Saving Phoebe Murrow: A Novel by Herta Feely

whispered how sexy her feet were, and she used to tease him with her toes. Maybe tonight, she thought. We could use a little sex. Her mouth tilted into a crooked smile, but her eyes returned to the TV. She watched Dr. Phil’s lips and read the delayed, sometimes misspelled subtitles.
    â€œSo, young ladies, from now on you’re going to stay out of trouble? Right?” She could hear his trademark inflections in her head. “Because what you were doing almost got you killed, didn’t it?” The girls nodded dumbly. “And you know that’s not what you want?” Nod, nod. “And, in the future, you’re going to be more careful? You’re not going to do that ever again?” They continued nodding, though not very convincingly. “Right?” he demanded.
    Their hesitant answers and embarrassed little smiles made Isabel certain they were disingenuous. What had they been discussing? Drugs flitted through Isabel’s mind. She assessed the girls more carefully. Were those circles under their eyes? She couldn’t help thinking how many more dangers and temptations existed for children as they grew older. And it seemed far worse today than during her own youth.

    Thankfully, the Dr. Phil show had neared its end and was followed by a Jenny Craig ad, which reminded Isabel of the high-protein weight-loss drink, something called Slenderella , that Sandy had tried to sell to her on several occasions. She’d figured it was Sandy’s roundabout way of trying to befriend her, though she’d been tempted to ask if she thought she was overweight, which at 120 pounds and a height of 5’7” was hardly one of Isabel’s concerns.
    She’d be the first to admit, though, that she had resisted Sandy’s pursuit of friendship. Isabel would like to say that, as with most things, she’d given the matter considerable thought. For example, she could make the case that she and Sandy had little in common outside of their daughters, and to build a relationship based on that – when who knew how long their children’s friendship would last – seemed pointless, especially when her free time was so precious.
    Likewise, Isabel could say that she objected to the woman’s laissez-faire parenting. Kids will be kids , was Sandy’s incantation no matter the transgression. And then there was her mindless, gossipy chit-chat. Isabel detested women’s tendency to gossip and rarely indulged. She made no apologies for it, and once or twice when she’d cut her off she knew Sandy had felt rejected. All of these facts would contribute to Isabel’s rational examination of why she did not reciprocate Sandy’s attempts at friendship.
    But the real truth was that each encounter with Sandy triggered an inexplicable revulsion, as if somewhere deep inside of her she sensed that Sandy could not be trusted. That, at her core, the woman was sly and cagey, and around men an unapologetic flirt. Yes, this was, most likely, woman’s intuition at work. And yet she chided herself for this automatic response, because her mother had taught her not only about the Golden Rule, but also that all people contain goodness, one only has to know where to look.
    As these thoughts cycled through her mind, Isabel remembered Sandy’s earlier call and realized she’d missed an opportunity to cut her some slack and also to advise her, because when it came to attire, Sandy often looked like she’d just stepped out of a Victoria’s Secret catalog, so inappropriate for the Georgetown crowd. Every item of clothing clung to her body – a shapely one, she had to admit, even if her breasts had been surgically upholstered – a birthday gift from her husband Bill. At least that was the rumor. Isabel only hoped that tonight Ron wouldn’t make a fool of himself, the way some men did. The same held true for Sandy.
    Thuy gathered Isabel’s things and moved her to the