Page 30 of Spindrift

“Ihave my sources.” Stevie bounded into the house, and Morgan heard Lillianlaugh. She shook her head at the assembled dogs, all of whom lookeddisappointed they had not been allowed to roll in the caked muck.

Ahot shower rinsed her last appointment off her skin. Emilia would arrive in anhour, assuming she still wanted to come, and the prospect was doing notentirely unpleasant things to her stomach. She wanted to get to know her.Knowher, orknowher?asked an inner voice. Too many years oftalking to Stevie had done permanent damage to her psyche.

Theevening also had the potential to turn into a disaster. She did not need herfriends playing matchmaker, however well-intentioned. She would date when shewas ready. The fact that Emilia was exactly her type made their insinuationsall the more aggravating, and she prayed Stevie would behave. Angie andLillian, she knew, would at least wait until Emilia left before pouncing.

Thehot water gave out with its customary lack of warning. Two showers plus thelaundry were more than it enjoyed handling at one time. Stevie yelped from thebathroom at the other end of the house.

Morgandressed in her favorite pair of jeans and a soft button-down that would keepoff the chill of the coming evening, but was still cool enough to withstand theheat of the kitchen. The fact that, as Lillian often pointed out, thisparticular shirt matched her eyes did not enter her consideration. Or so shetold herself.

“Where’sAnge?” she asked Lillian and Stevie when she returned downstairs to help setup.

“Dealingwith the kennel,” said Stevie. “And pretending she’s pissed we’re throwing hera party.”

“Didyou check the propane tanks on the grill?” Lillian asked as she surveyed thekitchen.

“Yeah,”said Morgan. “And there’s a spare just in case. House looks good.”

Lillianwiped her hand across her forehead. “Thanks. You got it from here? I’m going togo get cleaned up.”

“Wecan handle it,” Stevie assured her. “Sorry about the hot water.” Stevie hadblow-dried her hair, and it fell in soft waves around her shoulders. The effectstill surprised Morgan, even after years of witnessing this transformation.Tomboi Stevie still reigned as far as her mannerisms were concerned, but theskin-tight jeans and loose white tank top left little to the imagination, andthe barest suggestion of mascara graced her lashes.

“Hotdate?” asked Morgan.

“Shutup.” Stevie flung a pretzel at her from one of the snack bowls Lillian hadarranged. “Out of clothes. I need to do laundry.”

“Uhhuh.”

“Speakingof hot dates—”

“Ifyou say ‘speaking of’ one more time I am going to slice out your tongue with adirty scalpel.”

“Brutal.Okay, fine. What time did you tell our new friend to come over?”

“Sametime as everyone else.”

“Sowe’ll find out if she’s the kind of person who arrives fashionably late, ontime, or early. Clever.”

“Itdoesn’t matter when she gets here.”

“Aslong as she comes?” Stevie smirked at her own joke. “Let’s get the beer in thefridge, and then Lil wants us to get a fire going in the yard.”

Thefarm property consisted of seven acres. The barn and the house stood on one,and an old apple orchard took up another. The rest had reverted to meadow andwoods. A fence high enough to keep the dogs in closed off a manageable expansearound the back of the house, and a brick patio with a fire pit abutted theback door. Living with her friends and coworkers had its rough spots, but she lovedtheir little piece of heaven.

Angiewaited for them in the kitchen with an open beer.

“Hey,birthday girl.” Morgan hugged Angie, who made a face.

“Tellthe birthday girl to go shower,” said Lillian, emerging into the kitchen with aglare for Morgan and Stevie. “Not that there is any hot water left.”

“I’mclean.” Angie gestured at her clothes. Dog hair coated every inch of them.

“Go.I want a nice photo of you.”

“You,”said Angie as she beat a retreat, “are worse than my mother.”

“That’sbecause your mother has to love you. I don’t,” said Lillian.

“Beer?”Morgan handed one to Lillian without waiting for a response.

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