Free The Burning Point by Mary Jo Putney Page A

another dose of reality.
    Her partner picked up immediately. "Chen and Corsi. May I help you?"
    "You're working late." Kate leaned her head back and closed her eyes. "Speak to me of mundane things, Liz. Tell me how the Tanaka project is coming, and what new outrage his brother-in-law the plumber has perpetrated. Feed me the trivia of normal life."
    "Things are that bad?"
    "Not really. I'm only tired."
    It was impossible to fool Liz. "Sounds like you need a friend. Want me to fly to Maryland tomorrow? The clients can wait for a few days."
    "You get a gold star in heaven for the offer, but that's not necessary. It's just that today has been really...draining."
    "Of course it was," Liz said gravely. "When my mother died, I..." She cut off the sentence. "You asked for distraction, not reminiscences. A pity you weren't here today. Jenny Gordon called this morning. She was just downsized from her job in Chicago and decided it was time to come home. So I took her out to lunch and we caught up on the gossip."
    Jenny had been a good friend of both Kate and Liz when they were all studying architecture at Berkeley. In fact, they had daydreamed about working together someday, but Jenny had followed a boyfriend to the Midwest. He hadn't turned out to be any better a long-term prospect than her job.
    "I'm sorry I wasn't there, but at least we'll be seeing her more often," Kate replied. "Considering how Jenny hated Chicago winters, she must be ecstatic to be back in California. Does she have a job?"
    "Not yet. You know how hard it is to find architectural work, and Jenny doesn't want another giant firm. Somewhere between the nachos and dessert, I had the genius idea of asking her to help here for a few days. It will take the pressure off while you're away, and get Jenny out of her parents' house. She's finding that a strain."
    "If Jenny likes, she can house-sit at my place until I come back," Kate suggested. "It will save Tom having to stop by every day to feed Ginger Bear."
    "I'm sure she'll be ecstatic to take on house-sitting and cat care. I'll give her a key to your place tomorrow." There was a rustling of papers. "Will you be back at the beginning of the week?"
    Kate didn't have the stamina to go through the story of Sam's will again. "I might be here longer than expected. I'll let you know when I'm sure."
    "Stay as long as you need to. I miss you, but with Jenny's help, I can hold out indefinitely." More rustling paper. "Where did I put my list of questions? Ah, here. The bathroom tile for the Jackson job. Do you want me to go ahead and place the order, or wait to see if they change their minds again?"
    "Better wait. The Jacksons always change their minds at least three times, and it's only been twice so far."
    Liz went to the next item on her list. Kate found the conversation immensely relaxing. This was reality--her business, her friends, her home, her cat.
    "If you need me in person or to listen and make soothing noises, I'm here," Liz said when she finished with business. "Phone. Fax. E-mail. Any time of the day or night. And remember that it's okay to cry."
    "Thanks for...for everything, Liz." Kate said good-bye and hung up, feeling a prickling at the back of her neck. The sudden appearance of an old and trusted friend--one who had the right skills and needed a job and place to live--was so timely that it seemed like fate.
    Though the rational side of her brain scoffed at the idea of divine intervention, on a deeper level she more than half believed that there were underlying patterns to life. When a door opened with such dramatic timing, a wise woman had to consider whether she was supposed to go through it.
    Or to use a good California term, "Hey, ho, go with the flow." The universe had sent her this kind of message once or twice before, and she'd seen similar patterns in the lives of friends.
    God help her, did this mean she was supposed to go along with Sam's will? Or was fatigue making her see omens in what was mere