Suddenly tears welled in her eyes.

“I’m a silly woman,” she said. “Always have been.”

Then she lurched toward the living room.

The rest of us exchanged alarmed looks and hurried after her.

“Rochelle, honey,” Ashley said, putting her arm around her, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Everything’s right as rain!” she said, with a sweeping gesture that almost knocked over a nearby floor lamp.

Ashley led her to a seat on the sectional. The rest of us took our seats awkwardly. Nobody said anything; we all just sat there, about as relaxed as a bunch of root canal patients.

I glanced down at the coffee table and saw that this week there was no elaborate spread. No nuts. No pretzels. No tri-colored chips, salted and unsalted. Just the burnt empanadas.

It was at that moment that the doorbell rang.

“Oh,” Rochelle said, her eyes narrowing. “That must be my dear friend Marybeth.” Once again, there was nothing dear about the way she referred to Marybeth.

“Come innnn,” she shouted out in an exaggerated singsong.

Seconds later, Marybeth came sweeping into the living room carrying a vase of exquisite silk dogwood flowers, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

“Rochelle, honey, look what I got for your bathroom. Won’t they look just lovely on the counter?”

“Just lovely,” Rochelle echoed, in that same singsong voice.

Marybeth shot her a look. Clearly something was wrong, but she chose to ignore it. Instead, she plastered a bright smile on her face.

“I’ll go and put them upstairs. You want to come have a look-see with me?”

“No,” Rochelle said, “I don’t want to go have a look-see.”

“Okeydoke,” Marybeth said, her smile still firmly in place. “Then I’ll just run up and do it myself.”

The silence became even more uncomfortable as Marybeth headed up the stairs.

At last it was Rochelle who broke it.

“Damn,” she said, “I forgot the guacamole.”

“I’ll get it!” Everyone jumped up at once, each of us eager to make a break for it.

“No,” Rochelle barked, with unaccustomed authority. “Everybody sit down. I’ll go.”

She hauled herself up from the depths of the sofa and started for the kitchen.

The minute she was gone, we all started buzzing.

“What the hell is going on?” Ashley said.

“Maybe she’s got her period.” I threw out lamely.

“Oh, please,” Pam said. “Nobody ever got their period that bad. Except possibly Lizzie Borden.”

“She’s pissed at Marybeth about something,” Doris said.

“Yeah,” Colin grinned. “Isn’t it great? I hope she rips her to shreds.”

“Maybe she doesn’t like the bathroom,” I suggested.

“No way,” Pam said. “Rochelle loves everything Marybeth does. If Marybeth told Rochelle poop was pretty, she’d buy it and frame it.”

“The old Rochelle,” Colin corrected. “Something’s changed.”