I told them I had a rule about cooks not helping with clean-up, but really I just wanted some time to myself. I was almost finished with the dishes when the phone rang. “Can you get that?” I yelled to Steve. “It’s probably for you anyway.” Steve picked it up and after a beat I heard him laughing. Laughing was good. Laughing meant it probably wasn’t a surly creditor or anyone associated with Lisa Marie’s wedding. After a half-minute of conversation the swinging door to the kitchen was pushed open and Steve thrust the portable phone at me. “It’s Farrah. She’s talking crazy. I told her crazy calls were best handled by the lady of the house.” I crimped the phone between my shoulder and chin. “What’s up?” I said. I wiped my hands on a dish towel, expecting it might take awhile. “You need to come down here.” “Farrah, it’s almost nine o’clock and I’ve had a really long day.” “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t a matter of life and death.” “Farrah! If this is an emergency, you should call nine-one-one.”
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