It was the first Saturday of their babysitting arrangement, and she was unaccountably nervous about Dave Bernstein coming to her house. Forcing herself to put away the duster, she picked up the little black and gold urn, and examined it closely for the first time in years. She and Adam had acquired it on their honeymoon in the Greek Isles: their biggest purchase ever at the time. “It’s too expensive,” she’d said. She leaned into Adam as he wrapped tanned, linen-clad arms around her. The late afternoon light streamed pink into the little tourist shop near their hotel, with its whitewashed walls and blue tile floor. “Anything for Mrs. Adam Mendel.” He’d kissed the Cheshire Cat tattoo low on her exposed shoulder blade. This always made her crazy. She wore a halter top and sarong, showing off the fact that she’d lost twenty pounds for their wedding. It was the thinnest she’d been since high school, and she was enjoying it.
