She stood behind the stone wall of Grenville’s picturesque cemetery and watched Ada, who looked like a chic fifties hostess who’d just left a cocktail party to hang out among the graves. All she needed was a Martini and a cigarette. Earlier, they’d asked Lil if she’d wanted to join them in the RV. She’d declined. Ada had given her a look, as though she knew something was off. She’d asked, ‘Your column?’ Lil had nodded, as though it were true. Face it, she thought, you’re jealous. You’re feeling like a third wheel. And you know what? Get over it. Unobserved, she felt another emotion, pride at how lovely Ada looked and at how natural she seemed in front of the camera. Not just here, but since that first phone conversation with Barry. As though Ada could speak this other language and pitch TV shows, albeit gruesome ones, off the top off her head. Why didn’t I know this about her? Don’t take her for granted. As she watched Ada, she realized this would be her next column.
