Forty-One
HELEN IS SURPRISINGLY punctual on Friday afternoon, arriving at the rectory at 3:00 sharp. When I open the door, I’m ecstatic to see she’s wearing her red dress, along with the comfortable looking red pumps she bought to replace her high heels.
The first part of my plan is complete.
“Darling,” I say to her as I let her into the Rectory, “you look more beautiful to me at this moment than you ever have before.”
“Don’t tell me,” she complains, ”tell Gladys. She came into my office about an hour ago and asked what I was wearing to dinner. I told her what I had on, and she pitched an absolute hissy fit, saying that my nice black suit with a long skirt was not fit to wear out to a nice dinner in Baltimore. I started to tell her to mind her own business, but this is the
