Sixteen

Sara

It didn’t take as much convincing as I expected to get Dorothy to come to book club with me. To my knowledge, it’s the first time she’s left the house since Mitch confessed his sins, except for occasional forays to retrieve bits and pieces of his possessions I threw outside.

She hasn’t spoken since we got in the car and is still staring straight ahead, clutching her purse as we pull into the parking lot of Between the Covers. I’m no longer certain that the fact that she agreed to come is a positive sign. It could just be a desperate need to get out of the house for more than five minutes or be around someone who isn’t me.

“Will everyone there know what’s happened with . . . Mitchell?”

I would have thought the theft of her home would trump all else, but this seems to be her greatest fear, that strangers will know what her son has done. My greatest fear is that despite his reprehensible actions, Mitch might somehow end up with our house or manage to force its sale. Until I know what lies ahead, that fear is a mushroom cloud hanging over me.

“Only if you tell them.”

“Not even your boss?” Doubt etches her face and infuses her voice.

“I’ve told Annell some of what’s going on, but no one else is likely to pry. It’s a book club, not an inquisition.”

“Yes, well, I’ve never been to a book club before.” Her voice drops as if even saying “book club” is somehow dangerous, and I have to remind myself that she’s never even read in public. “Is everyone required to speak?”

“No. No one’s going to force you to expound or argue about themes or meanings. But I find hearing what others think and how they reacted to different parts of the book and the characters brings a lot to the reading experience.”

She nods but makes no comment. As we cross the parking lot, her eyes are pinned on the building. Despite the warm yellow light that spills out of the windows, her shoulders are rigid, and her chin is set in its most determined angle. Her pocketbook, which hangs in the crook of one arm, is held tight to her body, as if she’s afraid someone might attempt to take it off her person. Or maybe it’s just an additional protective layer.

At the front door she hesitates, and I have to fight back my huff of impatience. Her son has turned out to be a liar and a cheat and has stolen her home out from under her, and she’s worried about going to a book club?

“There’s absolutely nothing to be afraid of,” I say a little more forcefully than intended. “It’s just a group of nice people who really like books.”

She nods again, but her shoulders remain stiff. Her smile is small and tight. She steps through the front door with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner approaching the gallows.

Inside, the scent of books wraps around us in welcome. I glance at Dorothy and note her quick intake of breath, and what might be a slight easing of her trepidation. Annell hugs me, and for a moment I’m afraid she’s going to ignore the invisible “do not hug” sign Dorothy keeps pinned to her chest, but as usual, Annell does exactly the right thing and offers a warm smile and a hand clasp. “I’m very glad that you could join us tonight. I’m a big fan of your daughter-in-law. It’s wonderful to finally get to meet you.”

Dorothy manages a small smile as she takes in the seemingly endless shelves of books. “This is . . . this is quite nice.” She says this almost primly, but her eyes are bright and her breathing has kicked up a notch.

“It is, isn’t it?” I lower my voice to a stage whisper. “Don’t tell Annell, but I’d probably work for free.”

“I heard that.” Annell smiles over Dorothy’s head. “I’d worry that I was overpaying you, but we both know how lucky I am to have you.”

As we make our way back to the refreshments, I watch Dorothy take in the children’s section, the cozy reading nooks, the signed book posters on the wall, like a castaway catching a first glimpse of a rescue boat on the horizon. Some of my foster parents grew impatient with me always having “my nose in a book,” but at least none of them tried to dictate what I should and shouldn’t enjoy like Dorothy’s parents did.

At the drinks table, Meena offers a smile and a choice of red or white wine. Judith stands next to her, here but not. Her smile, when she’s introduced to Dorothy, doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Dorothy says as I wrap my arms around Judith and hold her close. I have never understood why we use that word when someone dies. As if she’s somehow misplaced him. I’m the one who “lost” a husband. Or, more accurately, allowed him to be stolen.

“So, you’re Mitchell’s mother,” Meena says.

