“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.”