The Whitney Chronicles. Judy Baer

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      What do you think about cats?

       Sneaky snakes with feet and fur

       Actually tiny women in little fur coats

       You simply can’t have too many

      (I like the little-women theory. It explains a lot.)

      What’s your most useful kitchen tip?

       Too many ice cubes make a smoothie watery

       Don’t use regular dish soap in lieu of dishwasher detergent

       Alphabetizing spices makes cooking so much more pleasant

      (I’ve experienced the first two. Hope never to know the truth about the third.)

      What is your attitude toward computers?

       How did my parents and grandparents live without them?

       I buy everything from groceries to clothing online

       Highly overrated

      (Finally, a question I could answer with complete honesty! I love my computer.)

      What is your favorite pastime?

       Spending a day at the beach

       Cooking gourmet meals

       Shopping

       Reviewing those articles I cut out of magazines and put into plastic sleeves for future reference

      (Definitely not tanning. I’m a fake-bake girl myself.)

      What do you consider your personal fashion statement?

       Black. I only wear black

       Those catchy little designer purses that cost an arm and a leg but are definitely worth it

       I’m still using my 1999 fashion statement. The clothing hasn’t worn out yet.

      I threw the paper down on my desk and snarled. So what if I haven’t had a new wardrobe for a while? I love the clothes I bought in ’99. What’s so bad about that? Still, for some reason the dumb thing was a little unsettling.

      CHAPTER 4

      October 16

      “Whitney, Whit!” Kim’s voice was low and urgent. She looked into my office with eyes the size of saucers. “Can we have lunch?”

      “Of course. Don’t we always?” Her color resembled the ream of copy paper on my desk—whiter than white. “What’s wrong?”

      She glanced around before answering. “We’ll talk then.”

      “Where do you want to go?”

      “Someplace private. Emilio’s, maybe. Or the steak house across the street.”

      I knew immediately that something was seriously wrong. Kim never spends big money on lunch. She prefers to buy toys and clothing for Wesley with her disposable income. To suggest the dark, private booths of Emilio’s or the steak house, which has a very small lunch crowd and a very hefty price list, told me that whatever it was Kim had to say, it needed to be said in private.

      We waited until one o’clock when the lunch crowd was ebbing. There were plenty of booths and Kim requested the most secluded. Initially, she’d babbled nonstop about Wesley’s latest venture. Not only has he discovered he’s a boy but he’s taken to checking every so often to make sure that his status hadn’t changed. It’s becoming embarrassing to Kim and Kurt. I told her it was only a phase, but thought to myself that there was no way I’d want to take that child out in public until he discovered something else to play with—like Tonka trucks or Matchbox cars.

      She was decidedly not herself. When she talked, her voice bordered on the hysterical. Then she lapsed into deep dense silences that nothing I said would penetrate. I was beginning to feel a bit panicked myself by the time we’d ordered and we were alone in our little corner of Emilio’s.

      “Okay, what’s up?”

      “Something happened this morning.”

      “You and Kurt?” I prepared myself to be shocked. Kim rarely complains about her husband other than that perhaps he’s too laid-back. To think of them fighting blew my mind. Kurt is as faithful to Kim as the day is long, so it couldn’t be lipstick on his collar. He’s also very meticulous, so I doubted she’d discovered that the trash hadn’t been taken out on collection day.

      “No, he’d already gone to work when I found it.”

      “Found what?”

      “A lump in my breast.” Her voice was a strangled whisper.

      I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. Perhaps that was fortunate, as anything I might have said would have sounded trite or placating. A cold sweat washed over me and I stammered, “A doctor…have you…”

      “I’m getting a mammogram after work. They squeezed me in.”

      Squeezed. My irrepressible and unruly sense of humor jumped in the driver’s seat of my brain. How appropriate to be squeezed in for that particular test. Shock and denial do strange things to one’s mind.

      “I’ll see the doctor in the morning. Someone Kurt knew years ago.”

      “That’s quick,” I managed to say, searching for words that would comfort Kim even though I knew there were none. She’d have to see this through and take it one day at a time.

      “He said he didn’t want me to have to wait and worry over the results.”

      “I didn’t know doctors worked like that anymore.”

      “He’s special. Kurt knew him in high school and says he’s always been thoughtful and caring. Besides, he said it would save me a lot of stress if everything is fine, and if it isn’t—” I saw her choke back her panic “—then we should be getting into action anyway.”

      Kim looked at me bravely, and then, in slow motion, I saw the bravery dissolve into something more elemental. “Oh, Whitney, what about Wesley? He’s just a baby. I want to see him grow up.”

      “Wait a minute. You’ve gone from finding a lump in your breast to making Wesley grow up without a mother, and completely leaped over the fact that it might be nothing or, if it is something, that it can be treated. Wouldn’t it be better not to assume the worst?”

      She scrubbed at her eyes and took a breath. At that moment the waiter appeared with our sandwiches…er…sandwich. The plan was for me to eat half the sandwich. Kim was to have the other half and the fries. Being a stress eater, I had five fries in my mouth before I remembered the arrangement.

      “You’re right, СКАЧАТЬ