It was only when the family was ushered solemnly down the aisle that I realized I had made a terrible mistake. I didn’t recognize anyone in the group. That meant my former mother-in-law’s funeral service must have been starting right about then in another location—without me in attendance. 
        The trip from the airport to town had taken longer than I expected, so I had dashed in, not even stopping to sign the book, and slipped into one of the back pews at just two minutes before the hour.
        I might have made a quiet exit and gone in search of Sybil’s service except that before I could do so, a rather large lady of an uncertain age sat down with great ceremony beside me. She was the type of woman who was accustomed to making an entrance.  The rustle of her fashionable silk dress and tinkle of her gold bangle bracelets turned several heads as she situated herself between me and the outside aisle. In truth, she had wedged herself so securely into the pew that escape from this side without causing a stir appeared impossible.  And there were at least fifteen people between me and the other end of the row. By the time all this registered with me, the minister had begun to speak, so it seemed that I could do nothing except suffer through the service even though Sybil’s funeral was starting someplace else. I knew my mother would be beside herself with worry about my absence, but I comforted   myself with the thought that I might make it to Sybil’s graveside ceremony. I tried to think about how I could have made such a mistake.
    
My mother had called with the news of Sybil’s demise on my night to host the weekly poker game. We must have been deeper into the beer and cards than I realized because, obviously, I had gotten the place wrong. I knew her service was today at 10:00 a.m. because of a follow-up conversation about my travel plans. But we hadn’t touched on the location again.
        I had insisted on flying in early that morning and renting a car to make the 45-minute drive from the airport. I was only staying overnight because I wasn’t interested in enduring more time with my ex-father-in-law or with Alison and her new husband.
        I had come strictly for Mother. If old Sybil hadn’t been my mother’s best friend, I wouldn’t have even come back for the funeral. I knew Alison had no interest in seeing me. She was happily remarried to a man who didn’t seem to mind having “Sybil of the Purse Strings” involved in every decision, working her will through her checkbook.
    
That had been the problem with our short, ill-fated union. Alison hadn’t been able to cut the purse strings, and I couldn’t bear having three people in my marriage. We hadn’t lasted long.  Fortunately, there had been no children, so I hadn’t had to see any of them in the years since the divorce. So far, I had been able to keep my parents happy by joining them at the beach for a week in the summer and making it back home for a few days at Christmas.
    
I looked around the crowded church, thinking the service must have been for someone important. As the minister talked, I realized it was for Franklin Perkins, a prominent member of the community and the father of a former class mate, Susan Perkins.
        I doubted that Susan would even remember me, but I sure remembered her. She was one of the popular crowd, a cheerleader and class beauty. Even though we never rubbed shoulders socially, she would always speak and flash that million-dollar smile when we passed in the hall. But I hadn’t seen Susan in the nearly fifteen years since we graduated.
        When the second person got up to speak, I realized I was going to be there for a while. I shifted in my seat, wishing I could tell which blonde was Susan. I wondered how she had aged and whether her trim little figure had been sacrificed to birthing lots of little tow-headed babies.
        As if in answer to my question, one of the women rose and walked to the podium. It was Susan. The perky high school girl had grown into a beautiful woman. If there were any children, they hadn’t hurt her figure one bit.
        For a moment, I felt exactly as I had each time I had met Susan in the hall at school—wanting her to look at me, but afraid she would and that I wouldn’t know what to do. In those days, I was beyond insecure when it came to girls like Susan Perkins.
    
As Susan spoke of her father, the lady beside me began to sniffle. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her searching through her purse, probably for a tissue. She came up empty-handed, so I gave her my handkerchief and was rewarded with a teary smile. I wondered how well she knew the Perkinses. I was so preoccupied that I missed most of what Susan said, but I was impressed by her poise as she returned to her seat.
        Finally, the closing prayer! I hoped to slip out quickly and make it to the cemetery in time for Sybil’s graveside service.
        But as I started to rise, I felt a hand on my arm, “Young man, I can’t thank you enough for the use of your handkerchief.  I can’t believe I got away from home without one. You are a true gentleman. My name is Angela Long. When Susan started to speak, I couldn’t keep back the tears. We were neighbors, and Susan spent so much time at our house when she was growing up that I feel like I helped raise that dear girl. Were you in school together?” As she spoke, she rose and literally led me out of the pew.
        “I’m glad I had a handkerchief, Mrs. Long,” I said. “My name’s Tom Peterson. Susan and I were in the same class at school, but I didn’t know her well. My being here is a little complicated.”
        I half turned, intending to walk away, but she had an iron grip on my arm. “Peterson?  Are you related to Virginia and Robert Peterson?”
        “They’re my parents.”
        “I knew you looked familiar. Your mother and I are in the same bridge club. In fact, I was in your home just last week, and she was telling me that you’re a doctor in Atlanta. She is so proud of you, and now I see why. I can’t wait to tell her how you came to my rescue today. You must call me Angela. Come along now and speak to Susan. It will do her good to see an old friend.” 
    
