Twenty-Four

Jazmine

When I arrive at Between the Covers, I’m relieved to see Erin’s car in the parking lot. I’ve been worried about her because the closer we get to the Braves home opener the more intentionally upbeat and relentlessly communicative she’s become, as if she needs to convince everyone that she’s not the least bit bothered by how excited the agency is about Josh Stevens. Or more to the point, how excited the Braves are about our client Josh Stevens. He and his surprisingly stellar innings on the road are pretty much all the staff’s been talking about. I’ve even held off the announcement of Tyrone’s deal with Sony until after these first home games of the season, so that the spotlight can shine completely on him. Even though I can’t wait to see Rich Hanson’s face when the PlayStation endorsement deal is announced, there’s no way I’m going to let Tyrone’s pride get bruised again.

I’m imagining Hanson’s shock and awe over Tyrone’s deal when I reach the refreshments table and find Angela, Erin, Sara, and her mother-in-law staring down, transfixed. I feel a good bit of shock of my own when I see the chalk outline of a body, etched out on the tablecloth as if at a murder scene, with cookies shaped and decorated to look like that body’s organs arranged inside.

“These are wild.” Erin picks up a kidney-shaped cookie from a platter that sits beside the body and places it on her plate. “Oh, and look at this one,” she says in delight as she reaches for another. “This is the closest I’ve ever been to an internal organ. I’ve never seen anything like them. Have you?”

“No,” I reply truthfully. The cookies are incredibly detailed, but while I did read the book, I have no idea whether they’re exact reproductions or have been placed in their correct locations within the outlined body. I appreciate a theme as much as the next person, but the brains and kidneys are more than a little unsettling. So are what I think are supposed to be intestines.

Still chatting effusively, Erin adds a cupcake to her plate, helps Dorothy choose an assortment of cookies, then pours herself a glass of wine, falling silent only long enough to take the first bites and sips. I remind myself that she’s not a child and that we all react to stress and unhappiness differently. I’d rather be around upbeat and chatty than Maya’s surly and silent any day.

“Wow. These are awesome.” Chaz circles the body outline before reaching out and picking up a brain. “Did you really make these, Judith?”

Judith nods and smiles. “I saw a decorated cake online that was made for a medical school graduation, and it got me thinking. I made the cookies. But Charm came up with the chalk outline.”

“They look pretty anatomically correct to me,” he says, taking a large bite.

I don’t think I’m the only one trying not to gag as he pops the rest of the brain into his mouth. But then I guess you can’t have a delicate stomach when you spend your days in an ambulance racing from one emergency to another.

There are no anatomically detailed hearts, and I wonder if Judith’s loss made her shy away from reproducing the organ that failed her husband. Did she think of him while she baked? Or were these cookies an attempt to escape what must be constant thoughts of Nate and the life they built together?

Dorothy’s also studying the body, though her gaze has dropped lower. “Am I allowed to say I’m relieved there are no reproductive organs to nibble on?”

Sara, normally so quiet and self-effacing, emits a snort of laughter.

Angela and I exchange a glance. Without a word, we reach for cupcakes.

“I’m kind of hoping the catering at the StarSports suite at the Braves opener will be a little less body-centric,” Angela says as we move to the drinks table and fill our wineglasses.

“I’m counting on it. Chicken wings are about as close as I plan to get,” I agree, holding up my glass in toast.

“I’m pretty excited to have a whole weekend to myself,” Angela says.

“I hear you. I really appreciate Perley taking Maya along on the Destin trip.” At the moment, this is an understatement.

“Well, Lyllie’s not happy that her father and both of her sisters are going to be in the same state let alone the same town, but it was the only way he’d agree to let her go there for spring break with her friends.” Angela smiles somewhat wickedly. “He’s promised to be invisible, but you know Perley. He’s not really built for shrinking into the background.”

“No. Neither of them ever were.” I can’t help smiling at the memory of Xavier and Perley when we double-dated. “They always looked like bouncers no matter what they wore.”

