They'd come the next day to ask questions, and she told exactly truth: Glynis had complained of a migraine, Margaret had brought her a glass of juice and her medicine, then left. That was it.

The electricity went out. And stayed out. When it had been out for twenty-four hours, she discovered that the neighbors on either side had power. Which the electric company denied until she set the telephone on Nick Swainey's stereo speaker and switched the volume up to 10.

A paperback book she'd ordered came in a 52"x40x"32" box.

Glynis had wrapped her arms around Margaret and they had cried on each other's cheeks and gone for coffee and laughed in bookstores and gone for coffee, and volunteered at the hospital and gone for coffee, and rented what was supposed to be a movie about historical China and proved to be seventy-three minutes of blank screen and the shipping forecast, and gone for coffee and gone to bed.

She'd slept with two people in the last thirty years and she'd killed one of them.

She packed her electric bill in the book box and sent it off, and began to think about what else needed doing.

"Doing Something" 030830 by merripestin at yahoo dot com
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