"Yeah." We looked at each other for a minute and we could read each other's minds. Danette should have been coming to Edinburgh, not Cornelia. "Tessa had some nerve to die and leave us."

"She certainly did. But you'll have a good time."

"Listen to me, I will not have a good time. I will be miserable. Cornelia and Lisette have bonded and I'm like a third wheel-an old third wheel. You have no idea how awful it is to be with them. We can't fill a table at the club for an event anymore, which is actually a good thing because I can always hope that someone my age will accidentally sit with us. But usually it's dinner for six, and frankly, it sucks. Now I get to travel with stupid Cornelia too? Wes acts like he's giving me a thrill to take me to Scotland. Oh, big whoop! Not that I have anything against Scotland, but haven't you heard me say for years that I wanted to go to Italy? I mean . . ."

"Les, Les! Stop! Listen, I know you think I'm all torn up about Harold, and at first I was! I miss our lives together-you, Wes, Tessa, Paolo, me, Harold-but it's over, and I'm really okay with it. I've moved on! I'm not angry anymore, but that doesn't mean I want to see his insipid face or Cornelia's at Molly's wedding, and God save me from Paolo and Lisette. It's all too ridiculous."

"Well, I sure don't blame you for not wanting to see them. I don't either! But are you really okay?"

"Totally and completely. Because I have to be. Besides, I have a wedding to plan. Did I tell you that Molly asked Suzanne to be her maid of honor? And Alicia is going to be a bridesmaid."

Suzanne and Alicia were Tessa's daughters. We had known and loved them from the minute they arrived in this world at Northside Hospital.

"She did?" My eyes filled with tears. "Oh! That makes me so happy! They've been friends since the sandbox!"

"And she's going to ask Charlotte if Holly will be her flower girl."

"Wonderful!"

"And old friends are a special treasure, aren't they?"

I reached across the table and put my hand over hers, thinking how dearly I loved my friend. Let Harold be a damn fool. Danette would always be my dear, dear treasured friend.

At least that was what I was thinking about until I got home and made dinner for Wes.

We were sitting across the table from each other, and I was recounting my lunch with Danette.

I told him, "And Suzanne, Paolo's daughter, is going to be the maid of honor! Isn't that wonderful?"

"Sure," Wes said. "That's nice."

"So you know I'm going to have to give the bride's lunch the day of the wedding."

"Why?"

"Because it's tradition, that's why. There will be a lot of guests from out of town and then the bridal party and . . ."

"Hold the phone, Les! That's gonna cost a lot of dough!"

"We're not poor people, Wes. We can afford to give a lunch for twenty people. Besides, your granddaughter is the flower girl!"

"Know what? I think it's a good idea if you split it with Lisette."

"What?"

"Yes, Lisette. After all, Harold is the father of the bride, and he's paying for the wedding. And at some point you're going to have to act like you're friends with those two. For the sake of appearances, if nothing else."

"Never. Not in a million years."

"Come on, Les. Cut the poor girls some slack. We're traveling with Harold and Cornelia, for God's sake! In like a week we'll be in Scotland with them. You'd better figure this one out!"

"Wes, our daughter is five years younger than Cornelia and only God knows if Lisette still goes to summer camp. It's the truth."

"And I bet you think that's funny? Well, it isn't."

He cut a piece of the roast beef and pushed it onto his fork. Instead of eating it, he put his fork down on the side of his plate, tightened his lips, and said, "Then you aren't giving a lunch for twenty people with my money. Unless you want to go out and get a job. How's that?"

"Really? Is this an ultimatum, Wesley?"

"No, you should know better than to be this way. It looks bad for you to be hostile. Do you know what people will say?"

"How am I going to explain this to Danette?"

"Aw, for God's sake, Les, why can't you girls just get along?"

I felt like screaming, They're girls, I'm an adult, and it's an important distinction. I'm not going to Edinburgh. Screw you and the Old Course at St. Andrews too! And while we're at it, screw Harold and Paolo too! But I said none of those things.

Did he know how much it was going to hurt Danette if I hosted a bridal lunch with Lisette? Did he care? The lunch, which had just become the dreaded lunch, was still six months away. I'd surely find a diplomatic way to tell Danette before then. What choice did I have? If Wes said I had to do something, I had to do it. In fairness to him, he didn't dig his heels in that often. Get a job? Yeah, right. The want ads were stuffed and bulging with jobs for women my age. It was too depressing to dwell on it, but it was all I could think about while I was packing for our trip. The ugly cold hard truth was that the painted corner in which I stood was fashioned by my own hand. I should've finished college like my mother wanted me to do and gone on to do something like become a CPA, a job I could work at while I was raising our two children. I just really hated it when Wes reminded me that I had no financial assets. He probably had no idea how upsetting it was, and even if he did, he probably wouldn't have cared. In any case, I wasn't looking forward to Edinburgh.

