Free After All These Years by Sally John Page A

her small group of new friends.
    â€œLia, aren’t you concerned about what people think?”
    â€œI haven’t had time to be concerned about that. I probably should be, considering my livelihood depends on people thinking well of me. Maybe I should put a sign in the window: The pharmacist is not an immoral slut.”
    He laughed loudly. “You don’t mince words.”
    They reached the door where Chloe waited, dancing on the sidewalk. Lia fumbled with the keys. “Cal?”
    â€œSure, I’ll walk you inside.”
    She threw him a smile.
    â€œBut there’s an if.
If
you tell me what happened between the time you left the keys in the back door last week and tonight.”
    She pushed open the door, jerked out the keys, and shoved them back into her skirt pocket. A night-light softly lit the shop’s interior. Her niece raced down an aisle. “Chloe! Wait!”
    â€œI have to go to the bathroom!” she yelled over her shoulder.
    Cal touched her elbow as he shut the door. “Lia, what’s going on?”
    Once again anger shoved aside the fear. How ridiculous! To fuss at Chloe for simply hurrying to the bathroom! She refused to live this way. “Oh, nothing, Cal. I’m being silly.”
    â€œDo you want me to go upstairs?”
    â€œNo.”
    He dropped her arm.
    â€œThank you, though, for offering.”
    â€œLia, you’re not the silly type. I hope you’ll clue me in.”
    She didn’t respond.
    â€œDid you order a new security system?”
    She nodded. “It’s being installed next Tuesday.”
    â€œAll right.” He opened the door. “You’ve got my number.”
    â€œI do?”
    He gave her a thumbs-up. “Nine-one-one. See you.”
    She bolted the door behind him and hurried after Chloe.
Dear Lord, don’t let me need that!

Eight
    Dead air!
    Isabel raced along the studio hallway, coffee sloshing over the sides of her mug and scalding her hand. Swerving into the control room, she bumped into the door frame. The remainder of the coffee splattered across the front of her yellow cotton shirt.
    She rounded the corner of the L-shaped desk, shoved the chair aside, flipped a switch on the large computerized board, jerked down the microphone, and slapped on the headphones.
    â€œWhoops! I apologize for that, folks.” She gulped for air as indiscreetly as possible and set down the empty cup. “This is Isabel Mendoza at WLMD. We just heard from…” She read from the monitor the list of artists and their songs. “Today’s forecast calls for another 24 hours of clear sky with a high of 73 and a low tonight of 50. It’s currently 64 degrees. Perfect Labor Day weekend weather and great for the Autumn Faire out in Valley Oaks. We’ll have national and local news at the top of the hour. The national news update is next. It’s 8:30, and you’re listening to WLMD-FM, Rockville, Illinois.”
    She pressed the appropriate buttons and switches, grateful that contemporary broadcasting was not a complicated process.
    What was complicated was Tony Ward.
    She hooked the chair leg with her foot, slid it over, and sank onto it. With a loud groan she laid her head on the desktop and closed her eyes.
    Last night at the Autumn Faire had been fun… Well, after she had chewed Tony out for talking to Dot, anyway. She had deliberately set aside old hurts, wanting Jesus to be more evident in her attitude toward him. Eventually she had coaxed him into joining the large group of square dancers. Other women loved him, of course. After a time even the guys warmed to him. He really was more charming than ever. They had all laughed at his two-left-feet version. At midnight he walked her home.
    Now, as the news droned on, she read from the monitor. A long set of songs and a program about house renovation was queued. With computerized pre-programming these days, her physical presence wasn’t necessary