The Land of Mango Sunsets by Dorothea Benton Frank Page B

lately…”
    “Is this about Charles?”
    “No.” Yes.
    “Judith?”
    “No.” Yes.
    “The boys?”
    “Not really. I’m just a little melancholy, you know? I think all this dismal weather is at the bottom of it and I just miss…Oh, I don’t know what I miss.”
    “Hmmph. Child? You’ve got yourself a case of SAD.”
    “You’re telling me?”
    “No, sweetheart—I mean, seasonal affective disorder.”
    “Oh. That. Probably so.”
    “Well, let’s start by changing all the lightbulbs in your house to full-spectrum lightbulbs. They’ll suppress your brain’s secretion of melatonin.”
    “Wait. I have to get something to write with.” I rummaged through the kitchen drawer and found a ballpoint pen that actually worked after tossing aside four that refused to cooperate. “Hang on. Okay. Gosh, I have to clean out this drawer. Okay, full what?”
    “Spectrum. You need me to come organize you. And get yourself outdoors for a walk every day. There was a study that showed an hour’s walk during the winter in sunlight was as effective as two and a half hours under bright artificial lights.”
    “An hour? Forget it! Besides, I’d break my neck on all the ice!”
    “Then call Delta or Continental, come see your mother, and I’ll take you for a walk on the Sullivans Island beach every day! And, you’re probably not feeding yourself correctly either…”
    “But I am wearing a sweater.”
    Silence from the south.
    “That was a joke, Mother.”
    “Of course it was. I knew that. Old as the hills, but a joke nonetheless.”
    I sighed hard. I wasn’t that humorless, was I? “I’ll book a flight, buy the lightbulbs, and I’ll call you back.”
    “Good. The sooner the better. I’ll get you all straightened out—”
    “Bye, Mother. Thanks, okay?”
    We hung up and I thought it pleased her to think that I needed her. The fact of the matter was that I did need her. I hadn’t felt so unloved and misunderstood in quite a while. What was the matter with me?
    I watched a documentary on dolphins that bored me into a stupor. I changed the sheets on my bed, sponge-wiped the bathroom counters, and changed the towels. The sounds of my washer and dryer made me feel slightly better. Finally, it was cocktail time, and before I could pour a measure of the Famous Grouse into a tumbler, my doorbell rang. I opened the door and there stood Kevin with a telltale sack of Chinese take-out food.
    “Want to indulge in a little Who Flung Dung?”
    “Got hot-and-sour?”
    “You know it, Petal Puss.”
    “Come right in.” I stood aside, and Kevin all but ran past me to the kitchen.
    “I’m freezing,” he said. “It must be twenty thousand degrees below zero out there. Brrrr!” He dropped the bag on the kitchen table and took off his gloves, hat, neck scarf, and coat. Next, he turned on the gas of one of my cooktop burners and warmed his hands, rubbing them together. “I couldn’t ask them to deliver? I had to go fetch it myself?”
    “Starving?” I unpacked the food and opened the foil container of egg rolls. “Here.” I handed him one on a paper napkin. “Regain your strength.”
    “You know me. I spent all afternoon upstairs with Daisy Mae and she didn’t even throw me a cracker! I wait until my blood sugar drops to nothing because I’m too OCD to quit styling, so I wind up tearing down Third Avenue like a convulsing maniac…”
    I put two plates and bowls on the table with flatware. “Oh! She probably doesn’t have a thing to eat either. Should we invite…”
    “Ha! Our Liz has a date! Don’t worry about this one, honey. She’s an operator. She went out already.”
    I opened a bottle of red wine and poured out two glasses, offering one to Kevin.
    “What’s her stuff like?”
    “You wouldn’t live with that junk for five minutes.”
    “Really? Well, she’s young.” We clinked to yet another new conspiracy and sat down to serve ourselves a hasty meal. “Tell me everything.”
    “Strictly gross