Two months after Bob died, my three closest friends since childhood came over for one of our potluck dinners, a tradition whenever discussion was called for. They entered without knocking, footsteps clattered down the hallway to the kitchen where I waited. The dogs, Sarge, a German Shepherd, and Jesse Girl, a sleek mixed Lab-Setter, wagged waited without tails with tongues salivating from fragrant aromas. Instead of rushing to set down covered casseroles, my friends stopped and stared at the large calendar tacked to the wall. Across the top, I’d printed the letters A B D with a black marker.
“What’s A B D”, Cindy said.
“After Bob Died.”
In the brief silence that followed and sad glances between Jana, Cindy and Myrna, I knew they believed I needed a lot of help from them. What I needed was privacy to sort things out for my self.Three pair of eyes fastened on me with single minded purpose as I absently spooned beef stew on my plate without appetite.
“Don’t stare at me and don’t worry about me.” I said, The ABD calendar is my way of making sense of each day since Bob died.”
“It’s blank,” said Cindy.” so I guess nothing makes sense to you right now.”
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