “The cemetery.” She could not have projected her husky voice more professionally from the apron of a New York theater. She waited a beat, her limpid eyes circling the room. “I’ve had no success yet, but in my heart I know Go-Dog will come through, just as he always did on Memorial Day.” Murmurs across the ballroom sounded like muted cheers. Laurel smiled with utter confidence. “I’ve asked Go-Dog to find Arturo. I know he will.”
    â€œGo-Dog, go!” a deep male voice shouted. Smiles flashed. Heads bent in eager conversation.
    Annie glimpsed a flash of utter satisfaction in Laurel’s eyes, a sharp, totally cognitive flash.
    Laurel lightly patted Annie’s arm. “Your aura is rather worrisome, dear. A rather mustardy color. However, Max”—she blew a kiss at her son—“is…oh, it’s coming to me…aquamarine, undoubtedly.” A throaty laugh. She turned toward her admiring coterie, “Oh, Howard, Fred, how utterly divine to see you both,” and swept away.
    Annie looked after her with amazement. A beau on either arm. Hot damn. But beneath Annie’s admiration, worry pulsed. That satisfied look of Laurel’s—what did it mean?
    Max bent down, kissed the top of Annie’s head. “Come on, sweetie, it’s vintage Laurel. She’s having a blast. Everybody in the room heard that exchange. She’s obviously decided to be the village eccentric.” He was half amused, half exasperated. “If there’s anyone in town who hasn’t heard about her performance in the cemetery, they will know after tonight.”
    Annie stared across the floor at Laurel, still circled by admirers. All male, of course. “Why does she want to talk to him?”
    Max blinked. “Annie, don’t ask questions that can’t be answered. Who knows? It can’t be anything too serious. They were only married for two years.”
    Annie had never sorted out the order of Laurel’s spouses. Max’s father, of course. And a sculptor. Arturo, the race car driver. A general. And a professor. Maybe Arturo was the most fun.
    Max grinned. “Actually, I liked Arturo. Laurel called him Buddy. Man, did he drive fast!”
    The band swung into “Tuxedo Junction.” Max grabbed her hand. “Come on, Annie, let’s dance.”
    Annie felt the old familiar thrill course through her. She loved to dance, but she wasn’t sure you could always dance your troubles away. As she and Max swung onto the floor, she couldn’t quite dismiss her memory of Laurel’s savvy, satisfied look.
    Or the face of the man who’d left her and her mother behind so long ago.
    Â 
    A pale streak of silver speared into the dusky room, the crescent moon free for a moment from scudding clouds. Annie lay wide awake, Max’s body curved next to hers, his arm warm over her waist, his breath soft against her neck. The silvery beam briefly illuminated a white wicker divan and a table with photographs and a small china Christmas tree decorated with sugarplums. When she was little and awoke in the December night, sheimagined sugarplums dancing along the moonbeam. The ever-present Great Plains wind rustling the