THE CONFAB
Cradling her infant son, Tommy, in her arms, Lizzie opened the front door to Florence and Meg, and urged them to leave their streaming umbrellas on the front step.
Once in the warm kitchen, Meg took the baby and gently tweaked his chin. A large placid baby, Tommy had a cleft chin like his father, but the rest of him, from that wild mop of black hair to his size, was pure Preston.
“Here, Meggie, I like your new hairdo, a bob, is it? It suits you very well. When did you cut it? Nobody told me.” Lizzie bustled around, preparing tea.
“Saturday last. Thanks.”
“Very modern, it is,” said Lizzie, looking intently at Meg’s hair.
Florence and Meg told her about Jinny’s illness and the doctor’s recommendations.
“Remember when we had that Spanish ‘flu? It isn’t that again, is it?” Li
