Cooked Goose

they’re a bunch of cockroaches who scramble for cover when the lights go on. A couple of the cops’ wives have actually ducked behind shelves in the grocery store rather than talk to me. I don’t understand it.”
    Savannah sat on the other end of Christy’s wicker sofa with its dainty floral cushions. She was sipping jasmine tea from an equally dainty, flower-spangled, china cup. The sun-porch was like a miniature arboretum, a testament to Christy’s verdant thumb. Pots of paperwhite narcissus perfumed the air, along with poinsettias of every shade from ivory to crimson. In the corner of the glass-enclosed room a Victorian Christmas tree glistened with pink tinsel and a hundred whimsical angels.
    It was definitely what Savannah called a “girlie-girl” room. And the woman/girl who had decorated it sat sobbing into her hanky, the picture of distressed femininity in linen and lace. Her long, blond hair was curved into a graceful French twist, and she actually wore a strand of pearls around her delicate neck.
    With a pang of sadness, Savannah thought how Christy Melleby was as feminine as her boyfriend, Titus Dunn, was masculine.
    Savannah also wondered if she should be thinking of Titus in the past tense. Dear God, she hoped not.
    “People don’t mean to disappear into the woodwork,” Savannah told her as she handed her another tissue from a nearby box. “They just don’t know what to say to someone who’s going through difficult times. They feel they should come up with some magic words that will make your pain disappear, and of course, that’s impossible. And since they can’t think of anything, they don’t say anything.”
    “But you called,” Christy said with a sniff. “At least you phoned and asked if there was something you could do.”
    Savannah felt only a teeny bit guilty. She had been concerned over Christy’s welfare. The hope that she might get some shred of information that would help Dirk... well, that had been only secondary as a motive for calling.
    Hadn’t it?
    Yeah, sure.
    “And is there anything I can do?” Savannah asked.
    “Yes, help them find Titus. Before...” She choked back her tears. “Before he winds up like poor old Joe, in a ditch somewhere.”
    Savannah didn’t have the heart to tell this grief-stricken woman—tender of narcissus bulbs and lover of Christmas angels—she would bet cold cash that poor ol’ Titus was probably already lying in a ditch somewhere... or buried in an orange grove... or floating on the ocean floor somewhere between the San Carmelita beach and the Catalina Islands.
    No, some things were better left unsaid.
    “We’re working on it, Christy. Really, we are.” She took a long drink of the fragrant tea. “How is your mother in Seattle ?” she asked, knowing that, too, would be a sensitive topic.
    “Dying.”
    “So I heard. I’m really sorry.”
    “Thank you.”
    At that moment Savannah was very glad she had made that call. Christy was right; people did disappear like cockroaches when the going got tough. And feeling awkward was no excuse. A friend was a person who pushed past the awkwardness and called anyway. A friend reached out, whether it was comfortable or not.
    But then, true friends were a rare commodity in almost everyone’s life.
    “Not an easy time for you, huh?” Savannah said. Moving closer to Christy on the sofa, she reached over and covered her hand with hers. She noticed how cold Christy’s fingers were, how low her life energy felt.
    “No, it isn’t easy,” Christy replied. “But I’m really, really grateful that you’re here.”
    Originally, Savannah had planned to stay only fifteen minutes or half an hour. But that was when she decided to hang out a little longer.

    Two hours, three cups of tea, and a half a box of tissues later, Savannah rose to leave.
    “We’re going to find your honey for you,” she told Christy as they strolled through the house to the front door. “And— I know you’re only human and can’t help it—but there’s no point in tormenting yourself over what ‘might’ have happened to him. My Gran always says, ‘Prepare for the worst and hope for the best.’ I’m still hoping we’re going to find him alive and well.”
    Christy nodded but looked as doubtful as Savannah felt. Her eyes were swollen nearly closed and her nose was the perfect shade of red for the holiday season, but Savannah thought she had never seen her looking prettier.
    “Gran also says that the people