Part 128 (2/2)

”Yeah.” He took both his and Michael's dishes to the sink. He'd aged

well, putting on less than ten pounds over the last twenty years. His

hair was fully gray now, but he'd kept most of it. Though he

occasionally realized he was uncomfortably close to sixty, he felt

better than he had in his life. Due, he thought as he put his arm

around Marge, to his wife's diligent watch on things like cholesterol

and sugar.

As for herself, Marge had settled contentedly into middle age. She was

as trim as she'd been the day they'd been married. Nothing kept her

from her twice-weekly aerobic cla.s.ses. Her hair was colored a

flattering ash-brown.

Five years before, she'd gotten what Lou had thought was a bee in her

bonnet about starting her own business. He'd considered himself

indulgent when he'd stood back and let his ”little woman” open a small

bookstore. He'd been kind and considerate, like an adult patting a

child on the head. Then she had astonished him by showing a keen and

often ruthless head for business. Her little shop had expanded. Now she

had three doing brisk business in Hollywood, Bel Air, and Beverly Hills.

Life was full of surprises, he thought as he heard the mower gun. His

wife, who had seemed content for years dusting furniture and baking pies

was a businesswoman with her own accountant. His son, who had breezed

carelessly through college, then had spent nearly

eighteen months drifting, had enrolled in the police academy, without

saying a word. As for himself, Lou was giving serious thought to

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