Karen stood alone under a small black umbrella.
I had known her since Daniel and I were teenagers. She had fed me after football practice, scolded me for leaving wet towels on her guest-room floor, and once driven two hours through a snowstorm because Daniel and I had gotten stranded after a concert.
She had always been Mrs. Mercer to everyone else.
To me, eventually, she had become Karen.
But I had never seen her look like this.
She wore a dark blue dress beneath a camel-colored coat. Her hair, usually carefully styled, had loosened around her face in the damp air. She looked elegant, but exhausted.
Worse, she looked lonely.
I leaned across and opened the passenger door.
“Your chariot.”
She gave me a faint smile as she climbed in.
“Daniel sent his most sarcastic friend.”
“His only dependable friend.”
“That’s debatable.”
For a moment, she almost sounded like herself.
