"The Last Radical"

Published in Futures Magazine, April-May, 2001

Excerpt

Soft explosions of flame crackled and licked the side of the grill. The tang of charred meat filled the air. I edged closer, prepared to supervise, but when David, who had taken over chef's duties, spotted me, he raised his eyebrows and lowered his chin, his way of warning me to back off. I picked up the Merlot and refilled my guests' glasses.

"Ellie, I shouldn't." Jamie covered her glass with her hand. My neighbors, Jamie and Ted Matheson, were over for dinner with their son Conrad.

"Nonsense," I said. "This could be the last barbecue of the season. We'll be shoveling driveways soon enough. No. I'll be shoveling driveways. You'll be calling the snow plow service."

Jamie hesitated, then tipped her glass toward me. "Okay," she smiled.

Though the Mathesons live only two houses away, the few hundred feet that separate us might as well be the Berlin wall. I live in a modest colonial with Rachel, my twelve-year-old daughter. The Mathesons live in a six-bedroom estate with a cedar shake roof and acres of woodland in back. Ted, an Internet security consultant, travels a lot. So does David, who lives in Philadelphia but spends most of his weekends out here in Chicago.

Jamie and I, both work-week widows, had gravitated toward each other, though in truth, I'm a little in awe of her. Not only is she president of the PTA, but she sings in the church choir, serves on the Village's quality of life committee, and used to be the soccer team parent. She's also a gourmet cook.

All content © Libby Fischer Hellmann.