Vanita returned a smug look. "Stick to the facts. I may be old, but I am not decrepit. I’ll be up and running before too long."

Luella rolled her eyes and turned back to the cross-armed woman in front of her. "One day we’ll decide we want to live in her place. The next day we think we should take mine. But after all the arguing and discussing and weighing and planning, it all comes down to what you and Jaylynn decide."

Dez looked from one to the other. "What do you mean?" She sat forward and put her elbows on the table, a puzzled look on her face.

Luella cleared her throat. "Well, if the two of you want to live together, then I think you should take Vanita’s house and my big sister will move in with me. Otherwise, if you two are history, then you can stay right where you are, and Jaylynn could have the main floor of my place. I’ll move over to Van’s then. So start thinking about whether you’re interested and which choice it’d be if you are."

Dez’s gaze ping-ponged back and forth between the two women. They both sported happy, innocent faces, but beneath she could see there was something more. Maybe their plan was better thought out than she realized. "Let me get this straight - no matter what, you two clowns are moving in together?"

They nodded, their brown faces shining in the midday light slanting into the window.

"And you want to sell one of the houses - to me or Jaylynn?"

Vanita said, "Or rent - or lease - just let you live there if you don’t buy. We haven’t really thought that out."

Well, I’ll be damned. These two are playing matchmaker. That’s what this is all about. She was surprised to come to that conclusion. "Have you talked to Jaylynn?"

At the same time, both women piped up with the answer. Luella said, "Sort of," while Vanita said, "Not exactly."

"Well, which is it?"

The sisters’ heads swiveled toward one other. Up to this point they had done a credible job of looking casual and innocuous, but now they appeared positively mischievous.

The pink-clad waitress chose that moment to appear with their plates. She smacked them down in front of them and asked what else she could get for them. By the time she had left, both of the sisters were focused fully on their meals.

"Doesn’t this look great?" Vanita said. "How delicious - my first meal out after all these weeks."

"Oh, yes," Luella said. "Scrumptious."

Dez picked up her fork and speared her waffle, then stabbed at it with her knife. She reached one long arm across the table to the rack holding three kinds of syrup and snagged the maple syrup, which she systematically poured all over the waffles on her plate.

"Hey," Vanita said. "Thought you were having jam with me."

"Yeah, well, that was before the two of you decided to gang up on me. Now I need all the fortification I can get." She took a big bite of the hot waffle. Not as good as the ones Luella made, but still, it felt good to eat.

* * *

Dez perched on a stepstool near the back door in Vanita’s kitchen watching as Luella seared a beef roast. Vanita had run out of energy and was crashed in the living room on the couch, covered with a couple afghan quilts. She had fallen asleep within minutes of arriving back home.

Luella poked an enormous two-pronged fork into the roast and turned it over. The oil in the pan popped and spattered, so the older woman turned the burner down. Over her shoulder she said, "You’ll have to give me some low-fat cooking ideas, Dez. I think there are a lot of my standard dishes that my big sister can’t eat anymore."

"I have a couple cookbooks you should look at." Dez pulled her feet up on the bottom step of the stool, put her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. "Can she eat that kind of beef? Seems it would be sort of high fat."

Luella leaned the fork on the spoon rest and wiped her hands on the hot pink apron she wore. "She can have a small portion - about three or four bites. That’s it."

"It’s not like she’s burning mongo calories."

"True. I’m not giving her much meat, other than fish and chicken. It’s not that good for her, but it’s not a problem for you and me. You’re staying for early dinner, aren’t you?"

She looked so hopeful that Dez nodded. She had nowhere else to go anyway. Besides, brunch had been good, but a couple of waffles and ice water weren’t going to hold her through the afternoon.

"Good. And if I don’t miss my guess, you’re going to want a snack here before too long."

Dez grinned. The older woman sure had her number.

"I’ve got some tuna salad and Christmas cookies - plus a variety of veggies and fruit, if you like that instead. When you get hungry, let me know. Meantime, what have you got to say about the Jaylynn proposition?"

Dez’s hands went a little cold, and she found herself swallowing. She watched as Luella pulled open a cupboard door and bent down to pick baking potatoes out of a brown paper sack. She smacked the cupboard shut and moved to the sink to run water and scrub the spuds.

