The bar was jumping, but nobody was out of line. She circulated as usual, nodding, greeting, chitchatting.

They had appropriated the seat to the old player piano as a cocktail table, and she had intended to merely smile and nod, but on seeing her Lou chirped "Oh there's that nice Mrs. Smith, she'll sign our petition," grabbing her hand and tugging her down amongst them and into a conversation on the four-day work week, then on to how much psychosomaticism there was in the sulphur springs, how awful it was they had to leave in the morning, and how had she ever managed to snare such a fabulous chef, and when Mark came back from the bar she found she had been included in the screwdrivers, and the next thing she knew she was telling them of her venture of buying the lodge and fixing it up.

At the third screwdriver she insisted everything was on the house. By the fifth she had learned that Jo was a CPA, that Lou was a kindergarten teacher, and they owned two bulldogs named Miss Clit and Miss Tit, that Ted was an electrician and Mark a social worker and they owned a poodle named Basket. At sometime thereafter she learned that Jo had a daughter in college always referred to as Miss Problem and an alcoholic ex-husband always referred to as Mr. Bastard, and later Little Lou suddenly chirped, "Honey, what's your name, I mean your first name, Mrs. Smith sounds so something-or-other," and she said "Robin" and wondered why it sounded so strange to hear herself say it, then she realized no one had called her that, nor even asked, since Doc.

As they closed the bar, she found she was quite drunk. She sent them all off to the sulphur vapors by themselves, confessing it still was like rotten eggs to her. As she walked to her rooms she wondered why she was feeling a sudden and sick depression.

She sat on her bed. She managed to get her sandals off. Then, like an explosion, she began crying violently, fiercely, desperately.

Finally, exhausted, she fell asleep.

She awoke feeling an off-shade green, skin clammy in the slept-in clothes, mouth fuzzy, head aching. A car motor outside was zooming up and down. She groaned. Then she heard "Robin, Robin!" and dragged herself to the window and saw them all in the old convertible and ran outside.

"Wow! And never a hangover she said!"

"Migawd, what is it?"

"The abominable snowman's wife! I've always wondered what she looked

like."

"Where's that camera?"

"NO!!" she wailed, clutching in reflex frantically at her hair, face and dress, then she burst out in laughter with them.

"But where where are you going?"

"To our homes, of course!"

"But-but-””

But the car already started moving away and on up the hill amid waves and shouts of goodbyes.

"No! Oh no! Wait! Not yet!"

She frantically ran to keep them in view until they turned at the crossroads.

She stood there looking at the crossroads.

For quite a lot of time she was there, in the clear hazeless daylight, looking at the crossroads, like she had never seen them before.

15