LITMIR.BIZ

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a jacket. She was almost out the door when the phone rang. She let the machine answer. When she heard Laurel's voice, she picked up.

      Twenty minutes later Charlie was at The Fair Grounds, a popular coffee shop with overstuffed chairs, magazine racks and the best coffee in town. Laurel waited just inside the door as Charlie tied her dogs to the bicycle rack out front. Once inside Charlie was embraced in an enthusiastic hug. "Finally," Laurel gushed. "It's been so long."

      "Sorry," Charlie said, returning the hug. "I've been busy."

      As she stood at the counter to pay for her coffee, strong and black, Charlie averted her eyes from the young man making Laurel's decaf skim-milk double mocha. The matching rings in his ear and nose didn't bother her, or the gold loop through his eyebrow, but the stud in his tongue made her feel queasy.

      They carried their drinks outside. Laurel held their drinks as Charlie untied the dogs from the bicycle rack. She wrapped their leashes around one hand while holding her cardboard coffee mug in the other. The dogs fanned out as far as their leashes allowed as they walked toward the small park on the next block.

      Charlie blew on her coffee to cool it. Laurel was the one person she could confide in. Most of the women she thought were friends drifted away after the divorce. Laurel had invited Charlie to dinner, called to see how she was, brought her casseroles on the pretext she had made too much for her family. Her kids were off limits. She wanted to leave them out of her troubles with their father. So when Laurel asked how she was, Charlie spilled out the details of her meeting with Craig and its aftermath.

      "What are you going to do?" Laurel asked.

      Charlie shrugged. "Hire a hit man?"

      Laurel giggled. "Good idea. Except guess who would inherit his half of the house? Just imagine. You and Blondie would be co-owners." She sipped her coffee and wiped foam off her lip. "Seriously, though."

      "I don't have a plan yet. I'm still looking for a real lawyer. This lady I told you about is clever, but I doubt she's up to facing Craig when he brings out his big guns. Which he will. I need a gladiator who can run a spear through Craig. I'll tell you this, though. Craig's in for a surprise. I'm not the old Charlotte he could push around. This woman is pushing back." She flexed her bicep. "You're looking at Charlie Armstrong, woman warrior. I'll take him on mano a mano."

      "I think that means hand to hand, not man to man."

      "Either way."

      "If I can help, let me know."

      "Maybe Wes can talk to Craig," Charlie said. "Craig might listen to him."

      Laurel sighed. "You haven't heard? Wes was laid off. He's not taking it well. Anything he'd say to Craig would not be suitable for young children. Or adults for that matter."

      They walked slowly to accommodate the curious dogs who stopped to check out every bush, pole and hydrant. The sweet gum trees that lined the sidewalk had shed their autumn finery early this year, and gold and crimson leaves crunched under their feet. Laurel pulled a plastic bag from her pocket. "I always carry some of these with me. You never know what you'll find. " She bent to scoop up a bright red and three bronze maple leaves. "These make great decorations."

      "I carry plastic bags, too," Charlie said. "But for a different reason."

      “I can’t get over your having so many dogs. I don’t remember you having any when you were married."

      "I always wanted one, and the kids begged for a dog, but Craig wouldn't allow it. He said they were too dirty and too much trouble."

      Laurel grinned. "You certainly made up for lost time."

      "I never planned it this way. It all started when I fell in love with Corky." The memory of Corky made her teary. She wiped her eyes.

      After the divorce she was in such a fog of depression she could barely drag herself out of bed in the morning. With no husband or children to care for, she felt useless and hollow. Her few stabs at applying for jobs led nowhere. Her resume indicated too many years and too little experience. Then one Spring morning, when the sun's rays lit up her bedroom and sparrows chattered outside her window, she decided enough was enough. "This is ridiculous," she told herself. "You can't let Craig drag you down. Get your ass in gear and do something." She recalled reading that volunteer work was a way to gain experience that could lead to a real job. Through the Volunteer Bureau she got a list of organizations to call. When she saw the Humane Society needed volunteers to walk dogs, she knew she'd found what she was looking for. After the first walk, she was hooked.

      One of her charges was Corky. "He was so homely with his wiry coat and big ears, just looking at him made me smile. The vet estimated him to be six or seven. Not a likely candidate for adoption. But he was smart and funny. He knew how to make me laugh. I felt we had a lot in common: older and abandoned," she patted her head, "wild hair. So I took him home."

      Laurel squinted at her. "You don't have big ears."

      Charlie gave her a gentle punch on the arm. "Thanks."

      "And the others?" Laurel asked.

      "Gunther," she patted the German shepherd's head, "was at the shelter and was about to be put down as unadoptable. Everybody was afraid of him. Even me. But I could see he was just scared. Sophie was brought in after her owner died. She was grieving and wouldn't eat. She needed a home. And Lucky was turned in by his owners when they moved. He hated being caged; he bounced off the walls. After I took him, I had to stop going. My house was becoming a dog orphanage."

      "Speaking of orphans," Laurel said, "you're invited to Thanksgiving." Laurel's "orphan" Thanksgivings were legendary. Anybody she knew who had no family nearby was welcome. She always had at least twenty people. "It might be a small group this year. But some of your old friends will be there. I expect Zora and Nathan."

      Was that supposed to be a selling point? Zora was one of the first to drop Charlie after the divorce. Besides, she had plans. "Meredith and Brad will be home. Thanksgiving is sacred to them. They won't let me change a thing. They even insist I make the sweet potatoes with marshmallows and the string bean casserole, which they don't eat. But it's tradition. This may be our last Thanksgiving in our house, and I want it to be memorable."

      They reached the park and sat on a bench. Charlie let the dogs off leash. They moseyed around on the lawn while Charlie and Laurel finished their coffees.

      Laurel turned to Charlie. "I know how hard it is to move. It must be worse when you’ve lived in one house so long.”

      "I grew up in that house. My grandfather built it."

      "And you lived with him?"

      Charlie nodded. "My mother died when I was born, and my father never remarried. He moved us in with my grandparents. When they died it was just the two of us until I married Craig. Since we couldn't afford our own home and my father was alone, we stayed. He built the master bedroom over the garage for us. Hammered in every last nail himself."

      "Wow. I'm in my ninth house since I got married and the first one I've owned. The hardest move was the time we had to pull Justin out of school in the middle of second grade. He cried for weeks. Wes promised this was our last move." Her shoulders slumped. "If he doesn't find a job around here, I don't know what I'll do. I absolutely, positively do not want to move ever again."

      "I'm sure he'll find something," Charlie reassured her.

      "Not the way he's going now. He’s lost jobs before, but I’ve never seen him like this. I think he was just as sure as I was that this move was permanent. This just knocked him for a loop. When I left the house, he was in front of the TV watching Jerry Springer and drinking beer. I don't know how many he's had. He tries to hide the empties."

      Charlie patted Laurel's arm. "Give him a little time." She had no idea whether Wes would straighten up or not. It just seemed the right thing to say.

      Laurel looked at her watch. "I should be getting home." She stood up. "Not that I'm looking forward to it. I feel like I'm living in a black cloud these days. Not under it. In it."

      "I'm not exactly looking

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