If he died, how was Marge going to manage? Now, more than ever, families needed two incomes to get by. In her heart Lucy knew that security was just an illusion. She’d never fallen into the trap her mother had of building her life completely around her husband. Down deep she knew there was only one person she could count on—herself. Paychecks, houses, husbands, children, could all be lost in an instant. There are no certainties in life except death, she thought We are all on slippery ground indeed.

Tragedy, however, was no excuse for leaving dirty dishes. Lucy washed up the dish and knife she’d used and wiped the table. She found a piece of paper and a pencil and began making a list of people who could help Marge. Checking the clock, she realized it was only a little bit past nine, not too late to call Sue.

“Hi, Sue—it’s me, Lucy. Did you have a good Christmas?”

“Did I? You’ll never guess what Tom gave me—a gorgeous aviator’s jacket.”

“Lucky you. But I didn’t call to compare Christmas presents. Something terrible’s happened.”

“What’s the matter?” Sue’s voice was immediately full of concern.

Lucy told her the news, including the few details she knew about Barney’s crash.

“I just can’t believe it. What a terrible thing, especially at Christmas.”

“I know. It’s awful here in their house. All the presents are under the tree and everything.”

“Marge will need a lot of help. Her mother’s been sick and she doesn’t have any other relatives around here.”

“She’ll need someone to take care of Eddie,” said Lucy.

“He’s good friends with Adam Stillings. Maybe Pam will take him tomorrow.”

“That’s a good idea. I better get off the phone and leave the line free. Marge promised to call.”

“Okay. I’ll give Pam a call tonight. Adam’s probably covering the accident for the Pennysaver.”

“Let me know if you hear anything, okay?”

Lucy replaced the receiver and tiptoed down the hall to make sure she hadn’t disturbed Eddie. Seeing that he was still sleeping deeply, she went back to the kitchen. She stood leaning against the kitchen sink, savoring the last drops of beer and reading the collection of notices attached to the refrigerator with magnets.