Jesse Quiller had always fancied tall, sylphlike, sophisticated blondes. Then he had met Emily and fallen in love with her.
Emily was a prematurely gray dumpling of a woman, from an Iowa farm—the exact opposite of other women Quiller had dated.
She was a caretaker, mother earth. They made an unlikely couple, but the marriage worked because they were deeply in love with each other.
Every Tuesday, the Singers and the Quillers had dinner and then played a complicated card game called Liverpool.
When Sandra and David arrived at the Quillers’ beautiful home on Hayes Street, Jesse met them at the door.
He gave Sandra a hug and said, “Come in. We’ve got the champagne on ice.”
“It’s a big day for you, huh? The new penthouse and the partnership. Or is it the partnership and the penthouse?”
David and Sandra looked at each other. “Emily’s in the kitchen fixing a celebration dinner.”
He looked at their faces. “I think it’s a celebration dinner. Am I missing something?”
David said, “No, Jesse. It’s just that we may have a... a little problem.”
“Come on in. Fix you a drink?” He looked at Sandra. “No, thanks. I don’t want the baby to get into bad habits.”
“He’s a lucky kid, having parents like you,” Quiller said warmly. He turned to David. “What can I get for you?”
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