“Babies aren’t fun. You have to take care of them.”

“That’s enough, Miss Priss. You just be home by four-thirty or I’ll take care of you. Make sure you’re nearby when I call.”

“Suppose I’m in Susan’s house?”

“They have clocks.”

“Suppose we go to the store?”

“Suppose you stay home.”

That was enough to send her skipping out of the house.

“She’s so tall and she looks just like Frank,” said Gloria. “But she takes after you. Sharp and sassy.”

“Kindergarten will smooth her corners.”

She asked who Sylvia was and I poured out the story. Talking about it made me angry all over again, but this time I enjoyed the anger. Gloria’s knowing smiles and nods reassured me I was talking to someone whose opinions were aligned with my own.

“So you didn’t like the grass?” she asked.

“Not particularly. But then, I was drinking wine with it.”

“No good. And you were with strangers too.”

“Yes, I suppose that makes a difference. But I don’t even drink much anymore.”

“How about smoking with me tonight?”

“You smoke grass?”

“Once in a while. I’ve been dying to smoke with someone who has more to say than ‘Oh, wow.’ We’ll smoke an official peace pipe.”

I liked the idea immediately, partly because, as Gloria suggested, this was our reunion, and partly because she was the picture of propriety except for the sly grin she was giving me. She tapped her purse with her perfectly manicured painted-peach nails and said with a mock-Southern drawl: “Whah, Offi-suh, ah have no idea how six li’l ol’ joints got inta this heah purse.”

“Six! They could lock you up for that.” Then, a little apprehensive, I asked, “How often do you smoke that stuff?”

“Once or twice a week. Just a couple of puffs to get me to sleep when I’m wound up. Purely medicinal, my dear. I never smoke with anyone; that’s why I’d like to do it with you. In fact, maybe I should have a little nap now so I don’t pass out on the stuff later.”

“Sure, go ahead. If Brian wakes up, we’ll get acquainted.”

She stood up and looked around the room again. “You really have done a beautiful job with the house. It feels like a home.”

After she went upstairs, I sat and took in the room. She was right, it did feel like a home, and I was especially proud of the dining room, with the light oak moldings around the windows and the archway, the roughly cut hutch and wine rack, the green Tiffany lamp hanging over the round, dark oak table. Spacious and uncluttered, it was a room that made you think of children getting out of wet boots and mittens and gathering around for cookies and cocoa. I was glad Gloria approved; I was glad she found Regina so amusing. And I was glad we were having this reunion. Having been involved with Regina and the house and then my job again, I had not cultivated any close friendships like the one I had once had with Gloria. Obvious as it should have been, it didn’t occur to me what I had been missing until I heard her laugh again and saw her listening, really listening, to me.