Paul

Nicole had been gardening all morning and was finishing lunch when the phone rang. It was Mrs. Boswell, her nearest neighbor, whose voice she recognized from tea parties that her mother gave. Those teas were such a bore. And Mrs. Boswell could drone on so. “Nicole, dear, is your mom free?” “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but Mummy is in France for a month.” Nicole was almost eighteen, in her last year of Public School. She had use of one of the cars, a checking account and was a responsible girl, so her parents left her home, rather than drag her to France. It was a second honeymoon for them. ...