It was a beautiful sunny day. The temperature was supposed to be in the sixties with rain that night and much colder weather the next day. Muffin was lying in the bay window watching two squirrels trying to get sunflower seeds from my squirrelproof bird feeder that really works. The squirrels jump on the wooden perch and their weight closes the feeder. A remarkable invention except I feel so sorry for the squirrels after they’ve worked a long time, that I’ll go and throw some seeds on the ground for them.

Woofer and I took a quick walk. Most of the Christmas decorations were down by now, but there were a couple of holdouts. There’s a house a block away from us that has a chimney on the front. They put their wreath up Thanksgiving and take it down Easter. Don’t ask. But it’s a good way to give directions in February and March. “Go past the wreath house, turn left…”

I had thought I would have a message from Mary Alice, that she might have heard from Richard, but there was nothing but a dial tone. I turned on the computer; not even the SEX SEX SEX people were trying to communicate with me this morning.

I got in the shower feeling slightly depressed and knowing why. The last couple of months had been so busy, planning for the trip to Warsaw, the trip itself, Christmas, Brother’s birth, Virginia’s disappearance, and the whole Chandler Mountain snake-handling affair. A morning by myself was a letdown. Next week, I would start tutoring again at the middle school. Next week, I would shampoo the rugs and maybe invite some people for dinner. Arthur and Mitzi from next door, Frances Zata, of course, if she was in town and not in Destin. I let the hot water run over my head and relaxed. Soon, mixed with the smell of shampoo was the smell of bacon frying. It was a pleasant smell, one the aromatherapy people should consider using. A smell that shouldn’t have been in my house, but that didn’t alarm me because I figured I knew the source.

I rinsed my hair, put on my white terry-cloth robe, and headed for the kitchen.

“Why don’t you get some real bacon,” Sister complained. “All I could find was this turkey stuff.”

“Lower in cholesterol.”

She was sitting at my table with what appeared to be several pieces of French toast and half a pound of bacon on the plate in front of her.

“Did you fix me some?” I asked.

“You can have some of this. I think my eyes were bigger than my stomach.”

I would not answer that.

I got a plate and helped myself to a piece of French toast and a couple of pieces of bacon. Sister pushed the bottle of syrup toward me.