“Yes,” Dorothy replies, and in that one word I hear her fear. That Mitch has truly jettisoned her along with me and is not, as I suspect, just giving her time and space in which to forgive him. Because while she has every reason to be hurt and angry, when the dust settles, she will still be Mitch’s biological mother while I will be little more than a footnote in his personal history. The first wife. The one who didn’t even know she’d been cheated on for years. Ultimately, I will be a divorcée. Like Meena.

I’m still processing all of this as we move on to the food table, where Jazmine Miller offers us chocolate chip cookies from a bulging bakery box and introduces us to her assistant, a young, petite blonde named Erin Richmond. Nancy Flaherty, who’s also new to the group, stands behind a platter of cupcakes decorated to look like golf balls, complete with white dimpled frosting. Golf tee earrings swing at her ears. Her sweater reads kiss my putt. Angela McBride and Jazmine’s assistant are nibbling on cookies and cupcakes.

The first bite of cookie helps push back visions of myself as a more studious, less outgoing version of Meena. The second bite elicits a smile.

“They’re great, aren’t they?” Erin says. “I’ve already had two, and I think there’s a third in my future.”

“And that’s why those of us who don’t bake, buy,” Jazmine points out. “But I’m definitely going to have to try a golf ball cupcake.” She turns to Nancy Flaherty. “Did you make them?”

“Yes. They’re a specialty of mine. In fact, it was because of my balls that I first got to meet Tiger.”

Dorothy’s eyes go wide at this. They go wider still when Carlotta, Wesley, and Phoebe join us around the food table, along with a guy in an EMT uniform named Chaz. Perhaps I should have warned her that we’re not your garden variety book club.

I sip wine and nibble on a cupcake, comforted by the sounds of conversation and laughter and the simple pleasure of being surrounded by people who love to read as much as I do. By the time Annell claps her hands and tells us it’s time to get started, my shoulders have relaxed and my breathing has slowed. Even Dorothy looks less rigid, as if being surrounded by books has softened her sharp edges or maybe ripped a small hole in her normally impenetrable protective layer.

“I haven’t actually read the book,” Erin admits, her face screwing up in apology as we refill our plates and Judith and Meena top off our glasses. “I didn’t know I was coming.”

“Neither did I.” Judith clutches a bottle of red to her chest as we merge into a bit of a herd and begin to move toward the breezeway. “Until someone dragged me out of my house without warning.” Her usual teasing tone is a ghost of its usual self, but I’m relieved that she’s making the effort.

“Quite a few of us seem to have ended up here unexpectedly,” Dorothy says with a glimmer of humor I’ve never heard from her. “Who knew book club impressment was so rampant?”

“That’s how they used to man British naval ships,” Chaz says, and I’m kind of impressed that he not only knows what impressment is but showed up for a discussion of a book titled City of Girls. “Press gangs rounding up Americans to serve on British ships was one of the causes of the War of 1812.”

“Well, I’d rather be pressed into a book club than the Royal Navy any day,” Carlotta says, tossing back her hair with impossibly long fingernails and smoothing the long fuchsia sweater over distressed black jeans. Somehow, she is once again eating fruit while the rest of us have piled our plates with baked goods.

“That’s for sure,” Wesley agrees.

“Given how seasick you get,” his twin adds, “I don’t think you would have been of particular use to the Royal Navy.”

Our herd thins into more of a column as we pass through the breezeway and into the carriage house. I claim two spots on the window seat while Dorothy peers out the glass doors into the lit garden, a smile hovering on her lips. We’ve only been here about twenty minutes, and she’s already smiled more than I’ve witnessed in the last twelve years.

“Now then, how many of you have read the book?” Annell asks once we’re all settled.

All hands but Erin’s and Judith’s go up.

“Good. Remember that you’re always welcome whether you’ve read the book or not. However, we don’t tiptoe around the details, so there may be spoilers.” Annell smiles. “We do have a few new faces, so let’s run around the circle and introduce ourselves.”

