Mourning Becomes Cassandra Read Online Free PDF

have to be here?”
    Squealing, she hugged him. “Say 6:30 for drinks and hors d’oeuvres, and we’ll eat at 7:00. And let me know if Missy or someone else is coming. I wish we could send an evite, but I don’t want to until we’ve thought of a name for the house.”
    He extricated himself again and waved vaguely at us. “Why does a house need a name? You girls deal with that. I’ve got to go in to the office.”
    And he was out the back door before Phyl could ask, “He has to work on Sunday?”
    Joanie plopped herself back down triumphantly. “That was easier than I thought.”
    I frowned at her. “Shouldn’t we have made sure things were going smoothly before trying to push him around?”
    “You call that pushing him around? You don’t know Daniel. He didn’t care about it. If he did and he felt strongly, there wouldn’t have been a thing I could do or say to budge him. Just like if there was something he set his mind on, nothing could stop him from getting it. We’ll see if he even shows up.”
    “I think he will,” I said slowly, “If only to make sure we aren’t baptizing people in the birdbath.”
    “You’re going to invite Roy,” Phyl said, “And Daniel will probably have that gorgeous Missy, but who do you think Cass and I should invite?”
    “Oh, for crying out loud,” Joanie complained, “it’s not a quadruple date. Ask anyone you want! Anyone you’d like to have for dinner. Or no one at all. It’s just meant to give us a consistent time and a space for entertaining and being together without having to clear things with Daniel. Now help me think of a name for our house.”

Chapter Three: A Failure to Communicate
    Our first official dinner together would prove typical: Daniel was still at work, and Phyl and Joanie had to bolt and run to make the 7:00 church service. By 6:55 I had the house to myself and was doing the dishes in peace, having made Daniel a plate of Phyl’s chicken casserole and put it in the microwave with a note.
    Dinner conversation had centered on the house-naming. Phyl tended toward the literary, but Joanie and I vetoed Pemberley, Elsinore, Innisfree, and their ilk as too pretentious. She in turn disliked the ironic names, absolutely no Hovel or Anthill or Woodshed.
    “It’s a beautiful house,” Phyl protested softly. “It should have a beautiful name. What would Daniel think if we named his beautiful house ‘the Woodshed’? It’s cliché, but you know what they say—a man’s home is his castle.”
    “The Castle!” Joanie hollered, thumping the table. “Not that I think Daniel would give a rat’s ass what we call it.”
    “No, even better,” I laughed. “How about the Palace? That way this could be the Palace kitchen, like that restaurant in Seattle. And Daniel’s little in-law could be the Woodshed.”
    Phyl shook her head. “No Woodshed.”
    “The Lean-To!” Joanie said eagerly. “Like in Little House on the Prairie . You wanted literature, Phyl.” She raised her glass of iced tea. “I propose a toast to the Palace and the Lean-To!”
    Phyl looked like she might draw out the argument, but since I raised my glass she gave in and toasted with us.
    I was just wiping down the stainless-steel sink when I heard the front door open. Daniel. At least he was alone, since I forgot to make Missy a plate. Somehow the thought of being home alone with him made me a little nervous, not just because I’d always felt intimidated by the Head Cheerleaders and High School Football Captains of the world, but because talking to any man post-widowhood seemed fraught with difficulty.
    He poked his head in the kitchen. “Where’s Joanie?”
    “Church.”
    Daniel made a scoffing sound. “How could I have forgotten?” Everywhere I chose to stand seemed to be in his way, and I tried not to leap like a startled deer when he backed me up against the counter so he could reach for a wineglass. The glint in his eye made me suspect he enjoyed my discomfiture. “Smells