“What are you doing in bed, honey? Weren’t you and Mark always up with the chickens?”
“Mark isn’t around anymore, Mom, and there never were any chickens. Unless he was hiding those from me, too.”
“It’s amazing how you can still make jokes about it,” said Joyce.
“Would you rather I made death threats? It would be more satisfying,” said Erin, lying back on a pillow and closing her eyes.
“Don’t say that. It sounds so un-Christian. Besides, you and Mark were a great couple. I just don’t understand what went so wrong.”
Erin sat straight up and triggered a massive pain in her head. “A great couple? Are you kidding? He cheated on me, Mom. We’re divorced. There is no ‘you and Mark’ anymore.” She rubbed her eyes. “And if we’re going to talk about being ‘un-Christian,’ how about we talk about Mark’s behavior instead of my reaction to it?” Erin smacked her lips together, trying to work some saliva into the foul-tasting desert of her mouth.
“Of course, darling,” she trilled. “Have you eaten? What are you making for breakfast?”
“No, Mom, I haven’t eaten. I just woke up. And I don’t know what I’m making for breakfast.”
“Did you ever make Mark breakfast?”
“Oh, my God, Mom! Lay off.”
Her mom clicked her tongue. “You know, honey, men like to feel taken care of.”
“Like little boys,” Erin said, standing up and stretching.
“Exactly! You do understand, but for some reason you never follow through on my advice.”
“Can’t imagine why,” said Erin, sliding her feet into her slippers. “Mom, I gotta go get ready for church.”
“You’re not afraid to see Mark?”
“Mark is dead to me.”
“That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”
“No.”
“Well, wear your good dress. And put on some makeup.”
“Sure, Mom. Bye now.” Erin hung up the phone and hurled it onto the unmade bed. She didn’t even know why she bothered going to church anymore. Habit, maybe. Or just a desire to make Mark and Genevieve squirm.
A crash from the direction of the kitchen made Erin jump.
Nancy Drew looked up from the floor next to the foot of the bed.
Erin picked up the half-full bottle of wine, ready to throw it.
Nancy stood up and swished her tail back and forth.
They crept into the hallway leading to the kitchen.
“Who’s there?” called Erin. “Is that you, Mark?”
“I’m sorry,” called a male voice. “I was just looking for a mug and I knocked a plate off the shelf. How do you like your coffee?”
Definitely not Mark.
Erin stepped into the kitchen and confronted a nattily dressed, youngish man in a dark red suit and bow tie. “Who are you?” She deftly flipped the wine bottle up to hold it like a club, but forgot that it was still half full of wine and poured it all over herself.
The man rubbed his closely-trimmed salt and pepper beard. “Are you in the habit of pouring wine all over yourself, or is this a special occasion?”
