Comfort Food Read Online Free PDF Page A

watch any of it. Instead, she holed up in her home office—with its built-in bookcases and large television—and wrote article after article for women’s magazines. Sometimes in jeans but most typically in pajamas, with fuzzy slippers on her feet, and a bowl of M&M’s nearby. Hannah was a busy freelance journalist,and her area of expertise was health, which pushed her slightly in the direction of obsessing over whatever she’d written about most recently. But she obsessed in a rather benign, almost kindly variety, as concerned for a stranger’s odd throat clearing—could it be whooping cough?—as for her own potential ailments. Having the Internet as her main companion all day merely encouraged her cyberchondria.
    That was one reason Hannah had been wary of the pie that first summer, having just written an article about an epidemic of E. coli on fresh berries, but seemed rather unfazed to learn about Gus’s career. And frankly, in all the time since, she seemed yet to have watched one of her programs. Gus absolutely adored her for that.
    Now she waved Hannah inside, though of course her friend was already halfway to the coffee. Gus had already left a mug on the counter, spoon on a napkin, and a few slices of fresh banana loaf arranged on a plate.
    “I just finished a piece on the dangers of ignoring sore feet last night,” Hannah told Gus after swallowing her first mouthful of hot coffee. “Do you stand for the entire time you’re on TV, Gus? Because I’ve got a few ideas to make it a little easier—”
    “Don’t worry—from now on I think I’ll be doing my show from a wheelchair,” Gus said, shaking her head at Hannah’s worried expression and reaching to show her the section of the New York Times . “Apparently I’m over the hill.”
    Hannah scanned the article. “Look, at least you’re in it. You know you’re still important when a journalist declares it so.” She pulled a face at Gus to show she was joking.
    “I’m just feeling a bit of I-don’t-know, you know?”
    “Is that why I haven’t received my invitation to your birthday party?” said Hannah. “If it was anyone else I’d assume I was off the list. With you, I’ve been worried something’s wrong. Your birthday is a few weeks away and I still have to plan my outfit.”
    Now it was Gus’s turn to smile. “Why don’t you wear your gray coat dress?” she suggested. That was the same outfit Hannah wore every year, purchased on a rare shopping trip with Gus. Hannah hated to leave her comfort zone of home. Hated to wear anything other than casual, loungy clothes.
    “I think I’ll just do that,” Hannah said, nodding. She didn’t mind being teased by Gus.
    The two of them settled into a kind of cozy silence, munching on banana loaf and sipping coffee and intently dawdling to avoid the day’s work. It was what they did every morning and they loved it.
    The phone rang. It was only 7:08 AM.
    “Who could that be?” Gus knew she wasn’t needed in the studio for a meeting, and the TV crew filmed at her house on Wednesdays. Maybe something was up with Sabrina? Aimee was certainly still asleep at this early hour.
    She picked up the cordless and said hello.
    “Of course, of course, yes, definitely,” she said, jumping up and almost spilling coffee on her white chair. She hung up the phone.
    “Well, thank goodness,” Gus said, drawing out every syllable for Hannah’s benefit. “That was my exec producer. The bad news is that I have to be in the city and ready to be on air in less than two hours. The good news is that Gus Simpson isn’t quite yesterday’s leftovers.”

2
    From her bedroom window, Gus could see the black sedan coming up the driveway through the snow. It was right on time. She hastily grabbed her makeup bag and a selection of silk scarves—just in case she wanted to change her look—and went out to meet the driver. He was a short man, with closely cropped gray hair, and he wore a red tie.
    “Hello!” she