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formal, with none of the quick and easy laughter and teasing that had bonded them in Baltimore.
    Rachel missed their time together. Connie was the closest thing she’d had to a real girlfriend since college. Sad commentary for a woman four years short of her fortieth birthday.
    Connie’s note was short. She asked if they could get together for drinks after work and suggested a neighborhood bar that was a little on the seedy side but where they wouldn’t have to fight a crowd or talk over a sound system. When Rachel responded, she asked if they could meet at six instead of five-thirty and was surprised with an immediate answer.
    She rocked back in her chair and smiled. Why was it that she never knew how much she missed something or someone until that person or thing came back into her life? She hadn’t been the one who’d let the promotion come between her and Connie, but she hadn’t made any concentrated effort to help Connie get beyond it either.
    Rachel arrived ten minutes early and was surprised and oddly pleased to find Connie already there waiting. She stood and waved from a booth at the back of the dimly lit room. A year ago they would have hugged. Today, by awkward, tacit agreement, a smile sufficed.
    “What a great idea,” Rachel said. “I’m so glad you—”
    The waiter interrupted her. “What can I get you?”
    Rachel glanced over to see what Connie was having. In place of the stout beer she’d always ordered on their girls’ night out, she was drinking something hard. “I’ll have what she’s having.”
    “Vodka on the rocks?” the waiter supplied.
    Rachel shot her friend a questioning glance. Connie used to insist vodka was a drink for closet alcoholics. “Make mine a gin and tonic. Bombay Sapphire, if you have it.”
    He nodded and left.
    “So, have you adjusted to living in San Francisco?” Rachel asked.
    Connie let out a humorless laugh. “Kind of an odd question after all this time, don’t you think?”
    Willing to let Connie have that one, Rachel tried again. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that I like your hair.” She’d changed the style a while back, going from long and curly to short and sleek.
    “I cut it six months ago.”
    Rachel sat back and crossed her legs, her knee hitting the table. She grimaced and rubbed the spot, working to hide her disappointment that renewing their friendship plainly wasn’t the purpose of the meeting. A weariness settled through her, and not from the less than four hours’ sleep she’d had the night before.
    The waiter brought her drink and a bowl of pretzels. Rachel took a sip, judged the drink weak and made from something bottom shelf. “Okay, I can see you’re upset. Let’s talk about it.”
    “What makes you think I’m upset?”
    Rachel frowned. She’d seen Connie indulge in game playing with others but never with her. “Am I wrong?”
    Connie took a minute to answer. “No—but the reason isn’t what you think.”
    “What I think is that we’ve neglected a friendship because we didn’t know how to maintain it, and we should have done something about it months ago.”
    “ We?  ”
    Proof positive that there was nothing as unreliable as an eyewitness account—whether over an accident or a breakup. “You’re right. Rehashing whatever happened won’t change anything.”
    “I understand how awkward it was for you, how hard it was to be seen with me.”
    It took supreme effort to keep from shooting back an equally caustic reply. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. I don’t know how it—”
    “It doesn’t matter,” Connie added before Rachel could say anything more. “That’s not why I’m here.” She finished her drink and motioned to the waiter to bring another. “I know how hard you worked for this promotion and what it meant to you. I was there. Remember? If I hadn’t been, I would have thought you’d let the money and power go to your head. But I know that inside you’re the same person.”
    Why was