Fear of Frying

circumstances.“
    “He probably came straight from work,“ Jane said. “We have to be fair.“
    “Who says? Aren’t we always telling our kids Life Isn’t Fair?“
    “Kids! Yipes! I need to call and let them know I got here. Otherwise my mother-in-law will be filing the adoption papers in the morning.“
    “She’s staying at your house?“
    “To my sorrow,“ Jane said. “She’s probably already rearranged everything in my kitchen and gone through my underwear drawer, sneering.“
    “Well, call home and I’ll start your bath running. I brought along some fabulous bath salts I want you totry.”
    Jane looked at her friend warily. “Why didn’t you try them?”
    Shelley just laughed. Maniacally, Jane thought.

    Shelley woke early and puttered around quietly. Jane was semiawake, but dozed off again until the smell of coffee reached her. She staggered to the bathroom, then poured herself some steaming coffee, put her coat on over her robe, and went to sit on the porch with Shelley. “Something tells me that when my skin wakes up, I’m going to think it’s cold out here,“ Jane muttered, curling up in the rocking chair. “That sparkly stuff on the ground is frost, isn’t it?“
    “Uh-huh, but the sun is warming things up nicely already. You better knock that drink back pretty fast and get dressed or we’ll miss breakfast.”
    Jane looked at her watch. “If I’m reading this right, it’s five minutes until eight, and breakfast is from eight to ten.“
    “So—what’s your point?”
    Jane laughed. “Go on without me. I can hear your stomach growling.”
    It took Jane another leisurely hour to pull herself together. She got dressed, sent quick E-mails to Mel, her son, and her parents, and decided she wouldn’t be using the laptop computer a lot on this trip, being as she had to sit in the bathroom doorway to use it since that was the only spot equidistant from the phone jack and the electrical plugs.
    Walking down the road to the lodge, she felt silly about her uneasiness of the night before. How could she have thought there was anything ominous about a place so glorious? The sky was as blue as Paul Newman’s eyes, and brilliant sunlight turned the autumn leaves to neon colors. The air was so clean and clear, it nearly shimmered. It was still nippy and she felt silly wearing a car coat, gloves, and a knitted hat, but wasn’t about to freeze just to be fashionable.
    The lodge was a different place this morning, too.
    Busy and much noisier than the night before. There were voices and the sound of dishes being stacked from the kitchen door, a radio playing a classical station at the front desk, the murmur of several conversations.
    Marge Claypool, apparently recovered from her fright of the night before, was chatting with Benson’s mother in front of the fireplace. Jane added her coat and hat to a pile of others on a sofa by the door and went into the dining room. Shelley and Liz Flowers had taken over a vacant table and had maps, charts, and books spread around. They were talking and both making notes on legal pads. The Planners, Jane thought. Shelley both loved and hated it when she found someone as well organized and bossy as she herself was.
    Al Flowers was standing at one of the windows, hands behind his back, rocking back and forth slightly and humming something unidentifiable but cheerful. Bob Rycraft was wolfing down a huge breakfast. He was dressed in ratty gray sweats, and Jane guessed he’d already done some serious jogging.
    Sam and John Claypool were eating at the same table. Sam looked slightly less businesslike today; he was wearing jeans, Jane noticed when he walked across the room to the buffet table. The jeans looked brand-new and still had store-bought creases down the legs, but at least he was trying.
    Jane wandered over to study the buffet table just as a lanky teenaged boy brought out a fresh plate of pastries. The table was arranged with healthy foods at one end and delicious at the other. Jane glanced briefly at the sliced melons, granola bars, oat bran muffins, pitcher of skim milk, and a big bowl of something that looked like the revolting stuff her youngest son, Todd, fed his hamsters.
    She passed it all by and concentrated on the bacon, eggs (scrambled or poached), biscuits and gravy, pastries and butter, hash brown potatoes, grilled tomatoes, and waffles with a choice of syrup, powdered sugar, or honey to add a few necessary calories.
    “Oh, thank God!“ Eileen