I laid out all my clothes and accessories I planned to take across the bed in Bertie's room. Then I stood back and looked at them-all the sensible shoes and cardigans in case I caught a chill and the tiny umbrella and the collapsible hat to protect my hair in case it was windy or raining-and I thought, Wow. These are the belongings of a much older woman than I considered myself to be. I called my daughter, Charlotte.

She answered on the second ring.

"Hi, Mom! What's going on?"

I told her what was happening and she said, "I knew you were going to hate this trip. I told Daddy so. And I totally don't blame you. Just go to Phipps and buy a bunch of Eileen Fisher! It's a total no-brainer."

"I'd feel better if you came along, you know, so I don't buy the wrong thing?" I hated admitting I was insecure about my fashion sense, but I was. Anyone would be next to Cornelia. Charlotte had met her and Lisette and thought they were, in her words, a couple of obvious opportunistic bitches. It was one thing we totally agreed on. There was a long pause from her end of the phone. I knew she was thinking that it was rare for me to ask her to do something for me. She was trapped, and she knew it wouldn't be nice to refuse.

"I have to bring my kid," she said with a groan, still angling for a way out.

"Why don't I pick y'all up?" I said, cringing at her unattractive reference to my sweet Holly.

"Nah, then I have to move her car seat and that's a whole big pain. I'll pick you up."

We only lived ten minutes apart so she was there in my driveway before I could even reapply some lipstick. I hurried outside to meet them so Charlotte wouldn't have to unbuckle Holly and then repeat the whole rigmarole of lifting her up into the car, waiting for her to scramble into her seat, and buckling her up again. A three-year-old little girl was not like a bag of groceries you could just pick up and toss into the backseat of an SUV.

"Gammy!" Holly squealed with delight when I opened the door and got in.

"Hey, princess!" I said. I kissed my fingertips, slipped my arm into the backseat, and squeezed her toes. She giggled so spontaneously that I could feel it in my heart. "Hey, darlin'!" I leaned over and gave Charlotte an air kiss.

"Hi, Mom!" She made a smooching noise and smiled. "Okay. Want to start with Saks?"

"Why not?"

We backed out of the driveway and headed toward the Phipps Plaza Mall.

"What's the temperature going to be in Scotland?"

"Probably about ten degrees cooler than here," I said. "And I think it drizzles a lot."

"Okay, so we're looking for things to layer," she said. "Got it."

"You see? This is why I wanted to shop with you. You just know to make a strategic plan and then go for it. I'd be rambling around all day!"

"Oh, I doubt that."

Before long I had an armful of new clothes, all of it on sale, of course, and I was standing at the checkout counter, ready to pay. Between Charlotte and an excellent saleswoman I felt like the choices I'd made took a few years away from my appearance. Shopping had seldom been easier or more efficient.

"Thanks for coming with me and doing this," I said to Charlotte.

"No problem. I don't like to think about those two little hoes making you so unhappy."

"It's just a really terrible situation that's never gonna get fixed."

"Well, when they see you in that pink jacket, it will give them something to think about."

"I hope so."

Charlotte and Marcy, the saleswoman, had run all around the store pulling clothes in khaki and black for me to try on. I stayed in the dressing room with Holly and colored in her coloring book. Then once we established the core pieces, they ran around again for accessories and I colored some more. I had scarves and belts and faux jewelry and all sorts of things I probably never would have chosen for myself. And the best-looking pink silk blazer I had ever seen. I hoped Wes wouldn't kill me for spending so much money. But look how much I saved! And then I thought, Really? To heck with that! He could rant and rave until he barked like a fox, I deserved some new clothes from time to time. Did he check with me when he bought a new suit? No. He did not.

"You know what's amazing, Mom?" she said. "The difference in your posture and your attitude when you're all accessorized from head to toe. You're just, I don't know, more sure of yourself."

"You're right. Isn't that funny? But I think that would probably apply to most people. Anybody want to go to the Varsity for a chili cheese slaw dog and a chocolate shake?"

"I do! I do!" Holly said.

"Let's make it quick." Charlotte said. "I'm supposed to show a house this afternoon. Can you take Holly for a few hours?"

