Rooftop View

Gloria Santos turns a page of her book and adjusts herself in the overstuffed chair--the only thing she got in the divorce settlement, and only because her husband had always hated the color. She tucks her feet beside her. She is pleased that, at fifty-eight, she is still able to accomplish this small feat. She attributes it to her lifelong practice of yoga.

Her telephone rings. She signs and picks up, marking her place in her book with an index finger. "Hello, Howard."

"How did you know it was me?"

"Who else would bother calling me on Christmas?" Or ever, for that matter.

"Marie wants to know if you've changed your mind. I can pick you up."

"I'm fine."

"What are you doing?"

"Talking to you, at present, but prior to that I was reading my book. Curled up in the inglenook." She smiles, delighting in her brother's spare vocabulary. "It's a nook. By the library fireplace." Just to clarify: The condo she purchased (cash, of course, she'd told Howard) six months ago has four thousand square feet and three fireplaces. "Did the children have a good haul?"

She doubts it. What with Marie's obsessive coupon-clipping and thrift-store scavenging, the brats probably wouldn't have had anything if it weren't for Gloria's generosity.

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