A couple of months ago today, I was headed to the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop, somewhere on I-74, listening to a Maeve Binchy book and dreaming of my new adventure. That’s when it happened — I got the call. My husband was calling, mid-afternoon — alarming anytime, but more so today. Who died or what couldn’t he find — equally possible — and the dreaded thought — what can I do about it in the... Read More