I sip my wine while I listen to intros. Chaz and Nancy are new to me, and although I try to focus on the details they share, my mind wanders back, once again, to Mitch and how utterly he has trampled on my life and his mother’s. When it’s Dorothy’s turn, I tense up briefly, like I do when one of my shakiest students has to address the class, but Dorothy doesn’t wobble or falter. “I was once an efficiency expert,” she says, quite efficiently. “My favorite book is To Kill a Mockingbird. This is my very first book club discussion. Thank you for making me feel welcome.”

I’m still pondering my mother-in-law’s choice of such an emotional read as her favorite given how steadfastly she’s avoided the messiness of true emotion for as long as I have known her, when Jazmine’s assistant stands.

“I’ve never been to a book club before, either. I’m not really a big reader if you don’t count the sports pages, but I did love the Harry Potter books and always wished I was as clever and strong as Hermione.” She glances down as if weighing her next words. “I kind of needed a distraction from my real life tonight, so I’m glad that Jazmine invited me.”

Annell beams. “I’m glad all of you are here tonight. And I want to remind everyone that not liking a book doesn’t mean it was a bad book—it just means you didn’t enjoy it. I’m always fascinated by how differently readers react to the same story and characters. How much of ourselves we bring to the experience someone else has crafted.”

With that the conversation begins, pinging from person to person. Tonight, I let the words flow over and around me, like perfectly heated bathwater that both soothes and buoys. I’m pretty much floating until Phoebe brings up the “awful” way Vivian, the main character, lost her virginity but nonetheless fell in love with sex.

“Did anyone have an incredible first experience?” Meena asks. “I mean, everything takes practice, right?”

This elicits some laughter but, mercifully, no actual answers. Once again, I’m drawn inward. Back to my first time with Mitchell. How he treated me as if I were made of spun glass. The joy I felt the first time he told me he loved me. My tears of happiness and relief when he asked me to marry him and I knew, finally, I wouldn’t live my entire life alone.

Dorothy shifts in her seat beside me, and I remember the first time Mitch took me to meet her, right after he proposed. How I assumed our mutual love of him would be a bond and how excited I was to finally have a mother who was not provided by the foster care system, a mother who would love me because I loved her son. Only she always held me at arm’s length, found fault wherever she could, withheld whatever warmth she had to give.

“Well, I thought it was nice to read a story about female promiscuity that didn’t result in death.” There’s a teasing lilt to Dorothy’s voice I’ve never heard before. “I mean, Vivian does end up a lot better off than Anna Karenina.”

I blink at the laughter that follows. My mother-in-law has proven herself to be many things over the years; funny has never been one of them. I look at her face, the smile on her lips. Who is this woman?

“Well, I didn’t understand why a big star like Edna would have stayed married to that young actor who was such a buffoon. And I don’t think she should have been so nasty to Vivian,” Meena says.

The warm bathwater I’ve been floating in turns to ice. “Seriously?” The word slips out before I can stop it. “You think Edna should have just ignored the fact that Vivian and Celia Ray slept with her husband? And everyone knew it? Edna was the injured party after all.”

Dorothy shoots me a cautioning look. As if I should not be raising the subject of infidelity. As if I’m about to cast aspersions on her son. Or let all of those assembled in on the sorry state of my marriage. Mitch’s other life. His children. The beautiful and fertile Margot.

An uncomfortable and slightly confused silence follows.

Annell ends it, steering the conversation in another direction, then keeping it going longer than we ever would have on our own. I begin to relax again—not enough to be warm and floaty, but enough to appreciate the way Annell offers insights and prompts discussion without lecturing or taking over. How she gives me just enough time to rein in my emotions. I do not meet Dorothy’s eyes.

“All right, then.” Annell nods decisively as she draws the discussion to a close. “Any suggestions for our next read?”

Chaz, the EMT, suggests Bill Bryson’s The Body: A Guide for Occupants. Angela McBride proposes Malcolm Gladwell’s Talking to Strangers.

“I originally hoped we might read and discuss 121 First Dates, the book I mentioned last time?” Meena says. “I’m having a blast with online dating. In fact, I’ve met someone pretty special. And I thought you all might enjoy it.”

