What Are Friends For?

The other day, Sally, a friend I hadn't seen in quite some time, she lives in another town, called to say she'd bought my book and asked if she could come by to have me autograph it. Of course I was delighted and invited her to lunch. She said she'd arrive about twelve-thirty. So I made a shrimp salad, which I knew she liked, set the table, heated the rolls, cut the cheesecake--and waited. And waited! Twelve-thirty came and went. One, one-thirty slipped by, and still no Sally. Could I have gotten the time wrong? Had she had an accident?

Really worried I went to the door and looked outside, and that's when I saw it: a note tucked under the mat. I hastily picked it up and read it, recognizing Sally's handwriting. She said she'd rung the doorbell three times, but there was no answer so she assumed I'd been called away. She said she was awfully sorry to have missed me, and I was disappointed, too, to put it mildly. And bewildered. I immediately tried the doorbell myself and it rang just fine for me. But wait--it was one of those rectangular shaped bells with a little light in the center and an upper and lower section you could push to make it ring. Push the bottom part and it rang loud and clear, but push the top part, as Sally obviously did, and nothing happened. She said she'd also knocked on the door, but I was in my study at the back of the house (and I don't think she knocked very hard) so I didn't hear her. Fortunately she wrote her cell phone number and I called that immediately and was lucky to find her shopping not too far away. So she came back and we had a lovely afternoon.

But I was worried, knowing something had to be done about that darn doorbell. It was obviously defective and should be replaced, and I wondered if I could unscrew it and put in a new one. I live alone now that my husband's gone, and I've never been what you'd call mechanically inclined, so this was a real challenge. Then the next day, as I was still stewing about it, the doorbell rang. I ran to answer it and there stood the husband of another good friend. An engineer, he had taken out the old doorbell and replaced it with a new one he'd bought at the hardware store, and when I asked him how he knew I needed a new one he said when he and his wife had arrived a few nights before to take me to a concert with them, he'd noticed the doorbell didn't work right. So he simply got a new one and put it in. "No big deal," he said, when I tried to thank him. "After all, what are friends for?"