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.”