The day was bright and sunny, which seemed typical for August, but desired. I wasn’t at all unpleased with his decision to leave me behind in Erie while he flew to Cincinnati. He had his life and I had mine. Besides, I had some work to do and could probably use some time alone, reading and critiquing books, and working on my mystery. There was also Frankie Marchetti, my best gal, who I had neglected in the last three weeks. I wanted to catch up with her and talk about my affections for the pianist, her dating, life, and all the numerous in-between-things that I was sure were happening.
Truth was I really needed to pay attention to Frankie. Tucker Martini had distracted me from her, keeping my full attention. My texts were limited, my calls to her were next to none, and we hadn’t had an evening on the town for drinks and chatter in nineteen days. Quality time with the young woman was overdue.