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Thank God for springtime in Atlanta. Over the next six weeks, Ellis was nearly overwhelmed with obligations to her customers, and that kept her from missing Mary quite as much as she otherwise would have. Days started early and lasted late. Breakfast was usually a piece or two of fruit and some granola bars. If she got lunch at all, it was a sandwich from a sub shop. Dinner? Like she had energy to fix anything, or eat it, after chasing the lawn mower and hauling mulch around all day.

On June sixth, she spent the morning and early afternoon building rock-ringed gardens and filling them with encore azaleas for a new client in Ormewood, not too far from the zoo and the Atlanta Cyclorama. She stopped to grab a late lunch on her way to another job in Kirkwood, just off Moreland Avenue.

In a rare move, Ellis gave herself the extra few minutes to go inside and eat her lunch at a table instead of pulling through the drive-thru and eating in the cab of her truck. She parked in the lot of a joint she used to know well at the corner of Ponce de Leon and Clifton Road.
As she stood in line at the sandwich shop, she caught the scent of a familiar perfume. She usually steered clear of the stores in the Candler Park vicinity, and if her nose was telling her the truth, she should have stuck to that plan.

"Ellis?"

The voice clinched it. Better she had starved to death than run the risk of stumbling over her past.

She pushed her tray a few inches farther along the rails of the serving line before turning around.

"Hi, Becky." How could two simple words feel like battery acid tumbling on her tongue? She trained her eyes to the left of Becky Blumfeld's face and tried to look a thousand miles beyond Becky's shoulder.

"Gosh, it's been forever since I've seen you." Becky rubbed Ellis's upper arm with her knuckles. "How have you been?"

Any casual observer would have thought it was a perfectly reasonable, social inquiry. From Ellis's perspective, better Becky had run a dagger directly into her heart to spare her the agonizing death of making small talk in a public place.

"Good, thanks. How about you?" She willed herself to look at Becky's face. It was flushed and full, much rounder than Ellis remembered it. She let her gaze drop. "Oh. Oh, wow. I mean. Ummm. Good for you."

Becky's distended belly protruded unmistakably.

"Good for us," Becky said, as she pulled the hand of the woman behind her so that she stood by Becky's side. "Ruthann Lockburger, this is Ellis VanStantvoordt."

Ellis and Ruthann mumbled greetings to one another. The clerk behind the counter indicated it was Ellis's turn to order.

"Turkey and swiss on whole wheat. Dress it all the way, extra pickles. Large sweet iced tea. And I've changed my mind about dining in. Make that to go." She turned back to face Becky and Ruthann.

"Why don't you stay and eat with us, Ellis?" Becky asked. "We could catch up on things."

"Thanks, but I can't. I've got another lawn to take care of, and I'm already running late."

"Are you sure?" Ruthann put her hand on Ellis's shoulder. Ellis wanted to swat it away, but controlled the urge. "It would be nice to get to know you," Ruthann said.

Ellis hated the deep, masculine tone of Ruthann's voice. She hated the presumed familiarity Ruthann exuded. She hated the smug possessiveness the woman radiated toward Becky. In fact, Ellis hated every single thing about Ruthann Lockburger and hoped she was very soon diagnosed with a debilitating illness that withered her physically and mentally and in every other way with horrible, painful, indescribable, excruciating agony-but slowly, and for sure without any drugs that eased the suffering.

"No, really, I can't." She fumbled in the side pocket of her cargo shorts for her wallet and traded money for a To Go cup and sandwich bag, then started toward the door.

"Ellis, wait." Becky tugged on the back of Ellis's T-shirt.

"Wait for what? For you to have your baby on one of the tables here so I can applaud your great success?" She gestured wildly toward the seated patrons, spilling some tea from her cup as she did. "Crap." She set the cup on a flat-topped trash can by the door and shook the sticky liquid from her hand.

"Why are you so angry?" Becky said each word as though it tasted of vinegar and lemon juice.

"Who's angry?" Ellis retorted. "What do I have to be angry about? You think it bothers me that you've got yourself a hot new butch sugar mama and that you're well on your way to having the perfect little artificially-inseminated suburban family?" She pointed at Becky's midsection. "Guess again. I forgot about you the day I walked out the door of what was supposedly our house eighteen months ago."

"Ellis, don't--"

"Don't what, Rebecca? Don't make a scene in public? Don't tell people your unborn child has a turkey baster for a father? Don't run the risk of telling your cherished girlfriend that she's nothing but a rebound second choice? Just what is it you don't want me to do?"

Ellis and Becky stood toe to toe, glaring at one another.

Ruthann hastened over and pulled Becky away. "Are you all right, sweetheart? Remember what the doctor said about your blood pressure."

Becky took a final look at Ellis, then let Ruthann lead her to a table where their tray of food awaited. Ellis grabbed her iced tea and fled the shop.

Her hand was shaking so badly that she dropped her keys on the pavement beside her truck. As she bent to retrieve them, she hit her shoulder on the door-mounted rearview mirror and dropped the cup, splashing sugary tea all over her work boots. "Damn you, Becky Blumfeld," she screamed. Damn you and your swaggering new partner and your precious baby -- the baby that was more important than I was.