Vesta was ready! Her bag was packed and stowed in the trunk. She was just waiting for Velma.
She’d adopted the friends’ custom of exchanging little tokens at each meeting. Vesta had always given grudgingly, rolling her eyes at the calculated exchange of Christmas gifts, the empathy spent on ferreting out the perfect birthday gift, and all the attention paid to her face when she was opening her own. But the wee token, something sweet or funny, given often, took the pressure off both sides of the gift.
Her hostess gift for Scarlett was a blue brooch, wrapped and wedged under the driver’s seat so it wouldn’t slide around in the old Model A. Where was Velma?
Vesta got out of the car and straightened her day suit. Waiting was not her strength.