WendyLady

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At least, that's what Evie said to everybody. "When he's
gone, we talk every other day, cause my darling Fred
doens't care what phone calls cost. He never has," she'd
gloat to her girlfriends after they'd downed a bottle of
wine.
"Hic. He brings me flowers and wine and takes care
of my puppy sometimes. Hic. More wine, anyone?"
she'd say. Of course, this was only occassionally, and
she'd never get flat-out drunk, just slightly tipsy, enough
to make her tired. She didn't believe in drinking.
But she never mentioned phone calls unless she'd had those
three or four glasses of wine.
Evie and Fred (when he was in town, of course), went out at
least three nights a week. Fred had wanted to move in with
Evie, but, considering she was still in college, and so was
he, she refused to let him move in. They'd been dating for
two years now, and her parents thought he was wonderful.
He was funny, talented, and would be rich someday.
But that didn't matter now. Evie was still crying. Her
neighbor, an older woman with graying hair walked past
Evie's door and looked in.
"Evie? Evie, darling, are you all right?" Mrs. Winters
asked gently. Evie looked up abruptly and wiped her eyes.
She looked at Mrs. Winters dazedly, then across the room at
her raincoat sitting in a crumpled mess on the floor. She
looked shamedly down at her golashes, fiddling with the top
edge.
"I'm... fine, Mrs. Winters. Do you want help with those
groceries?" Evie lied. She crossed her fingers and stuck
them discreetly in her boot, hoping Mrs. Winters believed
her a little.
"Child, you're far from fine. I had two daughters of my
own, and whenever they threw their raincoat on the floor
and sat in the corner crying with their golashes, something
was wrong. What's on your mind? You carry this bag of
groceries and tell me what's the mattter. And don't call
me Mrs. Winters. Call me Mary."
Evie took the brown paper bag from Mary and walked two
doors down the hall with her. Mary turned the key in her
door and let the two of them in.