LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Just because you’ve got the wherewithal to do whatever you’d like doesn’t mean I can. Really, Nora. Have you seen the size of a teacher’s paycheck these days? How big do you think my retirement checks will be?” I leaned in, catching an enticing whiff of chocolate. “And when it comes to choosing between having the lights on and buying clothes, well, let’s just say I prefer to see what I’m doing.”

      Although, running around sans garments in a lighted house might not improve my standing with the neighbors. We had children in the neighborhood, for goodness’ sake.

      “Whatever.” She brushed my comment aside as if it was a troublesome fly. “Look, I’ve been thinking, Gwen. What you need is a hobby.”

      I snorted, earning a frown from Nora.

      “And no, I don’t mean doing the daily crossword. I mean a real hobby. One that’ll make you some money.”

      I had to laugh. Sometimes Nora’s thought processes were difficult to follow. And sometimes they were downright comical, like now.

      “I’m pretty sure that’s called a ‘job.’” I set my still-dripping mug on the table. “And I didn’t retire from one only to get another.” I slumped back against my chair. “Besides, I can only work a few hours a week anyway before they start docking my monthly check.”

      “Not if they don’t know you’re working.” Nora’s smile could have given the Cheshire Cat a run for its money. “The way I see it, we could do a few things around this place that you don’t need to report.”

      That last statement had me worried. Not the fact that I wouldn’t be reporting the income of whatever it was she had in mind, but the “we” part of it. Clearing my throat, I leaned in closer, crooking one finger at her.

      “And who’s this ‘we,’ if you don’t mind sharing?” My voice was a shade above a whisper, a little teacher trick I’d used whenever I needed someone’s attention. “Are you talking ‘we’ like the queen, or ‘we’ as in you and me?”

      “As in us, of course.” She tossed her head, sending the faux ponytail bouncing.

      I watched, fascinated, as it settled back into place, this time a good inch lower than it had been.

      “I’ve been doing some thinking,” she began, and I cringed inwardly. Nora had her manicured fingers in a lot of financial pies, mostly from an investor’s standpoint, but she’d recently begun a one-woman dog walking service for some of the residents in her luxury apartment building, just to “help out the poor dears,” as she liked to say. I’d noticed, however, that her idea of “help” came with a price tag. So much for being altruistic.

      If she thought that I was going to join her—well, she had another think coming.

      And of course she did. My throat began itching as I listened to her enthusiastically describing our new partnership. I was allergic to all things furred and feathered, and not just a little bit. It was a full-fledged reaction to any type of dander that could begin with a runny nose and end with my eyes swollen almost shut. Benadryl was my friend, and I made sure to steer clear of anyone with a pooch or a cat. Working with them was completely out of the question.

      “Nora, has it slipped that mind of yours that I’m horribly allergic to animals, especially those of the pet variety? Cats make me sneeze, dogs are worse, and even rabbits can make me break out in hives.”

      “Oh. That’s right. Dang.” She looked down, tapping a long fingernail—fake, of course—against her chin and then straightened with a bright smile. “Well, you’ll just have to wear one of those mask things, the kind doctors wear when they’re getting ready to operate. Besides, it’ll keep your face hidden in case the folks from the state come looking for you. Just kidding.”

      I glared at her. “Not funny.” My momentum plunged as I recalled all the dire warnings we’d been given. In every one of the pre-retirement meetings I’d attended, we’d been cautioned about The State, capitals implied, and what might happen to our annuity if we got caught working outside of the prescribed limitations. I was pretty sure that one of Dante’s infamous circles in you-know-where had been reserved for all retired teachers who tried to beat the system.

      “Oh, get a sense of humor, girl. Who’s really going to check to see what you do with your time? They don’t own you anymore.” The fake hair slid another inch as she shook her head. “And besides meeting me for coffee, what else were you planning to do today?”

      She had a point. And I did need something to do with all the time I’d have on my hands, besides rearranging my bookcases.

      I gave a small shrug and tipped my head back, emptying the cooling coffee in one gulp. Placing the thick white mug back on the table, I looked at Nora and lifted my chin. Chins. All right, I lifted my chins. I was ready. “Okay, let’s hear it. I guess I’m in.”

      The exaggerated whoop of delight Nora let fly was just this side of a sonic boom. Before I could say “boo,” she leaned across and wrapped me in her arms, rocking me back and forth like a crazed wind-up toy.

      I managed to catch her ponytail as it slid from its pins, holding it in place with one hand and attempting to free myself from her grasp with the other. I’d never had a problem when thirty pairs of juvenile eyes stared at me in the classroom, but there was something uncomfortable about having a dozen grown people in a coffee shop gawking at the sight that was Nora with her arms wrapped around me, especially when I had one hand on the back of her head while she was hugging me like a long-lost friend.

      “Nora, get a grip,” I hissed in her ear, a line of tiny gold loops nearly catching in my teeth. “You’ve lost your, uh, your hair, and everyone is staring at us.”

      By the time we left, Nora’s hair was somewhat back in order. I’d never seen a ponytail look like that before, and, judging by the expressions on the other faces, nobody else had either. If this was going to be the start of something big, at least we were going to do it in unforgettable style.

      At Nora’s insistence, we took an Uber for the short ride from The Friendly Bean to her apartment building. We needed to head for her place first, she’d decided, so we could talk about our plans for our newly hatched partnership.

      “The way I see it, there are at least three pets per floor in my building, not to mention the ones I see every day at the dog park. I’ve been walking one or two a day, tops, but between the two of us, we can double that.” Nora grabbed at the sissy bar above her door as our driver took a sharp turn in front of a rather large logging truck. “If we live, that is. Young man, if you want me to give you a tip, I wouldn’t drive like that. Besides, you might give my friend here a relapse, and trust me when I say you don’t want that to happen.”

      Just what it was I was supposed to relapse back into, I had no idea, but I played along, letting my eyelids hang at half-mast while I collapsed against the seat and clutched feebly at the front of my jacket. Nora looked back at me approvingly, reaching over to pat my hand as though I was really ailing.

      “You hang in there, Gwennie girl. We’ll get you home and you can put your feet up if we aren’t killed first.” She twisted around to frown at the driver.

      “I’m not gonna get us killed,” he protested, sounding as young as one of my high school students. “Miss Franklin, is that you back there?”

      Fabulous. I bolted upright, my eyes now wide open, trying desperately to recall his name. After twenty-something years of teaching, though, most faces looked the same. Unless, of course, they’d made some sort of impression on me, usually that of the negative kind.

      “Oh, hey you.” I spoke weakly, resorting to my tried and true greeting of forgotten students. “How are things?”

      “I’m great.” He fixed his gaze on the rearview mirror and narrowly missed a bicyclist that had swerved into our lane. “Sorry to hear you aren’t feeling so good. Is that why you quit teaching?”

      “Something

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