As the Crow Flies by Karen F. Williams

Author:Karen F. Williams [Williams, Karen F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781635552843
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books
Published: 2018-09-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

The last person Gwen wanted to be bothered by today was her brother. It was two o’clock, and she expected Sam soon. Dinner reservations weren’t until six, but Sam wanted time with Bertha.

Gwen had already showered, dried her hair, and fixed her face, but decided not to dress. In shorts and a tank top, she’d grabbed her clippers and wandered out to the gardens behind the house to check on the vegetables, cut flowers for a vase, and pick mint for the sweet tea she’d just brewed. She let her thoughts wander while she worked, entertaining fine and private fantasies of Samantha Weller, until the sound of tires on gravel interrupted her daydreams.

She peeked around, expecting Sam to have arrived, but here came Bill’s silver BMW, pulling up alongside Eugene’s red pickup that had been parked there all night. Rosa had met him in church two years ago, and ever since, the two had spent the weekends committing ungodly acts.

No doubt Gwen’s brother was passing by on business and wouldn’t stay long, but today his visit seemed an intolerable intrusion. Clippers in one hand, mint and flowers in the other, she started around to the front of the house, coming to a halt when she saw him get out, leave the car door open, and dart for Rosa’s cottage. Gwen ducked behind a fig tree and watched as Rosa opened the door before he even knocked and quickly pulled him inside.

Her birthday. They were probably making secret plans for her sixtieth birthday next weekend—most likely a dinner party at a restaurant with family and a few close friends. And, of course, Gwen would do her best to feign surprise and thank them all for attending.

What she really wanted for her birthday was a time machine, a magical clock to turn back the years—turn back her years, not Sam’s. Gwen sighed. No sense wishing for the impossible, and really, aside from the fact that she had secretly fallen for a woman twelve years her junior, she couldn’t complain. She was healthy, a breast-cancer survivor, and thanks to good genes and moderate exercise, she had a body that many younger women would envy—except for the scar beneath her breast, which was really no worse than scars women had from breast enhancements. All in all, and despite that fact that over time the body had a way of reorganizing, redistributing itself, she was in good shape for almost sixty, good enough that she could still dance for days and whup Isabel’s butt on the tennis court. On a good day at least. Gwen could still hear her father’s optimistic voice: Aging may not be the most delightful of experiences, but always remember, Gwenie, that every day above ground is a good one.

She hurried along the side of the house, creeping past the empty cottage, sneaking past Rosa’s, then ran up the porch steps and into the house. When she heard his car door slam, she pretended to be just coming out with a pitcher of mint-filled tea.

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