"Of course!" I said and knew Charlotte would come in around eleven, smelling like alcohol and that I'd say, Holly's asleep-why don't you let me just bring her home in the morning? Then I'd say, Come sit on the couch by me and let's watch House Hunters International and she'd fall asleep in five minutes. I'd cover her with a blanket like I always did and I'd go to bed. In the morning, I'd make breakfast, and neither Charlotte nor I would say a word about the previous night. My daughter was a bit of a barfly and I knew it. I hoped with all my heart that she'd meet a nice guy and Holly would have a daddy in her life. But cruising the bar scene was probably not the best way to meet a nice guy. Maybe I'd suggest one of the online services to her-wasn't that how people found love these days?

The following week Wes and I were in our living room, having a glass of wine with Paolo, Lisette, Harold, and Cornelia. We were waiting for our car service to take us to the airport and Paolo and Lisette had come by to wish us a safe trip.

"Boy, it's a good thing we live in Atlanta or else we'd have to change planes." I said this in the direction of Cornelia and Lisette, deciding to make small talk, you know, to set a lighthearted tone.

"What are you talking about?" Cornelia said.

"Well, there's an old saying that if you die and go to hell, you still have to change planes in Atlanta," I said in my most charming voice. And youthful voice too. Yes, I sounded decidedly youthful.

They looked at me as though I'd lost my mind.

"I never heard that," Lisette said and looked to Cornelia. "Did you?"

"No," she said. "What does it mean, Les?"

"Oh, never mind," I said, feeling two thousand years old. "It's a dumb saying anyway."

"Oh," they said, and they began discussing Lady Gaga's latest concert.

Now, just to set the record straight on this one, I'm well aware of Gaga's meat dress and that she was born that way and I even sort of like her music.

Not really. But right there and then I knew it was going to take a lot more than a pink silk jacket to get me through this trip.

CHAPTER 6.

Les-Post-Edinburgh After many visits to the oral surgeon and orthopedist, I was finally feeling and looking almost like myself again. But it wasn't just my teeth that were broken or my left arm, it was my spirit. Of course, Wes didn't notice any significant difference in my mood but-here comes old and lame golf humor-that was par for the course.

It was Wednesday, the twenty-third, right before the spring dance at the club. Danette brought over a pound cake, still warm from her oven. She listened as I recounted (for the fiftieth time) the horrors of the trip over coffee in my kitchen.

"I still can't believe what happened. He actually left you in a hospital in a foreign country and went off with Harold to play golf and thought that was okay? You're kidding, right?"

"No. I am not kidding. And he said the accident was my own fault, that I was lollygagging, taking pictures, and not watching where I was going. Maybe that's true, but there's another truth here and that's that it was a forty-minute walk back to the hotel. So for forty minutes . . ."

"He didn't realize you weren't by his side."

"That's right. That's what upsets me more than anything else. But actually, his judgment sucks all around. Remember when he didn't show up for Tessa's funeral because he had a lunch date?"

"You're right. Awful."

Danette and I looked at each other. The implications of Wes's attitude were so heartbreaking and disappointing. I had been reliving the entire ordeal in my mind. The first face I saw when I regained consciousness was Cornelia's, not Wesley's. Her gigantic boobs were staring at me. This simple fact angered me in a way I had never known. I was beyond furious with him. What if I'd had a serious head injury? What if a decision had to be made and I was unconscious? Would Cornelia be making that call? Did she know I was allergic to penicillin? No. I could have been dead and laid out on a cold marble slab in a Scottish morgue with an ID tag on my big toe, but don't worry, Harold and Wes were sinking putts on the Old Course.

Danette sighed deeply and rapped the tips of her fingers on the table a few times.

"Oh, Les, don't read so deeply into this, honey. When it comes to things like this? Men are just like, well, as dumb as a pile of rocks. We both know that."

"No. Wes is many things, but stupid isn't one of them. You know, Danette, I might as well face it. Wes doesn't love me anymore. I don't think he's shown me any real affection in ten years. And I haven't been much better about showing him any either."

"Oh, come on now. You've had a nasty accident and you're surprised that Wes isn't all over you, seeing to your every need? Are you serious? He was never that kind of guy. Harold's not either. And to tell you the truth, most successful men aren't very sensitive to the needs of others."

"That doesn't make it right."

"No, it doesn't make it right, but it's the way it is. That's why we need girlfriends. And sisters. Now tell me how you're feeling otherwise. You still sore?"

"Well, my bruises are all faded and the really terrible one here on my cheekbone I can cover up with makeup. My mouth is still sore. Oh, who cares? I don't know . . . I just . . ."

"You've got the blues, shugah! And you're entitled to a good case of them from time to time-we all are. Let's have some more cake. We'll both feel better."

Danette was right. Sometimes cake was the answer.

Since we had arrived back at home from Scotland I had been marinating in a stew of marital discontent. But the silver lining was that my sweet brother, Harlan, had been calling me twice a day.