The lady had no intention of letting go of my arm. As she spoke, she was steering me away from the outside door and in the direction of what must have been a family room.
        “I wouldn’t want to intrude. To be honest, I’m not sure Susan would remember me. I actually …”
        At that moment, Susan emerged from the room, and Angela called, “Susan, oh, Susan, over here! I have a surprise for you, darling. There’s someone who wants to say hello.”
        I could only stare at Susan as Angela dragged me along, closing the gap between us with surprising speed for one her size. Suddenly, I was face-to-face with Susan Perkins.
        Caught off-guard, I stuck out my hand and said, “Hello, Susan. Tom Peterson. You may not remember me, but we were in the same class at school. I’m sorry about your father.”
        She clasped my hand. “Of course, I remember you, Tom. It was so nice of you to come to Dad’s service. Thank you so much. Do you live here now?”
        “No, I’m home for a quick visit, actually for the funeral of a friend of my mother’s. In fact, I’m supposed to be somewhere else right now. As much as I hate to, I really should go. Please accept my condolences; it was good to see you again.”
    
I really didn’t want to break away from the beautiful woman standing before me. Where Angela was sprayed and fixed in a matronly fashion, Susan’s style was more sophisticated with her sleek, shiny bob and simple black dress. Her only adornments were a heavy silver pendant necklace and simple hoop earrings. I didn’t see a wedding ring.
        I couldn’t seem to move. How many times had I dreamed of talking to Susan Perkins? I had been such a geek in high school that I didn’t date much. My mother, who likes to put a positive spin on everything, says I was a late bloomer. She practically forced me to invite Alison to the senior prom, which led to more dates and our eventual marriage after college. After our divorce, I realized our marriage had been the product of our mothers’ plotting.     
         “Now, Tom, we understand if you have to go now, but some of us are gathering at my house later this afternoon,” Angela said.  “You must come by. Wouldn’t that be nice, Susan?”
        “It would,” Susan said, “I’d love to hear what you’re up to these days, Tom.” She turned to Angela, “He was always such a brain in school. Frankly, I was a little intimidated by him.”  From Susan’s expression, I could almost believe she meant it.
         
Angela had not loosened her grip on my arm. “Well, that’s settled then,” she said. “Come about 3:00 p.m.  We’ll have a little visit, and I’ll return your handkerchief in pristine condition. We live in Lambert Terrace,     
    
     
(top)

at 4 Scenic Drive. We’ll be expecting you, Tom. I insist. We’ll be casual—feel free to wear jeans.”
        “Thank you for the invitation. I’ll try to come by, but please don’t worry about that handkerchief. I’m glad I happened to have one with me.”
    
Only then did Angela let go of my arm, and I rushed out, jumped into my car and drove across town as fast as I dared.  But I was too late. The funeral party was just exiting the grounds, so I turned around. As I followed my parents home, I couldn’t get Susan out of my mind. I intimidated her in school? Who would have thought it? Did she really have an interest in talking to me? I’d be crazy not to go. Do I have the nerve?
        My parents were getting out of the car as I drove into the driveway. “Oh, Tom, there you are,” said my mother. “I’ve been so worried. I knew you would have flight problems if you waited until today to come. The airlines are so undependable these days. But don’t worry. Your father and I made your excuses, and frankly, it’s probably just as well that you didn’t have to endure that circus. I swear I don’t know what has gotten into Alison. She has been on her high horse ever since Sybil died. She acts like a spoiled brat, and that husband of hers follows her around like a puppy.”
        She paused for a breath and looked at me. “Oh, darling, you look wonderful. I’m just sorry I didn’t get to show you off this morning! Come on in and let’s eat lunch. I have some sandwiches ready. I want to hear all the news. How’s your practice going? Any new love interest?”
        Dad and I followed along. Hmmm, how much to tell?
        Over lunch, I told my folks about my interesting morning and was greatly relieved to hear my mother chuckle at the turn of events.
        “I was so upset, I could have said the funeral was at the church.” she said. “Oh well, so, you got to meet Angela Long! She was here just last week. Angela’s quite a character; isn’t she?”
        “Oh, yeah! I’d call her a formidable fast-draw,” I said, and Mother laughed. 
        She stood, went to the sink and began rinsing the dishes. “You know, Tom, I must have been thinking of only myself when I insisted on you coming for Sylvia’s service today. I’m sure reconnecting with a school friend was much more pleasant than seeing Alison and Frank. I think you should go to Angela’s. She and Ray are such nice people. And Susan is a lovely young woman. You definitely need to go by and get reacquainted.”
    
At 3:00 o’clock, I parked in front of 4 Scenic Drive. Not many cars here. I hope I’m not too early. I walked to the front door and rang the bell. 
        Almost instantly, the door opened wide. “Oh, Tom, you came; I’m so pleased. Do come in.”
        Angela had traded her silk dress for a stylish black warm-up suit. Again, she took my arm and guided me down the hall. As we entered the den, I saw that Susan had changed into jeans and a soft red sweater. If possible, she was even prettier than I remembered.
        “Right now, it’s just the three of us,” Angela said. “Natalie and Tom, Susan’s sister, and her husband, have taken the children to the park to play. They needed to decompress a bit. I’ve just brewed a new pot of coffee. You two catch up while I go get it.”
    
