High Noon

girl.” Setting the bag on the counter as she went, Phoebe walked over to give Carly a smacking kiss. “Bet you’re hungry.”
    “We wanted to wait for you.”
    “’Course we waited.” Essie moved close to rub a hand down Phoebe’s arm. “You all right, baby girl? You must be so tired, having the car go out like that.”
    “I wanted to take out my gun and shoot it, but I’m over it now.”
    “How’d you get home?”
    “I took the CAT, which is what I’ll be doing until the car’s fixed.”
    “You can use mine,” Ava told her, but Phoebe shook her head.
    “I’d feel better knowing there’s a car available here at home. Don’t worry. What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”
    “You go on and wash up.” Essie waved her away. “Then sit right down at the table. Everything’s ready, so you go on.”
    “Don’t mind if I do.” She winked at Carly before slipping out to the powder room off the parlor.
    More to be grateful for, she reminded herself. There were dozens of tasks and chores she didn’t have to heap on her plate because her mother was there, because Ava was there. A thousand little worries she could brush aside. She wasn’t going to let herself get twisted inside out over something as annoying as transportation.
    She studied her face in the mirror as she dried her hands. She looked tired, and tight, she admitted. There would surely be lines on her face in the morning that hadn’t been there yesterday if she didn’t relax a little.
    And at thirty-three, there would be lines sneaking in anyway. Just a fact of life.
    But she was having a big glass of wine with dinner regardless.
    It did relax her, as did the pretty food prepared by hands other than her own, the soft light, the easy music of female voices.
    She listened to Carly talk about her school day, and her mother talk about the book she was reading.
    “You’re so quiet, Phoebe. Are you just tired out?”
    “A little,” she said to Ava. “Mostly I’m just listening.”
    “Because we can’t keep quiet for five minutes. Tell us something good that happened today.”
    It was an old game, one her mother had played with them as long as Phoebe could remember. Whenever something hard or sad or irritating happened, Essie would ask them to tell her something good.
    “Well, let’s see. The training session went well.”
    “Doesn’t count.”
    “Then I guess satisfying the prosecutor with my testimony in court this afternoon doesn’t count either.”
    “Something good that happened to you,” Essie reminded her. “That’s the rule.”
    “All right. She’s so strict,” Phoebe said to make Carly grin. “I don’t know if it’s good, but it’s different. I had a good-looking man come into my office.”
    “It only counts if he asked you out to dinner,” Ava began, then gaped at Phoebe’s expression. “You have a date ?”
    “Well, for God’s sake, don’t say it as if we’ve just discovered a new species.”
    “It’s practically as rare. Who—”
    “And it’s not a date. Not really. The suicide I talked down yesterday? This is the man who he used to work for. He just wants to have a drink.”
    “Ava said it had to be dinner to count,” Carly reminded her.
    “He brought up dinner, we negotiated it to drinks. Just half an hour tomorrow.” She tapped Carly’s nose. “After your bedtime.”
    “Is he cute?” Ava demanded.
    The wine and the company had done its job. Phoebe flashed a grin. “Really cute. But I’m just meeting him for one drink. Over and out.”
    “Dating isn’t a terminal disease.”
    “Listen to who’s talking.” Phoebe forked up a bite of chicken and looked at her mother. “And listen to who’s not. Mama?”
    “I was just thinking how nice it would be if you had somebody to go out to dinner with, to the movies, to take walks with.” She laid a hand over Phoebe’s. “Only time there’s a man’s voice in this house is when Carter’s over, or a repairman comes in. What’s this really cute man do?”
    “I’m not entirely sure, not altogether sure.” She sipped more wine. “I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”
     
    Whenever she was home and could manage it, Phoebe liked to tuck Carly into bed. With her little girl at seven and counting, Phoebe knew the tucking-in stage wouldn’t last much longer. So she prized it.
    “Past your bedtime, my cutie.” Phoebe bent to kiss the tip of Carly’s nose.
    “Just a little bit past. Can I stay up until any-o’clock on Friday