"Uh, no. Not much."

"Do you know why?"

Bonnie let her eyes dart around the room. She was waiting for the punch line. "Noooo. Why?"

"Because I've got a whopper of a secret."

Bonnie jumped to her feet. "How about I make us some tea?"

"I'll have scotch, neat"

She stopped in midstride. "You don't drink."

"I do tonight, sister." Charlotte pushed herself up from the floor and passed Bonnie on her way to the dining room sideboard. She came back with a bottle of Glenlivet and two shot glasses. "And so do you, if you know what's good for you. Come on."

Bonnie followed her into the rarely used living room, thinking, Charlotte's going to tell me she's a lesbian and she wants to do it in the formal living room.

"Don't worry. I'm not a lesbian." Charlotte plopped down on the sofa cushions, then poured. "I hope this booze is still good. Somebody brought it to the house after the funeral. Here."

Bonnie wasn't sure what toast would be appropriate for the occasion, so she said, "Bottoms up?" then slammed it back.

Charlotte did the same and began thumping her chest, gasping. "That stuff's poison," she choked out. "I'm going to have to pace myself."

Bonnie studied Charlotte as she sank back into the sofa and closed her eyes. She loved this young woman like a daughter. She loved Charlotte's children, and she'd loved Kurt. And over the years the two women had shared everything-childhood traumas, political beliefs, parenting philosophies, thoughts on organized religion, God, death, and the afterlife.

But Charlotte was right. They'd never really talked about sex.

Bonnie learned early on that it was not a topic Charlotte felt comfortable discussing, and she'd assumed it had to do with the difference in their ages. For Charlotte it would have been like talking about sex with her mother. Besides, how many stories had Charlotte told about growing up the daughter of strict Baptists? Bonnie just figured the subject was taboo.