The dark-haired woman looked around the kitchen, then out the large window above the sink where Luella was silhouetted. The silver-haired woman methodically scrubbed the potatoes, humming quietly under her breath. One thing Dez had always liked about her landlady was that Luella knew how to pose a question, then wait for an answer. Sometimes she might have to wait for hours - or days - but she never pressured her young tenant. She also listened closely without seeming to form judgments or jumping to conclusions.

Dez figured it was time to take another baby step, and who better to do it with than someone who had been a trustworthy friend for almost a decade? She didn’t know how to begin though. She sat, chin in hands, and watched as Luella speared all sides of the potatoes and the ends, then shuffled across the linoleum floor to put them in the oven. When she opened the stove door, a wave of warmth wafted over, and Dez’s hands didn’t feel quite so cold.

"I’m afraid." Her voice was soft, almost reluctant. Again, she felt embarrassed, but with her heart beating fast, she went on. "I’m too afraid to lose her."

Luella glanced over her shoulder, nodding, then flipped the sizzling roast on end. "What’s that all about?"

Dez let out a long sigh. "Oh, Lu, you’re going to think I’m such a big chickenshit." She heard a deep chuckle and watched as her friend opened another cupboard and pulled out a roasting pan.

"Some days you are a little shit, but I wouldn’t ever describe you as a chickenshit."

"I’m going to counseling."

Luella put the roasting pan on the counter and turned to give her a level gaze. "So? I think it takes a braver person to do that than to sit around ignoring problems."

"And I’ve got some doozies." Dez let out a snort and rolled her eyes.

Luella smiled, her brown eyes twinkling and warm. "You’ve got nothing worse than most, honey, and a little better than some. You just think it’s all bad because you’re not used to dealing with this sort of thing, and besides, it sure seems a lot of stuff snuck up on all you at once."

"That’s one way of looking at it."

The silver-haired woman set the roasting pan on a cold stove burner and used the silver fork and a knife to spear the roast and get it into the pan. She smacked the lid on and put the covered pan into the oven next to the baking potatoes. When she stood up and turned around, she had a thoughtful look on her face. "Are you afraid that Jaylynn is going to leave you? Because I don’t see that happening. I don’t think you understand how she feels about you."

"I’m a little afraid of that, but, well - I’m more concerned about something happening to her."

Luella leaned back against the counter, her hands up on the edge. "Like what?"

"Fire . . . gunshots . . . abduction and torture . . . beatings . . . car crashes . . . you know, something horrible. Geez, she’s like - like a disaster waiting to happen all the time. She jumps into stuff - no, actually, it’s like she’s jumping off cliffs all the time."

"Ah, I see," Luella nodded deeply, "unlike you, yourself, who has also gotten into all sorts of potentially violent and dangerous situations."

"That’s different."

"You girls are both smart, both resourceful, both good cops. Don’t underestimate her. Sure, something could happen, Dez, but you can’t plan your life around what might happen. You have to enjoy each day, enjoy the good things all around you. And I know it sounds odd, but you have to put what might or could or will happen right on out of your head. It flies in the face of logic because you and I both know that all of us are going to die." She gave a toss of her head toward the door to the living room. "Case in point. Van could go any time, and I know it."

When she didn’t say anything more, Dez cocked her head to the side, feeling perplexed. "How do you deal with that?"

Luella didn’t answer at first. She took a deep breath and gazed out the window. It had grown dimmer outside so that less light was cast into the kitchen. When Dez focused on the tree in the yard, she could see flakes of white floating past the dark trunk of the big oak. She glanced back at Luella.

Luella shifted from one foot to another, then put both hands into her apron pockets. "Worry is a funny thing, kiddo. It can just about take over your life. But really, you can’t control anybody or anything. Sure, you can cut your odds by being careful, using good sense, all that sort of thing. But you can’t plan for everything that could possibly go wrong, and if you try to, well, what kind of life would that be? You’d have to sit at home, doing nothing, going nowhere, and even then things could go wrong. Look at my husband and boys, supposedly safe at home, asleep in their beds. Just some bad wiring, and poof!" She threw her hands up in the air. "They’re gone."

"How - how . . ." The words stuck in Dez throat, and she closed her mouth and looked away.

"How did I live to tell the tale?"

Dez nodded.

