Lisa, the financial secretary, stopped by Aimee’s desk. “I don’t know about you, but I’m glad we have the afternoon off. I’m bushed.” Lisa slanted a curious glance at Aimee. “You don’t look so good either.”

“I’m all right.” She glanced at the clock. “Only another hour. It does give us a nice break when they have countywide in-service workshops for elementary teachers.”

“Got any plans for the afternoon?”

“The weekly grocery shopping, but I may hold that off until tomorrow.”

When Aimee put her fingers back on the keyboard, Lisa took the hint. “See ya,” she called as she returned to her office.

An hour later when Aimee left the building, a long afternoon loomed before her. Normally, she would be planning dinner on her way home, but unless she put her foot down and told Samantha she couldn’t go to the sleepover, she wouldn’t need to prepare dinner. When she entered the house, it seemed unusually quiet, and she thought sadly that she might as well get used to it.

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud,” she muttered. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Look on the bright side. For fourteen years, Samantha hasn’t given you any trouble, so count your blessings and deal with each situation as it comes.”

Through the window, she saw her friend Erica Snyder driving into her garage. Momentarily, she wished that she could be as calm about life as her neighbor, who had a tendency to shrug off trouble when it came her way.

When the phone rang a few moments later, Aimee figured it was Erica, who must have seen Aimee’s car in the driveway.

“Hi,” Erica said cheerfully. “Tonight is our singles get-together at church. There’s going to be a good program. Want to go?”

Erica was constantly trying to fix Aimee up, and she often invited Aimee to go with her to this monthly meeting at Memorial Church. She’d always turned down the invitation before, but now that Samantha was getting independent, perhaps the time had come for her to try something new.

“All right. I will.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Aimee regretted her impulsive decision.

Silence greeted her for a moment. “Well, not that I’m unhappy that you’re finally going with me,” Erica said, “but I am curious. Why the change of heart?”

“Samantha is going to a sleepover tonight, and I don’t want to stay home alone.”

“Great! The meeting starts at seven. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”

After Erica hung up, Aimee sat at the table and stared into space. “Now, why did you do that?” she finally said aloud. For a moment she considered calling Erica and telling her she’d changed her mind, but Aimee didn’t want to disappoint her friend. For the first time, Aimee realized that she’d been so intent on making a good life for her daughter that she didn’t really have a life of her own. Maybe it was time to change that.

Appraising herself critically in the mirror, Aimee decided that her long black hair needed a trim. And as she surveyed her image, she suddenly thought of the man she’d met at school this morning. He’d been dressed impeccably in a dark gray suit, white shirt and a navy tie. Aimee fleetingly wondered what he had thought of her. Had he even noticed her? She hadn’t even gotten his name.

Making up her mind quickly, Aimee called her hairdresser, who said she could work Aimee in. Two hours later, Aimee wondered if she’d taken leave of her senses when she came out of the mall with a short layered bob and a new outfit.

She was in the bedroom looking at her purchases when Samantha and Jennifer breezed into the house at four o’clock.

“Hey, Mom,” Samantha called. “I’m home.”

Aimee walked down the hall to meet them.

“Hello, Mrs. Blake,” Jennifer said. “You look awesome.”

Aimee was pleased at Jennifer’s comment, since obviously Samantha hadn’t noticed. “I had a trim this afternoon. The hairdresser also shampooed and styled my hair, which always relaxes me.”

“That’s what my mom says. I fix my own hair unless I need color.”

Aimee compared Jennifer’s black, Gothic hairstyle with her daughter’s long, natural blond hair worn in a high ponytail. Aimee’s refusal to allow Samantha to wear her hair like Jennifer’s was another recent source of friction between them.

“Don’t you think your mother’s hair looks cool, Sam?”

With a careless shrug of her shoulders, Samantha said, “Kind of. It doesn’t look like you, Mom. Hey, I need snacks and drinks for the sleepover. You can fix me some stuff while I get my things ready. C’mon, Jen. Help me pack.”