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With the pages in hand, I cross the street to Graydon’s and ring the bell. While I wait, I check out the indented garage door. For sure, he was loaded last night. I wait thinking he could be sleeping off a hangover.
Then he opens the door. “Nora…”
“Am I too early?”
“No. Come in.”
When I pass him and walk into the foyer, his body gives off a woodsy, citrus scent. Not a hint of alcohol. And he’s dressed in khaki shorts and a navy tee shirt with flip flops. A sure sign he’s been up for a while.
He leads me into the kitchen. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
He takes two brightly colored mugs from the glass cabinet and fills them. I glance around the ultra-modern kitchen that’s bright with a sliding door to the patio.
He places the mugs on the …show more content…

Next he takes a sharp, long knife from the drawer and slices the bread.
“Last night, my golf buddies and I tied one on. French toast is the ultimate cure for a hangover.”
“Yeah, my mother heard you pull into the driveway with a bang. She’s a light sleeper.”
“Oh I’m sorry. Tell her it won’t happen again.”
I nod. “Accidents happen.”
He looks up. “Tell that to my insurance company. You know, Elizabeth spoke highly of your mother. I think she called her Rachel.”
“Are you sure? My mother never mentioned she knew her.” “I’m positive. She said they had several lunches together.”
Without a beat, he takes several eggs from the refrigerator, cracks them hard into a bowl. With expert precision, he whisks them followed by soaking the thick pieces of challah in the egg mixture. He turns on the burner of the stove, places the bread in the frying pan with oil and butter.
Five minutes later, the toast with crispy bacon is on my plate.
Quickly, I wolf a mouthful. “Wow. You’re quite the chef.”
“Several years ago, I took up cooking and making wine to help me unwind.” He bites into a piece of bacon, and swallows a forkful of French toast.
“Has it worked?” He frowns. “Sooner or later, everything takes a back seat to writing. I hope you’re all right with that? Elizabeth wasn’t.” He gives me a sharp look.
“It depends.” I place my fork on the table and pull my chair back. “I should go. Simon, the creative director, wants to see my radio and TV scripts tomorrow. But if you have

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