"You have to believe in something bigger than you. Some people would say God. Or a Higher Power. You know, something or somebody or some spirit that rules the Universe. People often say that God works in mysterious ways. He or She - or Whatever - does do that. And you have to believe that when something awful happens to take away someone you love, someone else will come along to help you with the hurt. People will show you love and caring, sometimes in ways you don’t recognize. You’re never really all alone. God will send someone for you to share with." She shifted against the counter, then took her hands out of her pockets and put them on the surface behind her. "I tell you, that’s how I got through that awful time when my family died. Back then, we didn’t truck much with psychiatrists or folks like that, but I spent a goodly amount of time with my pastor, crying and talking and praying. And you won’t believe how many people came out of the woodwork - people I never knew or never paid much attention to."

Dez still didn’t understand how Luella ever got through the death of her entire family, so she put forth the question she had always wanted to ask. "How come you never remarried?"

"I focused on my career. Even with the little bit of insurance I was left with, it wasn’t enough to get by on forever. I used it to buy the house over on Como, then I got me a job. It took me a few years to regain my balance, you know. That kind of loss knocks the pins out from under a gal. I dated some very nice men in my thirties and early forties, and then it didn’t seem so important. I didn’t mind being alone. And finally I met George, and he stayed with me here for a few years."

Dez looked startled. She’d never heard of any such person. "George? What happened to him?"

"He died. He was a lot older than me. If he were still alive, he’d be damn near ninety. He just passed on in his sleep at the nursing home. He lived here for about seven years until he had a stroke. Then he stayed at a nursing home for - let’s see, must have been about two-and-a-half years. He was recovering, starting to get his speech back and trying to relearn to walk when he had another massive stroke. He died before I could get there from work, so it was quite a blow. He was a quiet man. Very caring. He kept me company in ways that just made me feel loved and good. I still miss him."

"But God didn’t send you someone new to replace him."

"Oh, but He did!"

Dez frowned and waited.

"George died, and three months later you showed up."

"Me?" The word tumbled out of her mouth like an explosive.

"Sure. Kind of like Jaylynn appeared out of nowhere for you a while after Ryan died. Or like Ryan came into your path after that rotten woman jilted you."

Dez stared at her open-mouthed. She had never ever thought of it that way, and she wasn’t sure she believed it, even though her mind raced to make connections. Her father died; Mac came into her life. Her mother deserted her emotionally; various coaches came into view. She even thought of her favorite bike, stolen when she was eleven; she learned to skateboard that summer. Maybe it wasn’t so much that something or someone was sent to a person, but that one adapted and learned to live with the changed circumstances. In a quiet voice, the tall woman said, "I don’t think I could live through losing Jaylynn."

"So you’re willing to run away from her and never have her at all, never enjoy the years and years that you may have in front of you?" Luella pushed away from the counter and moved toward her, her slippers scuffing across the floor. She reached out long, soft fingers and tipped Dez’s chin up.

The dark-haired woman felt hot tears well up. "It’s not that easy, Luella."

"I know. You can’t hold onto someone so tight that you choke the life out of them. She has to find her own way, do her own thing." She smiled a little bit. "You have to be willing to let go. Let go at any given time. And know that you will be fine. Alone or paired with someone else - either way, you’re still all together and all there. Sure, it’ll hurt to lose her - or your mother or brother. Or me. You’ll cry. Your heart will hurt. But you’ll go on. You’re a strong person, Desiree Reilly, and you deserve to love and be loved. But you have to make a choice to take the chance." She leaned into the bigger woman, and Dez wrapped her arms around the solid middle, pressing her face into soft cloth that smelled of oil and pepper. Over her head, she heard Luella’s voice go on. "I could lose Van any day, any night. I know that. She knows that. But I push it out of my mind. Concentrate on enjoying her . . . whenever she isn’t irking me, that is."

Dez felt the torso she was hugging contract as the older woman giggled. There was nothing the younger woman could say. Her throat constricted, and the tears flowed freely, though she tried to turn off the waterworks.

Luella leaned away and reached a hand up to stroke the braided dark hair. With a smile on her face, she said, "I’ll tell you one thing though. You white people need to learn how to grieve! I never been to such somber funerals in all my born days as when my white friends and neighbors have died. Black folk, they know how to kick up a fuss when a loved one dies." She arched an eyebrow. "You went to Mrs. Sutter’s funeral - I believe you know what I mean."

