The faint ring of the telephone marred the stillness for
the third time in 15 minutes. Emma shrugged away the annoyance. After a hard
week, she planned to do absolutely nothing this Sunday morning. She leaned back
in her chair and basked in the morning sun.
She’d just opened the latest copy of Vogue when she heard
her husband’s voice through the screen door.
“Emma, where are you?”
“The porch.” She stood and jerked up her magazine, mug,
and half-eaten bagel, splashing coffee on her crisp white nightie. "I’m coming, I’m coming."