We share another smile as Phoebe and Wesley come through the front door in matching skeleton costumes that make it even more difficult to tell them apart. Carlotta struts in behind them in a flesh-colored dress that not only hugs her curves but outlines them in stitches of white thread. Nancy Flaherty brings up the rear, still clinging to her own personal theme. Tonight’s sweater is a grassy green and reads queen of swing. A golf club topped by a crown is bedazzled beneath the letters.

We mingle. Food is piled on plates, and drinks are poured. Judith accepts compliments on the refreshments with a smile we haven’t seen from her for a while. The hum of conversation grows until Annell leads us to the carriage house, where we formally—and loudly—applaud Judith’s efforts, then dive into a discussion that becomes a bit of a free-for-all, possibly because we already know one another. Or perhaps it’s the result of having confronted, and in some cases ingested, sugar cookies masquerading as organs.

We all agree that the book was fascinating and that while we enjoyed the author’s deft touch and occasionally droll tone, most of us, with the exception of EMT Chaz, are shocked and somewhat horrified by all the things medical science doesn’t understand about how and why our bodies work the way they do.

When the book conversation begins to wind down, Wesley says, “Phoebe and I are ushering at the Braves game Friday night. Anybody else going?”

Beside me, Erin goes still in her seat.

“The press has been going crazy over Josh Stevens,” Phoebe adds. “They’re saying he’ll probably get at least an inning because of the way he’s been performing on the road.”

“Yeah,” Annell nods. “It’ll be cool to see a hometown boy get a chance in an opener.”

I put a hand on Erin’s arm and give it a soft squeeze. I don’t think either of us is breathing as we silently will the topic to change.

“Gosh, I hate to miss it,” Nancy says. “But I’m going to be at a tournament out in LA that Tiger’s hosting.”

Erin and I begin what feels like a joint sigh of relief that the topic is actually changing when Dorothy cocks her head and asks, “Isn’t Josh Stevens the boy you were engaged to?”

Erin manages a smile, but I can tell how much effort it takes. “Yes, he is.”

“Are you going to the game?” Carlotta asks the question I haven’t yet raised, partly out of respect for her privacy and partly because I haven’t wanted to undermine her vow not to cry at the office.

“Well.” Erin clears her throat. “Josh offered tickets to my whole family. Including me.”

“Are you going to take him up on that offer?” Annell asks carefully.

There’s a part of me, the mother part of me, that wants to change the subject and spare Erin from the attention now focused on her. But I’ve known since the first time Angela dragged me here, still raw from the loss of not only the man I loved but the sport I’d devoted myself to, just how much this group, disparate as it is, cares about the individuals who make it up. There is warmth at its core and concern for even its newest members. Kindness, and unconditional support, are unwritten bylaws that we all somehow know and follow. I believe that anyone who comes more than once comes not just for the book conversation but because they can feel it.

Erin hesitates just long enough for me to wonder if she’ll take the leap of faith required to answer truthfully. “My family assumes I don’t want to go. But this is the thing Josh and I always dreamed for him. There’s no way I’m missing it.” She swallows, and the last of the false cheeriness disappears. “But I don’t want to sit with my family. Or with my oldest friends. They know the gory details, and they’d all be sitting there feeling sorry for me instead of being happy for Josh.” She looks down at the hands clasped in her lap. “I’ve been thinking I might just go on my own. You know, buy a ticket and sit around strangers who don’t know anything about me or my connection to Josh.” There’s a slight quiver in her voice, but so far no sign of tears. She is so much stronger than she knows.

“Watching him pitch could be the most painful thing ever. Or maybe it will prove I’m ready to move on. I don’t know. It could go either way.” She shrugs, and I have the oddest desire to stand up and applaud.

There’s a silence then, and just when I’m thinking it needs to be filled, Annell says, “Well, I have an extra ticket if you’d like to come with me.”

I’ve always known that Annell’s a Braves fan, but we’ve never really talked about how often she attends games. I’ve never run into her at Truist Park.

