Haley and Frances had disappeared, probably had gone to the beach. While Fairchild was in the bathroom, I made up Sister’s bed, got a pillow from the linen closet, put a fresh pillowcase on it, and located a light cotton blanket.

“Oh, my,” Fairchild said, stretching out. I think he was asleep by the time I left the room.

I headed for the breakfast pizza which was nothing but mega fat grams and cholesterol: ham, cheese, bacon, eggs. Delicious. Haley and Frances showed up in time to help me finish it, Haley saying at least ten times between bites that our arteries would never be the same.

“Y’all be quiet,” I cautioned them when they came in. I told them what had happened in Fairchild’s apartment and that he was napping on Sister’s bed.

“All those women in there consoling him? You sure you didn’t pull him out of the briar patch?” Frances asked.

“I’m sure. The ladies of Gulf Towers are formidable consolers.”

Haley took another piece of pizza. “Good cooks, though.”

“This came from the lady at the end of the hall, the one who moved in this spring, Tammy Berliner. She’s a beautiful blonde, probably just a little older than you, Haley. She’s a flight attendant for Delta.”

“She commutes to Atlanta?” Frances asked.

“She and her husband both. He’s a pilot. Or else she’s the pilot and he’s the flight attendant. One or the other. Sister says they have a teenager named Sophie. I love that name, don’t you? Sophie Berliner. And I’ll bet she hates it. Probably wishes she had her mama’s name.”

“Everybody hates their name,” Frances said. “It’s a given.”

“I hate mine,” Haley said cheerfully, her mouth full of cholesterol.

I took the last piece of pizza. “Sorry. We should have gone with Letitia Maude, your papa’s first choice.”

“Letitia Maude Hollowell,” Haley mused. “I’d have been a completely different person.”

“You would have been a perfectionist,” Frances said. “A Letitia Maude would do everything just so.”

“Like dresser drawers. All my dresser drawers would be straight. And my closets. A place for everything.” Haley dribbled water down her shirt from a glass that had condensation on it.

“Letitia Maude wouldn’t have done that,” Frances said.

“You’re right,” Haley giggled, wiping her shirt with the back of her arm. “And you know what? In Letitia Maude’s kitchen, even the roach motels would be lined up perfectly.”

Frances giggled, too.