Bunco Babes Tell All

by Maria Geraci

  “He’s a wonderful father,” Georgia rushed. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  “Well, you have to come to Bunco,” Shea said. “It just so happens one of our regular members isn’t going to make it, which means we need a substitute. Naturally, being Frida’s sister, you get first dibs.”

  Kitty frowned. “What about Christy? Christy Pappas is number one on the sub list,” she explained to Georgia. “Not that I don’t want you to come, it’s just that—”

  “What Christy doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Besides, the three of us make the rules, and I say family goes before the sub list,” said Shea.

  Pilar nodded. “Shea’s right. Family comes first. You’re just sensitive since you live with Christy’s cousin-in-law,” she said to Kitty.

  “Kitty has a new boyfriend. A really hot new boyfriend,” Frida supplied.

  “Please, don’t worry about it. I don’t even know what Bunco is,” said Georgia.

  The Charlie’s Angels trio looked flabbergasted.

  Pilar was the first one to find her voice. “It’s a dice game. A really fun dice game. We play every Thursday night. We’re the Bunco Babes,” she said, as if that explained everything.

  “Actually, we’re only part of the Babes,” Shea said. “There’s twelve of us all together. You have to have twelve to play Bunco. But the three of us are the founders. We make up the rules and we insist you come.”

  Maybe Frida had mentioned this Bunco thing a few times, but Georgia hadn’t been paying attention. She’d hoped to spend some alone time with Frida tonight. Socializing with a bunch of giggly women wasn’t Georgia’s idea of a good time, but there was no graceful way out of it. And it would make Frida happy. “Sure, I’ll come. Thanks.”

  “Great!” said Shea. “My house. Seven p.m. sharp.”

  “Shea makes these awesome frozen margaritas,” said Kitty. “You’ll love them!”

  She watched as Frida said good-bye to her friends and locked the door to the Bistro behind them. Frida took off her work apron and tossed it into a laundry bin beneath the counter. It had been six months since Georgia had seen her sister, but Frida never seemed to change. She wore almost no makeup and let her curly auburn hair go natural. No blow dryers or flat irons for her.

  “What’s really up?” Frida asked. “You look terrible.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You know what I mean. Something’s not right.”

  “How’s business?” Georgia glanced around the small café. The walls were gold with hand-painted murals of seascapes and mermaids. The wooden tables and chairs were scarred and each table had a vase with fresh-cut flowers from the outside garden. There was a smallish kitchen area behind the counter where the customers placed their orders. Frida served coffee, homemade bagels, muffins, and pastries. She opened at the crack of dawn and closed by eleven a.m. But Georgia knew that Frida’s day started at four and didn’t end until well after two p.m. when she finished cleaning and organizing her kitchen. Frida’s insinuation that Georgia was a workaholic was like the pot calling the kettle black. Running a small-town cafe was a hard business, and from what Georgia could see, the payoff wasn’t anything to brag about. But Frida seemed content.

  “Business is business,” said Frida. “Slow one week, crazy busy the next. It all depends on the weather and the tourists. Now answer my question. Why are you here?”

  “I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

  “You know I am. And Ed’s going to be thrilled.”

  Ed Hampton was Frida’s husband. He was an artist (as-yet-undiscovered), a fact Georgia found ridiculously ironic considering her and Frida’s upbringing. Ed helped out in the coffee shop during the morning and painted the rest of the day. He and Frida lived in a small apartment above the Bistro. Despite his lack of ambition, Georgia was fond of Ed. Although she couldn’t help but think that Frida could have done better. They’d been married for twelve years and had no children. Georgia had never asked her sister about that. She’d always assumed it was by choice. “Speaking of Ed, where is he?”

  “He went to see a potential client,” Frida said, her voice turning enthusiastic. “There’s a local restaurant that wants to feature Ed’s paintings. This could be a terrific opportunity for him.” She glanced at her watch and frowned. “I’m supposed to meet him so we can have an early dinner with the manager.”

  “Go on then. I know my way around upstairs. I’ll just take a quick shower and unpack. I hope I’m not going to put you out,” Georgia added. “I know your place isn’t big.”

  “Of course you’re not putting me out. You’re my sister. You’re always welcome. You know that.”

  “Thanks.”

  Frida studied Georgia’s face. “You’re sure there’s nothing wrong?”

  For a brief moment, Georgia thought about telling Frida everything. It had been a long time since they’d talked. About anything important, that is. But if she did, Frida would cancel her dinner with Ed, and Georgia didn’t want that. She put on a bright smile. “You’re always bragging about how great Whispering Bay is. I thought I’d take you up on a few days of sun and fun.”

  “Okay, I’ll buy that.” Frida narrowed her eyes at her. “For now.”