She looked at Dez knowingly as the tall woman nodded. A smile broke through the tears. What a wild funeral that had been. Mrs. Sutter, a retired teacher, had lived next door and had been ill for many months before she finally died. Dez went to Christ’s Cornerstone Baptist Church with Luella to pay her respects to the old lady who had traded rose and peony-growing tips with her over the back fence for several years. What she found was a church full of former students and members of the local community - mostly black, but a few white and Asian. There was a full choir, four ministers, an honor guard, and pallbearers dressed in matching suits. Mrs. Sutter’s fifty-something-year old daughter had completely lost herself in her grief. Before the service, when it came time to close the casket, the daughter had thrown herself half over the shiny wooden coffin and let out a keening sound Dez associated with a wounded animal. As if on cue, the music director had struck a chord on the piano, and the choir launched into a rollicking spiritual while the Sutter family surrounded the grieving daughter and drew her away to a seat in the pews where they all wept and wailed together through the song. As the service went on, there was singing and testifying, wailing and crying, the likes of which Dez had never seen or heard before or since.

Luella was right: black people knew how to grieve out loud.

But that wasn’t Dez’s way.

She felt Luella studying her face as the older woman stroked her hair. Dez hated being looked at when she cried. She felt so - words failed her for a moment - so defenseless. And weak. Yet at the same time, she trusted Luella, trusted her like no one from her past . . . other than perhaps her mother before her father had died. A remembrance of falling off her bike in the driveway washed into her memory. Fighting back tears, she had limped up the walk and into the house, her scraped and bleeding leg burning as though on fire. Her mother came out of the kitchen and squatted down, and she stepped in between the V of her mother’s legs and leaned into comforting arms. Upon contact, the hurt abated. Even though she burst into tears then, it had less to do with the pain and more to do with the relief she felt at not bearing her suffering alone.

It occurred to her that the same thing had just happened with Luella. Maybe Marie was right. Maybe she was expending too much energy keeping her feelings in check. Maybe she ought to share her feelings more with others . . . . but the thought of it made her feel terribly vulnerable. Practice, Marie had said. All you need is practice.

Her stomach growled. Luella cupped her face in her two soft hands. "You, my dear, are in serious need of a snack. I could hear that from here."

Dez nodded.

Luella pulled a tissue out of her apron pocket and handed it to her, then turned and went to the refrigerator. "Tuna salad okay?"

The dark-haired woman finished wiping her eyes. "Onions?"

"Nope. Made it like you like it, with celery."

* * *

Jaylynn let out a tired sigh. She wished she had slept better, but she was still running on a dearth of sleep even though she had flown into Sea-Tac three days earlier. The two hour time change seemed to have thrown her off more than usual. And now she was trying to gut out the long afternoon of shopping with her mother and two little sisters, squirrelly Erin and indecisive Amanda. She and her mother had decided to drive to Target and each take one child for a while, then trade off. Jaylynn and each of her sisters always went in together on a present for the other sister. That way, the blonde could pay the lion’s share of the cost, while the girls contributed the few dollars they had. Her two little sisters were blabbermouths, but this year they were both intent on keeping secrets, something that, in past Christmases, had not worked out at all. The tired blonde thought that this might be the first year her younger sisters actually kept mum.

Right now she stood holding items they had picked out for their parents. She shifted from one foot to the other in the middle of what she called "The Pink Aisle" while Amanda rooted through Barbie dolls and accessories. Everything around them was hot pink and rose-colored, peachy or Pepto-Bismol pink. And the row was absurdly long and packed full of gaudy boxes and packages. At eleven, Amanda was nearing the age where the impossibly endowed dolls would soon lose their appeal, but she was still just young enough to want clothes and shoes and bikes and little cars and houses for her doll horde at home. She had spent the better part of ten minutes fingering everything, despite the fact that Jaylynn had reminded her twice that Erin despised Barbie dolls.

"Look at this, Lynnie!" Amanda said with a sparkle in her eye. She pointed to a package containing a pair of hot pink Barbie walkie-talkies. "Erin would love these! That’s it! That’s the perfect present."

Her face was so full of glee that Jaylynn almost didn’t have the heart to discourage her, but she reminded her once again that Erin didn’t like Barbie gear, much less the color pink. "We have to buy her something she would want, hon." Amanda’s face fell and she frowned. "Look, kiddo, I think you’re on to something. How about we go to the walkie-talkie department and look there?"

Amanda paused a moment, thinking. Reluctantly, she said, "Okay, where is it?"

"C’mon. We’ll check electronics."