“I wanted to talk to you about Rory, actually,” Nancy said a little hesitantly. Her tone put me on instant high alert. Something was up. “He doesn’t know I’m here.” She looked nervous, although perfectly appointed as always in her crisply elegant linen pants and tailored blouse. I suddenly wished I wasn’t wearing a butter-smudged kitchen apron, my hair tossed up in a loose bun. Although she’d been my mother’s best friend and had been unfailingly kind to me, Nancy’s understated elegance always made me feel frumpy, like I was never quite polished enough.
been neighbors since you were 13yrs old
