Free A Man of Influence by Melinda Curtis Page B

during their car ride back from Mildred’s doctor appointment and a pleasant lunch in Cloverdale. “I’m impressed that he took Roxie to the hospital.”
    â€œMe, too.” Mildred turned her face to catch the dappled sunlight through the passenger window. It was a little thing, but it made her feel alive to have the sun on her skin.
    â€œMost men wouldn’t have noticed Roxie was ill,” Rose said from the back seat. Her hiking boots scuffed against the plastic floor mats, as if she was tap dancing while sitting, which she probably was.
    â€œWe didn’t notice she was ill,” Mildred pointed out, still smarting over the doctor telling her she needed to get out and walk more. Walk more? She was nearly blind and in a walker. For her, exercise was an accident in the making.
    â€œWe haven’t seen Roxie in a week or two,” Agnes allowed. “It makes me wonder who else we haven’t seen recently.”
    Such were the concerns in a town with so many old people. But if they, the town council, didn’t worry, who would?
    â€œFrankly, I wouldn’t have noticed anything.” Much as it pained Mildred to admit. “I’m no good at spotting physical deterioration.” Or sidewalk hazards. Darn doctor.
    â€œI think Chad should stay.” Rose’s feet kicked the back of Mildred’s seat. “Maybe he and Tracy will hit it off.”
    â€œShe doesn’t seem to like him much.” Agnes sounded distracted.
    Mildred was distracted, too. By thoughts of romance and Phil. If only he wouldn’t waste his time on Leona. If only she was brave enough to do something about her attraction. “What do you think of Phil?”
    â€œI don’t think of Phil at all.” Rose was painfully honest, even when her friends didn’t want her to be.
    â€œIn what context have you been thinking about Phil?” Agnes should have been a private investigator. She always knew just what thread to unravel.
    â€œIt was a general question.” Mildred’s cheeks felt hot. She shouldn’t have said anything. She lifted the binoculars she kept in Agnes’ car and looked at the road ahead. Mildred was so sight-challenged, she couldn’t tell how far they were from home. This stretch of road looked the same for miles. Eucalyptus trees lined the two-lane highway flanked by vineyards. The asphalt hummed steadily beneath the tires. She put the binoculars down. “Where are we?”
    â€œA mile from the turn-off into town.” Rose tapped the back of Mildred’s seat. “I’m with Agnes. Why are you thinking about Phil?”
    â€œHe’s a very nice man,” Agnes said kindly. Agnes was no dummy. She probably knew now that Mildred had feelings for Phil.
    â€œHe’s not always nice.” Mildred wrapped the binocular strap around her hand. “But I think that might be because he’s still brokenhearted over Leona.” Which made Mildred as brokenhearted as a school girl over her first unrequited crush. What was wrong with her?
    â€œRegardless.” Rose sniffed dramatically, because she did so love to over-dramatize. “Men don’t know how to meddle properly. Phil certainly doesn’t.”
    â€œAre you sure you should be thinking about Phil?” Agnes asked, slowing to make the turn. “You just admitted he’s still in love with Leona.”
    â€œThere is that.” Mildred sighed. “I probably need a change.”
    â€œI thought you already went through the change.” Rose might remember every verse from West Side Story , but sometimes she was slow on the uptake.
    â€œI’m done with menopause, Rose. I’m talking about being in a rut. I’m... I don’t know. Bored?”
    â€œWell, you’ve got no husband and you can’t read a book or watch television.” Rose called it like she saw it—with that painful clarity. “But you do have us.”
    Mildred