After being seated in their usual booth across from the tortilla maker, the ladies settled in for their weekly visit. Their friendship spanned decades. Mable and Imogene were significantly younger than Ingrid, but it made little difference. They were all three quite dissimilar in appearance, character, and tastes, but their youthful spirits bonded them more than a commonality of interests ever could.

The young man behind the machine recognized the familiar white headed trio. He waved and smiled, pointing to the pile of freshly baked tortillas that reposed in the basket at the end of the conveyor belt.

"It's so nice to be remembered!" sighed Mable contentedly.
"Indeed. Now, Ingrid no shilly-shallying- out with it! We saw you with Crispin and Edith Baker at the brunch Friday. What's going on?" demanded Imogene, leaning forward eyes all aglow. There was nothing Imogene loved better than a good dish.

Ingrid shifted uncomfortably. As unwilling a participant as she had been, it was still embarassing to recall.

"Crispin decided to join me and invited Edith. I suppose he's-"
"After her. Say no more Ingrid, I knew it! Shall we tell her Mable?"
"Tell me what?"
"Oh not you dear. Imogene is thinking that we should tell Edith about Crispin and his..."
"Leech-like tendencies. What do you think Ingrid?"

Ingrid said she doubted it, sketching Edith's moon-struck reaction to Crispin's wiles in grim detail. Imogene, however, was not to be deterred. She pursed her lips and folded her arms across her ample, brightly polka-dotted bosom. A familiar glint of determination lit her sharp green eyes. "You'll just have to tell her Ingrid."

Ingrid braced herself for the inevitable battle of wills. "I'm sorry to disappoint you Immy dear, but I'd have better luck warning Pearl Harbor that the Japanese are up to no good. Even if I thought it would help matters, I would still refuse."

"Horse-feathers Ingrid! It's a well-known fact that you are Crispin's oldest friend. She'd have to take you seriously. I say you should do it, and the sooner the better." Imogene unfolded her arms and placed them on her hips. Even in a seated position she managed to look imposing. Unfortunately, Ingrid had seen Imogene's war-paint a thousand times before and it had not the slightest effect.

"If you think it's that important dear, I suggest you see to it yourself."

Imogene retorted that such a cold hearted response betrayed a lack of concern for women-kind in general. "We girls have to stick together after all! If we don't look out for each other we're sitting ducks for the men!"

Ingrid would have mentioned that the possibility of them falling prey to unprincipled men at their advanced age was laughable, but Mable prevented her by saying gently "Really Imogene, you know Ingrid hates meddling in other people's affairs. I'm sure we'll think of something. You'd best let her alone." Mable, the very picture of Grandmotherly propriety, was both accustomed and highly adept at her role as buffer between two strong willed friends.

Imogene was sufficiently quelled, though by the persistent spark in her eye Ingrid knew that she hadn't laid down her arms completely. This was by no means the end of it.

By way of proffering the olive branch, Ingrid opened her handbag and produced a letter.
"I brought this along to show you girls. It took me quite by surpise. Do you remember my neice Alice?"

Both comrades nodded grimly. Alice was something of a sore subject. She had been like a daughter to Ingrid until she decided to marry a man whose character was questionable to say the least. That was 15 years ago. Charlie was in the military, and they'd been shuffling from base to base ever since their marriage. Ingrid rarely if ever heard from them. She had been violently opposed to the match, and made sure that Alice knew it. Alice had never forgiven her aunt for being so unfeeling.

"I'm going to read this to you, and I want you to tell me what I ought to do."
"Much good that will do, as you do as you like no matter what your friends say." muttered Imogene under her breath.

Just then Mateo, their favorite waiter appeared to collect their orders, preventing Ingrid from delivering one of her pithy retorts, and saving Mable the effort of cleaning up the aftermath. After he'd left, the ladies set aside their verbal missiles and settled in for the letter.

"Dear Aunt," Ingrid began, "I suppose this is the part where one usually makes all kinds of remarks about how long it's been since last heard from and how sorry one feels about not keeping in touch. However, I'm sure you'd see straight through that garbage as you always do.

