High Noon

into the family room.
    Because it was a pretty night, she opened her window. Soon enough, she thought, every window and door would be shut tight to hold in the air-conditioning and block out the steamy heat of Savannah in summer.
    She decided to change out of the sundress into her sleep clothes before joining her girls.
    She was stripped down to her underwear when she heard the whistling. It drifted through the open window, brought a quick chill to her skin.
    That tune. That same tune. The man with the camera.
    It came to her, the memory, the image of the man standing alone on River Street. But it couldn’t be the same man, could it? Compelled, she grabbed her robe, pulled it on. By the time she got to the terrace doors, wrenched them open to go out to look, the whistling had stopped.
    No one strolled down the wide white sidewalk of Jones Street.

14
    Female voices —they always reminded Phoebe of happy birds—chirped and trilled out of the kitchen as she headed in for coffee. Since she could hear Carly’s voice, a kind of quick piping, she marveled a bit. That wasn’t the usual Monday morning routine.
    The kid liked school, she really did, but she rarely liked it on Monday morning.
    But when she stepped into the fashion show, Phoebe understood why her little girl was in the happiest of moods. Nothing like a new sweater—or a new article of any kind of clothing—to put a smile on Carly’s face.
    The one she was currently modeling like a finalist on Project Runway was a pale, almost fragile blue. It looked like it was made from clouds, Phoebe thought, the way it simply wisped over shoulders and arms, swirled at the waist.
    Doing a practiced pivot, Carly spotted her mother.
    “Look, Mama! Look what Gran made me!”
    “It’s gorgeous.” Phoebe trailed a fingertip down one sleeve. It felt like a cloud. “You spoil her, Mama.”
    “My job to. But it’s a sample. It’s what I call market advertising. I’m going to do a few in adult sizes, but thought I’d start out small.”
    “Gran said she could make me a purse to match.”
    “Might as well surrender,” Ava said under her breath as she handed Phoebe coffee. “You can’t beat the two of them. How about a hot breakfast?”
    “No, thanks. I’ll just grab some toast.”
    “How about one of these instead?” Ava held out a basket filled with muffins. “I just made them this morning.”
    Phoebe took one, bit in. “And I talk about Carly getting spoiled. Carly, let’s get some breakfast into you now. I’ll drop you off at school on my way to work.”
    “We’re supposed to drive Poppy and Sherrilynn today, too.”
    “Right. I knew that.” Somewhere, in the back of her mind.
    “I can haul them if it’d be easier for you,” Ava offered.
    “No, it’s fine. Ah, listen, I was thinking about going out to dinner with Duncan tomorrow night, if that’s not a problem.”
    Phoebe watched Ava and Essie exchange smug looks behind Carly’s back as the girl dumped Frosted Flakes into a bowl.
    “What?”
    “Nothing.” Essie offered the most innocent of smiles. “Of course it’s not a problem. Not at all. Ava, I believe you owe me five dollars.”
    “You bet on…” Phoebe made herself zip it up because Carly’s eyes were on her, and full of speculation.
    “Is he your boyfriend now?”
    “I’m too old for boyfriends.”
    “My third best friend Celene’s mother has two boyfriends. Celene heard her say how she juggles them so the left hand isn’t sure what the right hand’s doing.”
    “Sooner or later your two hands get together and you end up with bruised knuckles. And that is not to be repeated,” Phoebe added. “I’m just going out to dinner with a friend.” And having sex, she thought. Probably a lot of really great sex.
    Should she buy condoms? Surely he’d have condoms.
    God, something else to worry about.
    “I miss going out to dinner,” Ava commented. “Just someone to sit across from for a couple hours, making conversation. You going fancy?”
    “Ah, no.” Should she buy new underwear? “Just pizza or something.”
    “That’s nice. It’s friendly.”
    “I like pizza.” Carly piped up, with a look of anticipation.
    Guilt, guilt, guilt. Great. Just let me get this horniness out of my system first and I’ll make it up to you, baby. “Well…”
    “We have our regularly scheduled pizza night,” Essie reminded her. That smug smile stayed in place as Essie picked up the pitcher of juice, poured a little more into