“Come on, Mom,” said Arch. “Cheer up.” He pointed at the Jaguar parked at a precarious angle by the sidewalk. “Look, Marla’s here.”
And indeed she was, fretting around in the kitchen, setting the table and standing back to admire the enormous basket arrangement of flowers she had brought with her. Oblivious of her, Julian pinched and pressed pizza dough into springform pans. When we came through the door, the two of them stared at our disconsolate faces.
“Goldy?” Julian’s eyes were wide. “Any news?”
I shook my head grimly. I didn’t trust my voice.
“Dinner is Mexican Pizza,” he announced, turning away so I couldn’t see the despair on his face. “Fifteen minutes.”
I sat heavily in one of my kitchen chairs. “Tell me how you’re doing,” I said to Julian. “I’m getting tired of always focusin