I want to come home. Anne and I have had a terrible winter and spring. After 15 years my pride finally allows me to acknowledge the truth of what you told me so long ago. I should never have married the man. This world lost very little when Charles Olsen left it.

I know it will make no difference to mother whether we return to the OC or not- how is she by the way? But I feel that I can't come back until you give the word.

Annie is 12 years old now. I've told her lots about her Great Aunt Ingrid. She reminds me of you in some ways.

May we come home to you Aunt Ingrid, and start over again?

Alice

By the end of the letter all three women were in tears.

"Oh Ingrid of course you'll let her come!" sobbed Mable. "Oh yes, you wouldn't turn the poor child away! Not after all she's been through!" added Imogene, searching frantically through the depths of her enormous hand bag for tissues. "Why, it's just like a Nicholas Sparks novel!" she choked. Imogene was a devoted follwer of Nicholas Sparks novels.

Ingrid, who'd had a few days to process the letter dabbed her eyes with the corner of her napkin. "Will you please refrain from mentioning that disgrace to great literature?" She couldn't stand those novels, partly because she'd written things somewhat similar to them in her earlier days and was ashamed of it, and partly because she felt that she could do better if only she found the right subject.

That brought her friends to their senses. Mable asked in a far more composed tone whether she had replied to the letter yet.

"I'm still thinking things through. Of course I want them to come. That goes without saying. Alice left such a hole in my life when she went away... but when she deserted us for Charlie, she left more than her home. She abandoned her faith too. She's a very changed woman. I want her back of course, but how will we get on together? What of the child?" Mable and Imogene sighed and nodded. All three were faithful Christian women, though of differing denominations.

"Obviously she is an adult with her own life. Shall I say she's here on trial or take her in with no questions asked? How can I best... well... influence her? And how best to approach the subject of Charlie?"

"Forgiveness is a wonderful first step dear. Remember the prodigal son. It sounds as if she's been broken down enough. Take her in and keep her there as long as you can. She wants to return to her earthly home... perhaps she's also seeking her heavenly one." Mable reached a tiny, plump hand across the table to pat Ingrid's thin, long fingered one. From the tip of her wooly white head on down to her beige Dr. Scholls, Mable was a gentle spirit personified.

Imogene concurred. She placed her massive, bejeweled paw on Ingrid's shoulder and generously offered her assistance in what she supposed to be life's essentials. "Meals, or planning meals, or help with grocery shopping. You've only to say the word! And my granddaughter Kendra is Annie's age- they could be playmates!"

Ingrid thanked her friends from the bottom of her heart. She was very happy to know that Alice wished to return, but it was a sobering thought nonetheless. Being a pessimist by nature, she viewed the reunion with no small amount of trepidation.

Mateo returned with their food, and the ladies collected themselves sufficiently to smile at his pleasantries and start in on their meals.

"Any idea what might have happened to Charlie?" said Imogene, rapidly devouring her sizzling steak fajita.

"Not a single one! All I know is that he's apparently 'left this world'. And good riddance too, say I. No, Mable it's no use gaping at me likea fish out of water. I've heard very little from Alice over the years, but I've heard enough to know that Charlie Olsen was exactly what I thought him. I hope she'll tell me, as the curiousity is absolutely unbearable. One hates to ask such things." replied Ingrid.

"And what about your sister Ellen?" continued Imogene. "Do you think Alice has even written to her?"

"If she had, I'm sure she would have mentioned it. Oh girls, do let's talk about something else!" It saddened Ingrid to think of Ellen.

Just then Mable decided that she must go to the ladies room to powder her nose. Imogene made the most of the opportunity.

"Let's discuss what you're going to tell Edith Baker about Crispin."
"Stuff it, Imogene." said Ingrid elegantly.
"I won't! You're going to talk to that girl and tell her what a leech that man is!"
"Imogene, do you know what I'm doing?"
"Can't imagine, but I know what you will be doing the next time you see Edith!"
"I'm filling my mind with pleasant thoughts of far away places while you babble on, unheeded and unheard."