The car pulled up in front of Judy’s house. “I’m sorry we can’t stop in—marketing, and dinner still to get,” Lynne said. “We’ll see Mother and Dad in a few days—we have something very special to tell them.”
Judy wondered.
Lynne went on, “You know, Allen and I feel flattered. You didn’t mention Karl’s name once all day!”
“But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t think of him. Everytime I looked at those gorgeous Eskimo dogs with their sad, dreamy eyes, I thought of Karl. Isn’t that strange?”
“Truth is stranger than fiction,” Lynne laughed. “I’m afraid you’ve got a real case! Good-bye, dear!”
“Good-bye!”
“Something special to tell them?” Judy repeated to herself as she slowly mounted the porch steps. “Maybe that’s why Allen didn’t want Lynne to go further on the Chairlift. After all, they are married two years—”
14
“CONFIDENTIALLY YOURS”
“... and so, dear Grandpa, I’ve brought you up on all the latest news. One or two things more. Mother is still hopeful for an early audition for the City Center Opera Company. Father continues to write incomprehensible notes on his music sheets—and literally walks on air when it goes well. Other times he just looks black and frustrated, staring into space as if listening. But his work at the school is fine. And his quartet is making a name for itself in this oasis we call Aspen. There! That’s enough about them!
“I can see you look at me in that way you have and say, ‘What about you?’