ThisTimeNextDoor by Gretchen Galway Page A

join us another night. Is he here?”
    Glancing behind her, Trixie reached into her pocket, took out a tube of pink lip balm, popped off the cap. “What a shame.” She slid the balm along her upper lip. “I hope she’s feeling all right? I always felt the first trimester was the hardest.”
    “She’s hanging in there. Thanks.” Rose glanced across the driveway, wondering how many minutes they had until John got there. The nerve of him. Just showing up. Not even bothering to call before he got on the plane. “Will you tell Mark how sorry we are? We’d love to have him over another night. And you, too, of course, Mrs. Johnson. Listen to me, my mother would kill me for my bad manners. Will you join us for dinner another night? Both of you?”
    Trixie smiled. “That’s very sweet of you. Yes, of course. If you promise to come over here first. Any time. And you don’t need to come as a set—if your friend isn’t up to it, don’t let that stop you. I can see you’re the social type, probably going stir crazy all alone in that empty old house up here in the hills with nobody to talk to.”
    Rose suspected Trixie knew a lot about that. “I’d like that. Well, thank you. Tell Mark I’m sorry about tonight.”
    With a wave and a smile, Trixie nodded and shut the door so quickly Rose flinched. Trixie’s warmth was sincere, but Rose got the feeling she was missing something.
    Like that Trixie was trying to get rid of her.
    Ah, well, who knew. Maybe she was in the middle of a TV show or something. Turning her attention back to her friend, Rose returned to her house.
    * * *
    Mark came downstairs at 6:55 p.m. wearing a pair of tailored pants he’d acquired just that afternoon. Wondering where his mother had disappeared to, he found some scissors in the kitchen junk drawer and cut off the tags.  
    There was no sticker down the rear leg to remove—a step he’d forgotten, to his lasting embarrassment, on his first day teaching eighth grade algebra in Wisconsin years earlier.
    This pair was a lot nicer than those had been. No stickers. They even reached all the way to the ground. At twenty-two, he’d been clueless. Now he wasn’t any more fashionable, but he had the sense to go to Nordstrom’s, where an older dude in a purple shirt had been very happy to protect him from his own tasteless default settings.
    After a long afternoon, Mark had driven home from Walnut Creek with two pairs of perfectly tailored pants, three pairs of designer jeans, five polo shirts in assorted colors, five button-down casual shirts that cost more than a year’s rent on his first apartment and, yes, one pair of new Birkenstocks.
    He’d also stopped at the hardware store for new duct tape, whether Rose wanted it or not. As a housewarming present.
    “Mom?” He walked through the house to the back porch where she kept the dogs. There were only a few Chihuahuas living with them these days, unlike a month earlier when the herd had grown to alarming proportions. Finally admitting she’d overextended herself as a rescue operation, Trixie had found homes and other shelters, though parting with all of them had been too much of a loss to endure.
    When Mark had returned from Wisconsin, he’d planned on getting his own place within a month or two. But she was so happy to have him around. He’d lived thousands of miles away for over a decade—why not keep her company for a while? It wouldn’t kill him. He might even learn how to cook.
    Seeing the porch was empty, Mark concluded she’d taken the three remaining animals out for another walk.
    Hopefully, Liam and Bev would have kids right away, give her something to do, bodies to hug. Maybe that’s why she’d been willing to part with so many of her dogs, hoping babies weren’t too far off. He wouldn’t be surprised if she converted the dog porch into a playroom and then invited Liam and Bev over for dinner to prompt them to visualize a day care center.
    Dinner. It was 6:59. Breathing onto his