Chapter Sixteen

I got a few more hours of shut eye during the night. Before sleep came though, there were several long stretches of time when I sat with foot propped and ice on the ankle. I finished the book I started reading the night before during those times. The minutes in between, when the ankle was numb and almost pain free, I prowled the house with Kitty. Once or twice I thought I heard footsteps outside windows. Eventually, I talked myself into believing I imagined them.

When the sun came up, so was I, rummaging through my closet for something appropriate to wear to Thomas's funeral. I found an old favorite black pantsuit. It wasn't that I was in mourning that I decided to select something black. It was because it was customary for me to attend funerals in the ominous color.

I was in front of the floor length mirror in my bedroom, wearing panties and bra as I tried to pull flimsy and much too narrow slacks, over robust hips. It took several tugs and a few unpleasant words before I gave up, accepting the fact I still had a lot of walking and dieting to do before squeezing back into a size twelve.

Back in the closet, I found only skirts and dresses in the required larger size, and one I am too embarrassed to put a number beside. I settled on the shapely tuxedo dress in seasonaless rayon crepe. There were surplice top buttons at the side with a trio of gold trimmed pearls. The ivory satin collar and French cuffs completed the formal design.

"Not bad," I said to my reflection.

Pull on a pair of dark panty hose and you'll look a whole ten pounds lighter. And that's what I did. The next problem was finding something suitable, and wide enough, to fit over my slightly swollen right foot.

Heels would give my pudgy legs length and sex appeal, but comfort is what interested me. So I slipped into black suede loafers. My collar- length dark hair was given a few added twists with the curling iron. The face was touched up with powder, mascara and lipstick. Then this old gal was all dressed up with no place to go. At least not at eight o'clock in the morning.

Kitty got fresh water and food. Her litter was scooped with extreme caution. I didn't want to get little clumps of waste on my nice duds and have to go through the frustration of finding something else to wear all over again.

I was tempted to start making telephone calls next. First Joe, then Allen, maybe the newspaper. Or I could take a load off the foot and read the weeks worth of newspapers stacked on the kitchen table. At the same time I could ice the ankle. But it really was feeling better. Enough so that I only limped on every third step or so.

Then I had a better idea of how to kill the next couple of hours.