Don chided me gently. My initial surprise turned to irritation. Don clearly hadn’t changed one iota since I’d bolted from our relationship, practically screaming. I wanted to point out that it had been he who’d howled out the Lord’s name in frenzied, panting lust the last time we’d made love. If that’s not in vain, what is? But I managed to hold my tongue. Barely. After a moment of silence while we sized each other up, I tipped up the Tuaca bottle and swallowed a long draft. Wiping the top of the bottle with my sleeve, I asked, “Want some?” “No, thank you.” Don was the picture of strained politeness. Mom appeared from behind him at that moment. “Virginia!” she greeted me in delight, her eyes taking in my bottle of Tuaca and my generally scraggly appearance in one sweeping glance. But she was too happy to see me to comment on it. She reached out and hugged me close. She smelled great, but she nearly bowled me over with her big-ass purse. A green one. Satiny. With a thick gold lock on the front that worked as its clasp.
