"I don't mean to be. And I'm sorry. I'm testy right now."

"So, you really going to go through with this?"

"Yes, I am."

"And Isaac wants to part ways too?"

"Yes, he does."

"Well, maybe if you'da kept yourself up more he wouldn'ta wanted to have supersex with all them naked women on the Internet. What happened, did he fall in love with one of 'em?"

Mama is right. Sheila's got a big fucking mouth. I also know she meant cybersex but this was not the time to correct her. Plus, I liked the sound of it. What I really wanted to know was just how much she knew. "What naked women on the Internet?"

"I wasn't born yesterday, Savannah."

"Well, that's the truth."

"You better watch your mouth before I hang this phone up."

"Where's your sense of humor?"

"Here in Pittsburgh. And it's boiling on the stove. Hold on a minute."

I look out the window at the orange Arizona sun. All of this seems so surreal, but I am not in the mood for a lecture. It's the reason you shouldn't tell your mama everything. Some things you need to keep to yourself. Some things you do because it feels like the right thing for you to do. I know Mama doesn't want me to suffer. But some things hurt. Some things have to.

"Anyway," she says when she comes back, "I been saying it for years: church is full of sneaky men posing as honest souls, and they are perpetuators out here looking for women just like you, with giant holes in your hearts, and they can smell when you got a good job and when you lonely as hell. But Isaac wasn't like them. He was nice enough. Decent. I liked him. For the most part."

I really want to change the subject. Before I can think of something neutral, Mama grabs the microphone.

"I would like to say this and just get it outta the way if you don't mind. You married beneath yourself, Savannah. I never wanted to say anything to your face, but what on earth did you have in common with a lumberjack?"

"He was a skilled carpenter, Mama."

"Everything he built he had to use wood and he had to saw it into pieces, so that made him a lumberjack in my book. Anyway, did he have a college degree?"

She already knew the answer to that.

"No, he did not. Did he make any money? Not enough to brag about. And since times have changed, now women who make more money than their husbands have to pay them alimony the same way men used to have to pay women. Is Arizona one of those states you have to give him half of everything? I hope not."

"Yes, but I won't have to."

"Thank you, Jesus. How much will he be able to walk away with?"

"That is none of your business, Mama."

"I know it. I wasn't asking for dollar amounts, but it irks the hell out of me when folks get what they didn't work for just because you was married to them."

"I know."

"You need to watch Dr. Phil. He woulda told you to get yourself a prenup, but noooooo, even being middle-aged and everything you was still stupid in love just like some teenager. Ain't no man worth losing your damn scruples over, especially when you got property. I ain't calling you stupid but I'm saying you just acted like you was stupid."

"Thanks for sharing, Mama." I swear I wanted to tell her Dr. Phil wasn't on television when I got married, but Lord only knows what kind of war of words this would've led to.

"This is why they used to say it's cheaper to keep her. It costs too much money to leave. You sure you and Isaac can't work this out?"

"I'm sure of it."

"Anyway, I would like to throw this out there-as GoGo would say. You gon' be a senior citizen in a minute in case you forgot you aging like the rest of us, and at fifty-one . . . I don't know, but the odds ain't in your favor for finding a replacement for Isaac, and I would think long and hard if I was you before signing on that dotted line. Unless you want to take a chance on spending the rest of your life by yourself. Let me tell you, it ain't no fun being old and lonely. Take it from somebody who knows."

"I'll take my chances, Mama. Anyway, I need to lie down."

"I thought you was already in the bed."

"I was, but I got up to make myself some tea," I lied. I was tired of talking to her about all of this.

"Hold it a minute! Don't go yet! For somebody who's supposed to be sick with a cold I ain't heard you cough once or so much as sniffle, so a few more minutes on the phone with your mama ain't gon' make you no sicker. So just chill for a minute, sista girl."

"What did you just say, Mama?"

"You heard me right! Sheila's kids keep me up on the hippest of everything. They're trying to show me how to fax you my e-mail addresses and I'm dying to Google a text message to you from MySpace. You'll soon be hearing from me online, girlfriend."

I laugh. "I'll look forward to getting an e-mail from you, Mama."

"What you doing for the holiday?"

"What holiday?"

"It's Memorial Day weekend, Savannah."

"Oh. I forgot. I don't know. Nothing. It's just another day to me."

"That's a shame. Holidays used to mean something, and if nothing else it was when families got together. But times do change. Anyway, I love you, baby."

"I love you, too."