“So do I.” Judith sits up in surprise. “Nate has . . .” She swallows. “I have season tickets. Four of them. Nate used to take key employees and potential franchisees. But we went as a family, too, when the kids were still at home. I’m sure the tickets are in . . . Nate’s office somewhere.” She stumbles a bit on the last mention of her husband. “You could come with me if you like. And I bet Meena would join us—she’ll be back from Mexico on Thursday. And someone else from book club could sit with us. That way you wouldn’t be with people who know you too well. But we wouldn’t be complete strangers, either.”

“Hey, if I can get someone to cover for me Friday night, I’d love to go,” Chaz says.

“So would I,” Sara chimes in. “I don’t want to speak for Dorothy, but . . .”

I see the surprise on Dorothy’s face but also a flicker of interest.

“I’m sure I could round up some extra tickets for anyone else who’d like to go,” I offer, feeling small for not thinking of any of this. “Angela’s going to come to the agency suite with me, and it’s pretty full because Josh is our client. But maybe we could all meet up for a drink after the game. The Battery’s fun, and it’s a good way to wait for the traffic to clear.”

Erin looks up. This time her smile is not forced or overlarge. It carries traces of gratitude and relief. “That would be great. Thank you. You guys kind of rock.”

We decide to make All the Ways We Said Goodbye: A Novel of the Ritz Paris our April read. It’s written by three authors who have come to Between the Covers on a book tour, and it’s been a huge hit with historical fiction fans.

We’re draining the last of our wine and getting ready to disband when Dorothy raises her hand. “Are you going to share the book club name suggestions?”

Sara blinks in surprise.

“Gosh, I’m glad you reminded me.” Annell laughs, opens the folder in her lap, and pulls out a stack of creased pieces of paper. “Okay, let’s see.” She unfolds and leafs through them. “Hmmm. They are a little less alcohol related than last month’s. This time out we have the Biblio Files, the Happy Bookers, Book Enders, Page Turners, and Not Your Mama’s Book Club.” She lifts another handful, her expression bemused. “We also seem to have quite a few blanks.”

“Entirely blank pieces of paper?” Phoebe asks in surprise. “Do you think someone dropped them in by mistake?”

“It seems hard to imagine why anyone would put them in on purpose,” I say.

“Yes.” Sara spears her mother-in-law with a look. “Why, it’s almost as if someone was trying to psych someone else out or something.”

Dorothy looks innocent. Sara continues to look suspicious. When neither of them speaks, Annell, who doesn’t really try to hide her smile, moves on. “All right, then; any feedback?”

“I like all of them—but especially Not Your Mama’s Book Club,” Erin says. “Because we so aren’t.”

“Yeah. It’s got some attitude going for it,” Carlotta says, crossing one long curvy leg over the other. “Definitely sets a tone.”

“Hear! Hear!” Judith raises her glass. “Even though some of us could actually belong to your mama’s book club.”

Annell laughs. “It’s all a state of mind.”

“Page Turners is clear and practical,” Phoebe says. “So is Biblio Files.”

“I’m not sure I want to be a Happy Booker,” Wesley says.

“Have to agree, man.” Chaz pops a final cookie into his mouth. “People might get the wrong idea.”

Annell grins. “So, what do you think? Have we heard one we want to go with? Or do we want to give it another month?”

“I say we take another month . . .” Phoebe begins.

“. . . because it deserves more thought,” Wesley finishes.

“I agree.” A small smile plays on Sara’s lips. “After all these years of namelessness, there’s no need to rush. We want to pick something really special.”

“Sounds right,” Dorothy agrees. “I’m still eager to hear what the prize for coming up with the winning name is. You know, just to help with inspiration.”

“Good point,” Annell concedes. “Let me think about that and get back to you. Now that we’re doing this, I’d love to have lots of entries to choose from.

“Oh, and before you go, let’s get a count of how many available tickets we have for the Braves game and how many people want to go.”

I steal a last look at Erin as a count is taken. I’m proud of how well she appears to be handling it all, but I’m glad that she’ll have us holding her hand, both figuratively and literally, on Friday night.