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.
Twenty-Five
Erin
It’s Wednesday night, and my brothers, who have no doubt already consumed the casseroles and potpies my mother regularly stuffs into the freezer of the rental house they share, which looks and smells like a frat house, are here for a midweek home-cooked meal.
We’re devouring my mother’s justifiably famous buttermilk fried chicken when I mention that I’ve decided to go to the Braves game after all.
“Oh, that’s wonderful news. I know Penny and John will be thrilled to see you. We have seats right behind home plate.”
For a minute, I think the chicken I’ve just swallowed is going to come back up. Penny and John are Josh’s parents. Whom I once thought of as second parents.
“Actually, I’m planning to go with some people from book club.”
“You joined a book club?” My mother looks as if I’ve just admitted I joined a cult. “You never said.”
“I only went the first time because Jazmine invited me, and I couldn’t really say no.” I don’t mention that it was a pity invite to pry me out of the ladies’ room. “I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure that I would keep going. But I . . . I kind of like it.”
“You’d rather go to the game with strangers than with us?” my father asks, unable to hide his surprise.
“No, not strangers. Just new friends that you don’t know. Yet.” I consider telling them exactly what I admitted last night at Between the Covers, but to them I’ll always be the baby of the family. Their little girl who needs protecting. They don’t know that I’m working on becoming a genuine kick-ass Disney version of myself.