By four thirty, I’m dressed and ready to go. Even though it’s rush hour and way too early, I load the desserts into the car and drive to Between the Covers. I’d much rather hang out at the bookstore than sit at home alone, waiting.
“Oh my God, these are great!” Charm laughs when she pops off the top of the Tupperware and sees what I’ve brought. “Do you mind if I create a sort of display with them? I’d love to get some shots for social media.”
“Sure.” I’ve had the pleasure of creating and baking. My job is done. “Have at it. Is Annell around?”
“She’s out in the garden. I’m sure she’ll be glad of the company.”
I wander out to the carriage house, where the French doors are flung open, and find Annell kneeling over some flowering bush I can’t identify. Her short salt-and-pepper hair is standing straight up. One cheek is streaked with dirt. She looks incredibly content.
“Oh my gosh!” She glances up and sees me. “What time is it?”
“It’s just after five. I thought I’d come hang out for a while. You’ve got plenty of time before book club. Don’t let me interrupt you.”
“Phew. Got a little panicked there. Have a seat.” She motions toward the concrete bench angled beneath a tree that’s bursting with magnolia blossoms. I sit under its branches and inhale the soft citrusy scent.
“Ummm, this is nice.”
“Yes, this is my favorite spot this time of year. Actually, any time of year.” Annell cuts off another stray branch and wipes her face, leaving another streak. Her fingernails are filled with dirt.
Annell has always been easygoing, happy to talk or respect someone else’s silence. She’s never been one to pry.
For the first time, I realize I’ve been so wrapped up in my own life, I’ve missed out on growing a deeper friendship. I’ve never wondered if Annell is single by choice or by necessity. Whether she worries about money or is as content as she always seems.
I’m lucky that I have been left okay financially. Not exactly rich or anything. But the mortgage is paid off, and the franchises, under the experienced eye of the manager Nate hired and trained decades ago, throw off income.
“I can’t believe I never thought to ask this before, but did you always intend to open a bookstore?”
“Lord, no.” She laughs. “I was living in Boston, teaching English at a private prep school, and imagining myself as a Louisa May Alcott when my parents both took ill. I was an only child, and so I came home to nurse them. After they died, I remodeled the carriage house and set out to prove my talent. When I realized I’d rather read books than attempt to write them, I opened Between the Covers.” She smiles. “It hasn’t always been easy, but I’ve never regretted it. I’ve met some pretty wonderful people, and I can read as much as I want.
“How about you, Judith? Are you doing all right?”
“I’m not sure what that means right now. I . . . I think I’m doing better than I was. But getting through the days . . . I don’t really have a purpose anymore, you know?” I watch her snip off the tiny branches, tamp down the soil around the base of the plant. “What do you do in your spare time besides garden?”
“Whatever I like.”
It sounds so simple. But I have literally never thought about what I do and don’t like. I’ve spent my adult life running around taking care of things. Of my husband. And my children. I’ve never had a great passion. Or a talent. Or something I wanted to be or do. My single aspiration was to be a good wife and mother. Huh.
I mean, I enjoy tennis and golf, and I’m decent at them. But mostly I learned both sports so that I could play with Nate on a vacation or a rare empty Saturday, or with girlfriends when I had the time. And because in my world those things were expected.
But I’m not passionate about them the way a lot of people are. I don’t have a burning desire to start a business or get more involved with running the Chickin’ Lickin’s. The children are self-sufficient.
“How does one choose what to do with one’s time when one could theoretically do anything?”
Annell laughs in surprise. “I’m really not sure how to answer that question. I think it’s different for each of us. But I’m guessing it could be fun to try to figure it out.”
I look at the woman I’m just now coming to fully appreciate. I’m not the first person to have life as she’s known it blown apart, and I certainly won’t be the last. A once favorite line from The Sound of Music forms in my mind: “When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window.” Perhaps it’s time to find a window I can fit through.
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.