“Check out page sixty-eight and think about the color scheme for your front room. I’m headed to Norfolk—just thought I’d stop by on my way.” Her cheeks were pink from exposure to the damp, cold air, her eyes avid for anything that even hinted at romance. While Marty was still trying to nudge her brain awake, her early morning visitor planted beringed fists on her rounded hips and said, “Let’s hear it. Start from the first and don’t leave out anything. If he’s as prime as Faylene says he is, we might want to add him to our list. Is he taller than five-ten? Because Lily Sullivan over on Chelsea Circle is at least that. She towers over me, even in my new green Jimmys. I’m thinking of finding someone shorter to do my taxes. It’s bad enough to be intimidated by the IRA without—” She blinked a battery of fake lashes and said plaintively, “Wha-a-at? Oh, Lord, you’re still sleepwalking, aren’t you.” Still wading through her usual morning fog, Marty refused to be intimidated by the five-foot-three-inch steamroller.