“I’m on singlegolfers.com,” Nancy Flaherty offers with a swing of her golf tee earrings and a suggestive smile. “It’s a free site, but I’m pretty sure it’s just for players.”

We look at one another, and I know I’m not the only one trying to figure out if this is a double entendre or she’s simply saying that the site is only open to golfers.

“I bet Erin’s got lots of experience swiping left and right and setting up profiles,” Phoebe says.

“I’ve never, um, actually tried online dating.” Erin shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“Really?” Meena leans forward. “I thought all young people did that today instead of blind dates and that sort of thing.”

Now I wonder if Mitch met Margot online or in person. How long they dated before she got pregnant. Whether he took the job in Birmingham to be with her.

“No. I . . . I’ve only really dated one person.” Erin swallows. “I fell in love with him in elementary school.”

Dorothy sniffs in surprise. Erin blushes.

“Oh. Sorry. I thought you were joking.” This may be the first time I’ve heard Dorothy apologize. Ever. She’s having quite the night.

“We were supposed to get married on New Year’s Day,” Erin continues. “Only . . .”

“Erin, you don’t have to share anything you don’t want to,” Jazmine begins.

“Only he changed his mind.” Erin’s voice is stark and flat.

My eyes tear up. I know what that kind of rejection feels like. The loss. Judith drops her head.

“Wow. That sucks,” Chaz says.

“Big time,” Phoebe adds.

“Yeah.” Carlotta nods. “Men can be real shits. And I’m allowed to say that because I used to be one.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Meena says. “And I totally get that this might not be the right book for us. Especially not right now.” She sends Judith an apologetic smile, and I’m grateful she doesn’t know that what I really need to read right now is a primer on divorce. “So, I withdraw that suggestion. At least for the time being.”

Annell nods in agreement, and I am, as always, comforted by her good sense. “Let’s go with Bill Bryson’s The Body for March. I’ll order copies and let you know when they arrive.”

This elicits a whoop of victory from Chaz.

“And I’ll order copies of the online dating title, too. In case anyone would like to read it,” Annell adds.

We’re about to adjourn when Phoebe raises her hand. “Were there any book club names in the suggestion box?”

“Oh, right. I almost forgot.” Annell rummages through the folders on her lap, then takes out a stack of once-folded pieces of paper and puts on her reading glasses. “Let’s see.” She glances down. “We have Best Cellars, that’s C-E-L-L-A-R—as in where wine is kept.” One eyebrow goes up. “Second is Reading Between the Wines.” She glances at the group. “Followed by Waiting for Merlot and Wines and Spines.”

Angela McBride titters. There’s a snort of laughter from Chaz.

“There does seem to be a certain emphasis on alcoholic refreshment,” Annell observes. “Because we also have Books & Booze and Bookaholics.” She peers at us over her reading glasses, a smile hovering on her lips. “The last sort of sums up the rest.” Her smile grows as she reads, “Drinking Club with a Reading Problem.”

There’s a low belly laugh from Carlotta. A hoot from Jazmine. Soon the whole circle erupts in laughter.

“Well, at least we know where your customers’ priorities lie,” my mother-in-law says with yet another glint of humor.

“We are a thirsty crowd!” Meena crows.

“We are a prime example of a Drinking Club with a Reading Problem!” Jazmine grins.

Annell waits for the laughter to die down. “It seems keeping the suggestions anonymous has inspired a certain . . . creativity. Let’s give it another month and see what else comes in. All in favor?”

There’s a resounding “aye!”

“Hmmm, sounds like it’s time to step up the competition,” Jazmine says, eyeing Angela.

“You better believe it,” Angela shoots back.

“Nothing like a little mental challenge to keep one’s wits sharp,” Carlotta observes.

“Some of us need less sharpening than others,” Meena retorts.

“Very true,” Judith agrees.

“I’m in,” Chaz says.

Phoebe and Wesley grin.

Dorothy and I exchange a look as we all tidy up and gather our things. There’s that glint again.

Let the games begin.