One Perfect Year. Melinda Curtis

because my granddaughter works 24/7. That’s a term, isn’t it?” She arched a silver brow as she looked at Shelby. “24/7? Or is it 7/24?”

      “24/7.” Shelby tried hard not to smile. “It was lovely to see you all again, but I really need to be going, I’m meeting—”

      “Tell me.” Mildred’s round white curls complemented her plump pink cheeks, but her gaze was unfocused, giving away she had deteriorated vision. “What kind of car do you drive?”

      “A white SUV. Why?”

      Mildred shook her head. “Young people nowadays. No imagination. No spunk.” In Mildred’s youth, she’d blazed many trails, including being one of the first female professional race car drivers. “I expected more from you, Shelby.”

      “Her vehicle is practical,” Agnes pointed out kindly.

      “But boring.” Rose patted Shelby’s other hand. “No offense, dear.”

      “None taken.” Shelby pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and checked the time.

      “She needs to take some risks,” Mildred interjected. “Fast curves, fast dancing, fast men.”

      Shades of Carl Quedoba. Shelby stood. “It’s been lovely, but I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now.” Shelby hightailed it out the door.