living under, anyway?”
The rock of Peter Miller. The rock of the Syracuse English Department. Shakespeare. Austen. Marlowe. Take your pick. Lots of rocks. I sank down into the hideous orange chair and pushed the heels of my hands into my eyes.
“ Poor baby,” she said. “ You ’ ve been dallying between the sheets with a famous millionaire and you didn ’ t even know it.”
“ Dallying between the sheets?”
She grinned and took a sip of her tea. “ How was he?”
I smiled. Her grin widened.
“ That good, huh?”
I leaned over and put my face between my knees. “ N o.”
“ Oh, Portia. I ’ ve missed you, baby.” She took another sip of her tea. “ I don ’ t know if it ’ s you or the tea, but I ’ m feeling so much better.”
“ Well, I live to amuse you,” I said.
Beauji grinned. “ Welcome home, darlin ’ . Welcome home.”
“ So,” Mags said, le aning her chin on one hand, her bangle bracelets dangling precariously over the glob of mashed potatoes on her plate, “ how are you feeling today, Portia?”
I stabbed at the roast, avoiding her gaze. “ Fine. And you?”
“ I ’ m fine. I was just wondering how you were doing.”
I put my fork down and glanced from Miz to Miz, all watching me over the steaming spread of hearty Southern food. I smiled.
“ I ’ m great, thank you.” I took a sip of my iced tea. They were still staring. “ What? What do you want me to say?”
“ We ’ re just curious, baby,” Mags said. “ A few details won ’ t kill you.”
I raised one eyebrow. “ They might kill you.”
She leaned forward, her eyes gleeful. “ Now that ’ s more like it.”
“ I ’ ll bet he was a wonderful kisser, wasn ’ t he, Portia?” Vera asked, refilling my iced tea. “ I hear that men from England do this fabulous twisty thing with their tongues.”
I stared at Vera. “ Where ’ d you hear that?”
She shrugged. “ We stock Cosmopolitan magazine.”
“ Well, I think a girl who ’ d been kissed all twisty last night would be smiling more today, don ’ t you, Vera?” Mags said. She and Vera erupted into giggles. I shook my head and looked at Bev, who raised one eyebrow and took a sip of iced tea.
“ What exactly did you girls think?” I asked. “ That one night with Ian Beckett was goin g to turn me into a giggly little teenager? It doesn ’ t work that way.”
“ Sometimes it does,” Vera said with a grin. “ Why, there was this one time, when I was twenty-two...”
Mags pointed her fork at Vera. “ Marcus the banjo player!”
“ Yes!” Vera said, her eyes drifting heavenward at the memory. “ He did this one thing with his toes —”
I held up my hand. “ Ah-ah-ah-ah. No. Please. Vera. I love you, but please. No.”
Mags and Vera giggled again. Bev handed me the basket of warm rolls.
“ Surely you must feel a little d ifferent,” she said. “ Every man a woman sleeps with changes her a little, whether she wants to admit it or not.”
I took a roll and Bev withdrew the basket.
“ Not me,” I said. “ I am unchanged. I was fine before our little dalliance, and I ’ m fine now. So y ’ al l can stop with the Flyers and stop with the fixing and just hand me some of those potatoes.”
“ I don ’ t know, baby,” Mags said. “ I think Bev is right. About the men changing you, a little bit at least. There was that man I met in Bermuda, Rory Munroe. I onl y slept with him once, and I ’ ve walked a little different ever since.”
Vera and Mags descended once again into a fit of giggles. I tossed my fork down on my plate and looked at Bev.
“ Doesn ’ t that bother you? To hear your daughters talk like that?”
Bev shru gged. “ Why should it? They ’ re just being honest I stared at her. She stared back.
She knew I ’ d faked the Flight.
