Sara spent the Friday after Thanksgiving reading and editing portions of Pierce"s exciting manuscript. She worked nonstop. The phone rang early that evening. She sighed, tempted to let voice mail pick it up. She didn"t know how she would spend the rest of the long weekend, but it wouldn"t be chatting on the phone.
Again, she recognized the number displayed. “Esmerelda,” she said. “How are you holding together?”
“I"m just fine.” She really did sound that way. “I know you two had turkey yesterday, but how about coming over and helping me wade through my leftovers.”
“We had chicken. I"m stuffed, really. Haven"t eaten like that in years.”
“Oh, please come. All the guests are gone and, well, I could use your company.”
Esmerelda had never asked for much. She was a giver that kept giving eve
