It wasn’t that her mother was almost sixty—hell, she fully intended to be sexually active at that age, too—it was that she was her mother. Maybe she was too much of a prude, but she just wasn’t interested in what her mother might choose to wear for an intimate evening with a man, and didn’t want to imagine how Grace’s body would be revealed in the various pieces that she was considering. In spite of her embarrassment, Monica kept up a friendly grin, offered non-committal responses to Grace’s questions, and prayed that her mother would decide on something soon so they could get out of there.

At last, Grace decided on a black bra and panties set fashioned from fishnet mesh and lace.

“This is what I’m talking about,” Grace said. “Girl, I love it.”

“Is there . . . someone special who would like seeing you in this?” Monica asked. “Never mind. It’s none of my business.”

“A lady never tells.” Grace smiled demurely. “But let’s say I’ve got my eye on someone. He may not appreciate me yet, but he will.”

After Monica paid for the clothing, they left the shopping mall, and on Grace’s request, visited the grocery store, a Whole Foods supermarket not far from where Monica lived. Grace declared that she planned to prepare gourmet meals for the duration of her visit and wanted to stock up on ingredients. She swept like a dervish around the market, loading up the shopping cart with seafood, meats, poultry, produce, spices, oils, and more, and Monica struggled to keep up with her. After a short while, Monica finally gave in and went to the dining area to sit and rest, while Grace continued shopping, zipping the loaded-down cart through the aisles as if contained nothing more than a bundle of feathers.

When they arrived home, the cargo area of the SUV stuffed with paper grocery bags, Grace said she would unload the vehicle, and advised Monica to get some rest. Monica dragged herself upstairs and almost collapsed on the bed. Trying to keep pace with her mother had worn her out.

She was drifting off when the telephone on the nightstand chirped.

Blinking, she turned her head. The Caller ID displayed a local area code, but no name. She was exhausted, but had lately received so many calls from friends that she decided to answer.

Sitting up, she grabbed the handset off the cradle. “Hello?”

A gravelly, throat-clearing sound. Then: “Dr. Monica? This is Reverend McBride. We met at Lily’s home-going service this past Saturday.”

“I remember.” Much of that agonizing day was lost in a mental fog, but she recalled the hunched-over old gentleman with wispy white hair and brown eyes that blazed with intelligence. “We didn’t get time to chat, there was so much going on.”