I didn ’ t know how she knew, but she knew. I picked up my wineglass and hoped she ’ d keep it our little secret. Mags and Vera would have me Flyin g with every unattached
The rock of Peter Miller. The rock of the Syracuse English Department. Shakespeare. Austen. Marlowe. Take your pick. Lots of rocks. I sank down into the hideous orange chair and pushed the heels of my hands into my eyes.
“ Poor baby,” she said. “ You ’ ve been dallying between the sheets with a famous millionaire and you didn ’ t even know it.”
“ Dallying between the sheets?”
She grinned and took a sip of her tea. “ How was he?”
I smiled. Her grin widened.
“ That good, huh?”
I leaned over and put my face between my knees. “ N o.”
“ Oh, Portia. I ’ ve missed you, baby.” She took another sip of her tea. “ I don ’ t know if it ’ s you or the tea, but I ’ m feeling so much better.”
“ Well, I live to amuse you,” I said.
Beauji grinned. “ Welcome home, darlin ’ . Welcome home.”
“ So,” Mags said, le aning her chin on one hand, her bangle bracelets dangling precariously over the glob of mashed potatoes on her plate, “ how are you feeling today, Portia?”
I stabbed at the roast, avoiding her gaze. “ Fine. And you?”
“ I ’ m fine. I was just wondering how you were doing.”
I put my fork down and glanced from Miz to Miz, all watching me over the steaming spread of hearty Southern food. I smiled.
“ I ’ m great, thank you.” I took a sip of my iced tea. They were still staring. “ What? What do you want me to say?”
“ We ’ re just curious, baby,” Mags said. “ A few details won ’ t kill you.”
I raised one eyebrow. “ They might kill you.”
She leaned forward, her eyes gleeful. “ Now that ’ s more like it.”
“ I ’ ll bet he was a wonderful kisser, wasn ’ t he, Portia?” Vera asked, refilling my iced tea. “ I hear that men from England do this fabulous twisty thing with their tongues.”
I stared at Vera. “ Where ’ d you hear that?”
She shrugged. “ We stock Cosmopolitan magazine.”
“ Well, I think a girl who ’ d been kissed all twisty last night would be smiling more today, don ’ t you, Vera?” Mags said. She and Vera erupted into giggles. I shook my head and looked at Bev, who raised one eyebrow and took a sip of iced tea.
“ What exactly did you girls think?” I asked. “ That one night with Ian Beckett was goin g to turn me into a giggly little teenager? It doesn ’ t work that way.”
“ Sometimes it does,” Vera said with a grin. “ Why, there was this one time, when I was twenty-two...”
Mags pointed her fork at Vera. “ Marcus the banjo player!”
“ Yes!” Vera said, her eyes drifting heavenward at the memory. “ He did this one thing with his toes —”
I held up my hand. “ Ah-ah-ah-ah. No. Please. Vera. I love you, but please. No.”
Mags and Vera giggled again. Bev handed me the basket of warm rolls.
“ Surely you must feel a little d ifferent,” she said. “ Every man a woman sleeps with changes her a little, whether she wants to admit it or not.”
I took a roll and Bev withdrew the basket.
“ Not me,” I said. “ I am unchanged. I was fine before our little dalliance, and I ’ m fine now. So y ’ al l can stop with the Flyers and stop with the fixing and just hand me some of those potatoes.”
“ I don ’ t know, baby,” Mags said. “ I think Bev is right. About the men changing you, a little bit at least. There was that man I met in Bermuda, Rory Munroe. I onl y slept with him once, and I ’ ve walked a little different ever since.”
Vera and Mags descended once again into a fit of giggles. I tossed my fork down on my plate and looked at Bev.
“ Doesn ’ t that bother you? To hear your daughters talk like that?”
Bev shru gged. “ Why should it? They ’ re just being honest I stared at her. She stared back.
She knew I ’ d faked the Flight.
I didn ’ t know how she knew, but she knew. I picked up my wineglass and hoped she ’ d keep it our little secret. Mags and Vera would have me Flyin g with every unattached
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