Chapter Three

The rain had eased to a drizzle. Any amount was too much, as far as I was concerned.

I slid in behind the wheel of my older model luxury car. My eyes instantly zeroed in on the glove compartment, while my mind was telling them to look away. Turn away. Turn off the fierce urge to open that compartment and reach for them. They're probably staler than this dreadful weather anyway, an inner voice reminded.

The pack of cigarettes had been in my glove compartment for months. I bought them the day Allen told me he wanted a divorce. I would like to believe it was sheer willpower that kept me from breaking the seal on that green and white pack of smokes that day, but that would be only half true. Mitch's words of encouragement kept me strong enough to fight off the powerful urge for a blast of nicotine to my system.

On this particular day, it was because of him, my skin crawled in need of a fix. I closed my eyes, latched onto the steering wheel, and ordered myself to take three deep, relaxing breaths. I took five before slowly opening my eyes. My mouth widened into a smile as I took a long look at myself in the rear-view mirror. This time, I did it my way, and more important, on my own.

"Take that, Mitchell Malone," I said to my glowing reflection.

I pulled out of the parking lot and headed back toward town. Joe should be awake from his nap. If he's not, I'll wake him. Miss Barbie Doll will step aside or get shoved aside. This old gal wasn't taking a backseat to any more pretty young Twiggys. Once was enough in Fay Cunningham's lifetime.

"I'm in love with her, Fay." Allen had confessed that mournful day months ago as he pranced around our bedroom like a caged wild animal. I was sitting on the edge of our king-sized bed, a stack of wet balled up tissues next to me. If only I could stop whimpering, I told myself. Then I might feel more than the heartrending pain that numbed my other emotions. Anger, for one. I wished I could get mad enough to throw something at the man I had given the last twenty-five years of my life to.

Weeks went by though before the numbness slid away and made room for the onslaught of everything else. The loneliness, fear, and anger, all took a shot at me over the days that followed my signing the divorce papers my husband took upon himself to hand deliver to me. I got the house, and the outrageous mortgage payment. Of course, Allen agreed to finish paying for our daughter, Alicia's, college education. Three years to go and he was off the hook. I agreed to keep my fingers out of his law firm earnings so long as he kept his paws out of those from my newspaper business. I also got Kitty, our indoor Calico cat. Allen got Dana, his model thin twenty-something paralegal.

As my car coasted along Broadway, well below the posted twenty-five miles per hour speed limit, I felt some of the gusto from minutes before begin to seep away. I had Mitch to thank for it, too. Maybe he was right. Was it jealousy I felt when it was a beautiful young woman who greeted me instead of Joe? Had I become jealous of all women younger, thinner, and prettier than I? Or just the ones who entered my turf?

Joe was my turf. Twenty years ago when my parents retired to Arizona, Joe Wise was appointed my Godfather. To be completely accurate, Joseph Costello was named my Godfather, the name Joe Wise went by before he left his home in Italy to come to America. In Joe's words, his brother, Thomas suggested they change their last name to Wise. The brothers would become the Wise men. Joe never told me the whole story behind the name change.

I was already married five years by the time Joe became my Godfather, but Father insisted I needed more than Allen to look after me. At the time, I was furious. Now when I look back, I have to admit that my father knew what he was doing.

In the beginning, I resented Joe's interference in my life. Enough so that I went to his biggest rival, his brother Thomas, to secure a loan to start my newspaper business. When Thomas discovered I had me a little gold mine, he wanted it all for himself. Joe to the rescue of this damsel in distress. I am forever grateful.

I turned my car onto Popular Avenue and made a sharp left onto the narrow paved road. About a hundred yards in, I made a uey before taking the right onto the rear of Joe's property, where I left my car. There are four entrances into the three story brick castle-shaped home.

After knocking, waiting, and unsuccessfully trying to open each of the four locked doors, I gave up.

A steady rain was beating down on me by this time. My shoulders were up around my ears as I dashed for the shelter of my car. Ducking inside, I was looking straight over at Joe's garage. My curiosity would not permit me to leave without checking to see if Joe's old Mercedes was parked inside. This knowledge caused a few unpleasant words to skip through my head.

I dashed around the front of my car. My sneakers landed on the pile of wet leaves at the precise moment I saw them. Too late to avoid the slipping and sliding. I did manage to get my balance a second before my legs did a complete split. This time those same unpleasant words, and several more, did more than skip through my head.

It would have been easy to let a few more fly out of my mouth after peeking through a dirty garage window and seeing two empty parking stalls. I didn't have my car backed all the way out of Joe's driveway when it dawned on me where he probably was. Every Wednesday, without fail, Joe drives across the river to the Farmer's Market to snatch up the end of the day specials. It was Wednesday, and the end of the market's day. And it took getting soaked down to my undergarments and over stretched inner thigh muscles for that to occur to me.

I glanced up at my reflection long enough to give myself a much needed pep talk. "Look at it this way, old gal, the day can't possibly get any worse. Or can it?