As Angela came bustling in with a tray of coffee and cookies, the telephone rang. She set the tray on the table, and answered, “Hello. Oh, Virginia, so good of you to call. Just a moment.” She started out the door, “I’ll just take this in the kitchen,” she said. That was the last we saw of Angela.
    
I was amazed at how comfortable I felt with Susan. When I told her how I happened to come to her father’s service, she began to laugh, banishing the last bit of awkwardness in our unusual reunion.
        “Angela tells me that you live in Atlanta, Tom. I’ve been in Buckhead for the past two years”
        “You’re kidding! My office isn’t far from Buckhead. What do you do there?” I asked.
        “I have a wonderful job with the communications department at Emory University. I understand that you’re a doctor.  What kind of practice do you have?”
        “I’ve been in a four-man internal medicine group for two years, and it’s working out well. It seems to be a good fit for me.”
        “Well, I’m not surprised to hear you’re a doctor. I bet you’re a good one, too. You were always so prepared in class and made such good grades.”
        I laughed.  “That’s because I was so socially inept that all I did was study and hang out with Martin Angel. I was afraid to speak to you when we passed in the hall, but you always spoke to me first, which gave me a thrill,” I confessed. 
        She smiled. “Not married?” she asked.
        “Not anymore. Alison Riggs and I married right out of college, but it didn’t last long.  We’ve been divorced a long time.”
        “I’m not married either. I can’t believe we’ve been living in the same area but had to travel 500 miles home to meet again. Are you going to be in town very long? I’m staying this week to help Natalie get started on settling Dad’s estate.”  She hesitated, as if uncertain of what else to say.
        I couldn’t believe my boldness. “I was supposed to go back tomorrow, but maybe I can arrange to stay a little longer.”
        “Do you think you could?  Wouldn’t it be fun to look around town together, see how things have changed?”
        My heart skipped a beat. “I’d love it; but if I’m going to stay, I better check on changing flights right away. How would you feel about taking a drive to my house? You can meet my parents, and I’ll call the airline and my office to rework my schedule.”
        “Sounds like a plan. I’d love to meet your folks,” she said. “I’ll tell Angela where we’re going.”
    
Susan returned with Angela hot on her heels. “What a good idea, Tom. Your mother is going to be tickled to have you in town a little longer. Actually, I was just talking with her, letting her know how gallant you were this morning. What a happy mix-up this has turned out to be. You two run along now and get those tickets changed. I could call your mother and let her know you’re coming.”
        “Please don’t, Angela. I want to surprise them,” I said as I guided Susan out the front door.
        “Whew, she’s something!” I said.
        “Oh, she means well,” Susan said. “But sometimes you have to stand your ground with Angela. She can be, shall we say, enthusiastic in helping plan things for the people around her.”
        “I can see that she could push the limits, but this time, I’m glad she did,” I said.
        “So am I,” said the girl of my dreams.
    
                    About the Author
     
        Dorothy Johnson says, “Writing has always come easy to me, but until recently, most of my writing was job-related.”  She has a Bachelor of Science in Education, with an emphasis in English, which she taught for five years before taking time off to stay home with her children.  When she returned to the workforce, she was a writer and associate editor for Leisure Arts, a needlework and crafts publishing company.  She was involved in the entire publishing process for three magazines and several book series, most topics geared toward Christmas.  The experience, she says, provided a wonderful training ground because her editor was a stickler for communicating clearly while establishing a particular mood for each section or project.
        After she tired of “all things Christmas,” she went on to work with the cardiovascular department of a local hospital, where she wrote promotional and information materials. She took an early retirement ten years ago, partly to help with aging in-laws.
        Dorothy and her husband Terry have been married for nearly 37 years.  They have three children and eight grandchildren and are now enjoying life as retirees, traveling and pursuing new hobbies.  While Terry enjoys music and drawing, Dorothy returned to writing.
        Although she had dabbled in writing poetry over the years, it took a creative writing course at a local university to spur her to write her first short story.  In the summer of 2010, a friend told her about the Hemingway-Pfeiffer Writing Retreat, an opportunity to improve her writing skills. She arrived feeling like someone who could write and came home feeling like a writer.  On her second visit to the retreat, she met Pat Laster and was invited to join the Central Arkansas Writers group, where comments and critiques from the other writers helped her to edit and complete this story and two others that she submitted to Calliope’s fiction contest.
        She is now working on a storyline that could be developed into a novel and plans to return to Hemingway-Pfeiffer again to flesh out her ideas and develop the character that has formed in her consciousness over time. She says she will continue to submit chapters to the critique group each month to keep her motivated and working until the novel is ready for publication.