Annabel sat on the terrace staring at the garden watching the bees flit among the pink flowers.
A calico cat strutted along the wall, looked at her and walked away.
Her gray hair was in a pony tail, the way she hadn't worn it since the 60s.
She glanced at her watch. Two more hours to kill before she could go home.
Home. That was a word that didn't fit her house. How long had she pretended, making sure it was decorated for holidays and parties. Only one room was hers where she escaped to paint, when social obligations lightened.
Harold had been shocked when she has said "good" to his "I want a divorce." He told her his new love would never go out in a sweat suit like she was now wearing.
She lit a newly bought cigarette, her first in 22
years. Harold didn't approve of smoking. Coughing, she wondered why she
had ever enjoyed it.
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