Once Upon a Project by Bettye Griffin

most.
    â€œAren’t you Craig Corrigan’s sister?” he asked.
    â€œUh, yes, I am. I think I remember you, too.”
    â€œCraig and I used to be best buddies back in the day,” he said.
    His eyes openly roamed over her body, an action that to Grace could be handled either deftly, in a suave manner, or in a way that made her feel like a side of beef on a hook to be inspected. Eric Wade fell into the latter category, and even though his facial expression told her he liked what he saw, it made a warning bell go off in her head.
    â€œYou gonna be here for a while?” he asked.
    â€œI just got here, so I guess so.”
    â€œYo, Eric. Whassup?”
    â€œHey! I was lookin’ for you, man.” Eric started to step away, then looked over his shoulder. “Can I catch up with you later, Grace?”
    â€œSure.” She shrugged easily and moved on.
    Gradually she made her way to the back room. A few folks were dancing in the empty space in the room’s center. Elyse caught her eye and waved to her from the table for four where she sat with Susan.
    Susan looked old with all that gray in her hair, Grace thought. But Elyse looked fantastic, even with the extra weight. Hell, she could afford to carry some extra pounds. She had a husband at home, and a good one, even if he’d lost some juice. Franklin Reavis had been a handsome, fit dude of about thirty-five when Elyse married him, and the few times Grace had seen him since, he’d looked pretty good. But from the way Elyse complained about his lack of drive, she imagined him now as a big fat dude lounging in a La-Z-Boy and calling out to Elyse to bring him another beer. Grace wondered if Elyse had had the foresight when she married him to think ahead thirty years, or if his turning into an old stick-in-the-mud was more than she had bargained for.
    After Grace joined her friends, she began to feel better about coming down here. She might get something out of it, something named Eric Wade. That little kid she remembered from nearly thirty years ago couldn’t be called that, any more than she could. So what if he was a little younger? She could hardly be accused of robbing the cradle.
    Besides, she hadn’t had sex in months, and she was raring to go. It was time for a harmless diversion, and Eric looked like he’d fill that bill just fine.
    Grace and her friends were exchanging the names of people they recognized in the bar when she saw Susan’s expression change to one of distress. “Susan, you all right? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
    â€œOver there,” Susan hissed. “He just came in. It’s Charles Valentine.”

Chapter 11
    S usan’s throat felt dry; it actually hurt to speak. She’d allowed herself to entertain how she’d react if she saw Charles tonight after such a long time, seeing it as a harmless fantasy rather than as a reality. She never really thought there was any chance that he might actually show up. . . .
    Elyse’s sharp whisper stopped Susan’s reverie. “Susan! Stop staring at him!”
    â€œHe’s sure to notice you soon enough,” Grace said. “Or some big-mouth who remembers what happened with him and Douglas—and this place is full of them tonight—is sure to fill him in, and he’ll start looking for you.”
    â€œAll I need now is for Douglas to come waltzing in,” Susan lamented. “We can pick up right where we left off twenty-five years ago, only in a different place, and with a bigger audience.”
    â€œI wouldn’t worry about that,” Grace said. “Douglas is in jail.”
    Susan’s lower lip dropped. “Again?”
    â€œThey got him on a DUI.”
    â€œHow’d you know, Grace?” Elyse asked.
    â€œPat’s an ADA, remember? She told me they gave him a year.”
    Susan didn’t know what to say, but she had a mental picture of Ann Valentine’s