I hang up and roll out of bed. I walk like I'm just learning how and head toward the bathroom. I wash my face in cold water to wake up. Brush my teeth. Moisturize. For some reason, I find myself opening my workout drawer, which sounds like it could use some WD-40. I look down at a gray top and shorts but then change my mind and pick up a lavender-and-white outfit. The tags are still dangling from it. Maybe a walk wouldn't kill me. Maybe it might help me perk up. Maybe it might help me lose ten ounces. I put on my watch that doubles as a heart-rate monitor and check to see how alive I am: seventy beats per minute. I pull on ankle socks and tie my sneakers, then head for the kitchen. I eat a new banana, make a pot of strong coffee and walk back to my bedroom, where I slide under the covers and wait for it to drip.

Mama's right of course. But aren't they always?

A few days later, Thora stands in the doorway of my office. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm doing fine," I say.

"You couldn't possibly be. I've been where you are and it drains you of your best everything. Believe me. I'm on husband number three."

"It's not a fairy-tale ending, that's for sure."

"Is the house getting bigger yet?"

"Yes, it is."

"Hearing things?"

"Yes, I am."

"Longing for him at night?"

"Sad to say, but I do."

"This is stage one. You'll get over it. So, how long before it's done?"

"First of July. It looks like it's not going to be as complicated as I thought."

"Give him whatever he wants and then move on with your life. I'm not kidding."

"All he wants is whatever he's entitled to."

"What about his business?"

"He just barely pays his employees, to be honest."

"He'll want something. I'm warning you. Whatever happens, don't let it turn into a war."

"I won't. Did you dye your hair, Thora?"

"I did. Good eye. It's a darker red. My colorist mixed three shades. I'm loving it."

"It looks good on you."

"Thanks. So, when you're a free woman you're going to need to decompress, so first let me say that even though it's a little soon to think about starting over and dating again, believe me, you'll be back on the open market in no time, and Bert has a great guy he wants you to meet. His name is Jasper. They went to medical school together at Columbia. He's African American, just for the record. A super guy and a divorce also. I'll tell you more about him when the dust settles. But anyway, this is just to let you know that there is life after marriage death."

"Tell Bert thanks for looking out. But right now, I can't even imagine myself dating, Thora. I haven't been on a date in over eleven years. I haven't kissed anybody or had sex with anybody except Isaac for the same amount of time. Anyway, let me get used to the idea of being single and then we'll talk about a date."

"No worries. But I'm also letting you know right now that Bert and I have a lovely two-bedroom flat in Paris. Actually, it's a duplex. In Montparnasse. You're welcome to it."

"That's really quite sweet of you to offer, Thora. I love Paris. But I loved it even more when I was young and hot and single."

"Well, you're still young and hot and soon-to-be single again. So keep it in mind."

Four-Way

"We need to get together," Robin says to Bernadine and Savannah. They're on a three-way call.

"For what?" Bernadine asks.

"That's a stupid question," Savannah says.

"It is, but I'll answer it anyway. I miss seeing you guys face-to-face and the four of us haven't done anything together since Marvin's funeral, and that wasn't exactly a social occasion."

"Has anybody talked to Gloria lately?" Savannah asks.

"I have. Sparrow and I stopped by when her grandkids were there. That little one can't talk but she can sure put a puzzle together. I'm talking about a lot of pieces. They cracked us up. Telling jokes with no punch line. Singing songs they didn't know all the words to. And talk about dance! That little Blaze can bust a move. What was really nice was seeing Gloria laughing. She may have aged ten years in ten days, but she sure came back to life with them around. I guess kids don't give you enough time and space to feel sorry for yourself."

"It's called grieving, Robin," Savannah says. "There's a big difference."

"Well, how long does it last? It's been six months."

"There's no time limit. It's different for everybody," Bernadine says.

"I think I'm grieving," Savannah says, surprising herself.

"I think you're just lonely," Robin says.

"I've been grieving for about six years," Bernadine says.

"Now you're the one who's been feeling sorry for herself," Robin says.

"I have not! I was married to somebody who impersonated being my husband. You have no idea what that feels like."

"You sound like a broken record, Bernie," Robin says.

"I couldn't agree more," Savannah says. "I'm waiting for the day we have a conversation and he doesn't come up."

"When was the last time you guys had a man steal from you and ruin your credit?"

"Never," Robin says.

"But how long can you stay angry?" Savannah asks.

"It's like a termite has been living inside you for the past six years robbing you of all your joy," Robin says.

"Well, Zoloft was supposed to be my pest control."

"Well, it's obviously not working," Savannah says. "I don't think those things were meant to solve your problems."

"They've helped me feel better so I can deal with my problems," Bernadine says.

"And I repeat. They're not working."

"So many people at my job are on antidepressants it's not even funny," Robin says. "I don't get it. They're still not happy."

"They don't make you happy," Bernadine says.