ck. How
could someone be running around one day and then be totaled the next?
Probably she was older than she looked. Damn. There was nothing to do
but go home and call her niece.

Climbing the hill to the village green, Patrick had an urge to drive to
Willow's, but he decided against it. He had to call Gert's niece, and
it wasn't his truck. He parked behind Mower's Market and walked
directly home. He found the number in a small book that Gert kept by
the phone.

"Ginger?"

"Yes."

"This is Patrick O'Shaunessy calling from Woodstock. I hate to tell you
this, but Gert is in the hospital." Ginger said that she would come as
soon as possible. She thanked him and hung up. What else could he do?

He left a note for Bob, explaining the situation, and walked back into
town. He kept seeing Gert--that clear shake of her head, no. Claude had
left the Depresso. Patrick reconsidered driving to Willow's and again
decided that he shouldn't. He drank a beer and went home. As he settled
into bed, he realized that even though he hadn't seen Willow, she had
been there in some sense. He could have seen her. If he had, she would
have been helpful. Thinking of that wasn't as good as having her next
to him in bed, but it was still good, more than he was used to. "Night,
Baby," he said and fell asleep.

8

Willow brought home strawberries and made a shortcake. "Real whipped
cream," Amber said.

"Of course." Willow reached into the refrigerator. "Trumpet flourish,
please."

"Ta da, teedle-oop tee tooo," Amber obliged. "Champagne?"

"A modest vintage, as AhnRee would say. I celebrate. We celebrate."

"You got laid--that's obvious."

Willow poured two glasses. "Biology," she toasted.

"Fucking," Amber said. "Yumm."

"God," Willow said, licking her lips, "strawberries and champagne . . .
Truly, it was a revelation."

"It, Patrick?"

"Patrick, yes. The whole thing."

"It wasn't the first time," Amber said.

"It might as well have been." Willow's face lit up.

Amber took another bite of shortcake. "Art's taking me to Nantucket."

"Far out! Moby Dick."

"Shrimp cocktail, gin and tonic--a great way to end the summer. Want to
come?"

"End the summer?" Willow blinked. "No. I mean, I'm working. I don't
want to end the summer. A terrible idea."

"It is." Amber sipped champagne gravely. "It isn't really the end. Art
doesn't want to go until he finishes the outside of his barn. Two
weeks, he thinks. But after that,