“So what?” said Faith. “Everybody says terrible things once in a while. And when they do, it’s up to them to apologize and make up.”
“Mom, where’s the Life game?” asked nine-year-old Julia, calling from the kitchen.
“In the basement cabinet,” said Kari. “Right where it should be.”
Faith had brought the twins and Merit her girls; book club night was as big a social gathering for the kids as it was for the adults. As the children grew, Jody Hammond and the fathers had been relieved of their baby-sitting duties, and now it was up to the older kids to look after the younger kids, a responsibility the older children usually didn’t exploit.
“Is it time for snacks yet?” Julia’s voice was hopeful.
“Not yet, but I’ll let you know,” Kari said. Then, standing, she asked, “Now, who can I interest in a drink?”
Faith was interested, but Merit, who really didn’t care for the taste of alcohol and usually took a drink just to be polite, asked for a club soda.
“Yoo-hoo,” said Audrey, stepping inside, followed by Bryan and Michael.
“You’re kidding me,” said Faith, watching them stomping off snow on the floor mat. “It wasn’t snowing fifteen minutes ago.”
“It is now,” said Audrey. “We’re supposed to get six inches.”
“I didn’t hear that,” pouted Faith.
“The kids are in the basement,” Kari told the boys, who quickly made their exit. She made Audrey a drink and, handing it to her, said, “I’m glad you’re here.”
Faith and Merit echoed the sentiment, and Audrey did what she had been doing a lot lately: she burst into tears.
“I have missed this so much,” she said, reaffixing with her pinky a corner of her false eyelashes that had sprung loose. As if Carnaby Street still wielded fashion influence, Audrey still wore frosted lipstick and wouldn’t leave the house without her false eyelashes. She liked the weight of them on her eyelids, liked how she could feel the tiniest bit of breeze from them if she blinked a lot. Plus she liked how she looked in them.
“I’ve read all the book selections—wasn’t Tobacco Road a hoot?—but I wanted to talk to you guys about them! I felt deprived, incomplete—the way I do if I can’t smoke a cigarette after sex! Oh, God, listen to me rant. I’m just so . . . I’m just so nervous!” Her wide mouth turned down at the corners and her eyes welled again with tears. “Imagine me being nervous about the Angry Housewives! Do you realize how lonely that makes me feel?”
Kari got the box of tissues and brought a plate of brownies to the table.
“Do you realize how hard it is having Slip mad at me?” she asked, shaking her head at the offered brownie (which showed Kari how upset she truly was). “It’s made me wonder what kind of person I am. I always thought I knew what kind of person I was, always liked that person! It’s like God pointing at you and deciding you’re not worthy!”
“But you don’t believe in God,” Faith pointed out. She had been a little jazzed at the beginning of the feud, because it was exciting to have two good friends so mad at each other, exciting to hear both sides of the story. It made her feel at various times like a spy or a diplomat, or simply glad she wasn’t the one fighting. But she had grown tired of it; they couldn’t be Angry Housewives without Audrey, just as the Three Musketeers couldn’t be themselves with Dartagnan or Aramis missing.
“If only the two of you weren’t so blame alike,” said Kari, who had done a lot of thinking on the subject.
“Alike?” said Merit. “Audrey and Slip?”
“Audrey and Slip?” repeated Faith. “I’d say they’re a lot more different than they are alike.”
Kari was surprised. “You really think so?”
“Well, sure,” said Faith. “Just look at them, for God’s sake. Could you ever see Slip wearing what Audrey’s wearing now?”
Any time Audrey glanced down, which she did now, her first view was of her décolletage, which she displayed year-round, regardless of season. This evening she was wearing a snug V-neck lavender mohair sweater and tight jeans.
“It’s true,” said Audrey with a shrug. “I’d have to say I wouldn’t be caught dead in the things Slip wears—I mean, she thinks a crew neck is racy—but come on, girls, you can’t judge a book by its cover.”
“If you think that’s true, Audrey, that you can’t judge a book by its cover, then why do you choose to dress the way you do? Why even bother?”
Audrey inhaled her cigarette, thinking over the question, and then watched the smoke she exhaled. “Well, Faith,” she said finally, “I just like to. I’m not trying to say I’m this or that by the way I dress. I’m just trying to say I like curves, I like my breasts, and here they are for whatever it may be worth to the rest of you.”
“Well, see, Slip would say you’re perpetuating our role as sex object and that you’re subverting your real self by constantly showing your boobs.”
Audrey nodded, more amused than irritated. “I seem to recall having conversations along those lines.”
“And that didn’t hurt your feelings?” asked Merit. “Eric . . .” She frowned, not liking to say his name. “The few times I wore something Eric hadn’t picked out for me, he said things that made me feel so . . . bad.”
Audrey shook her head. “Nobody—not the pope, not that guy who makes up those worst-dressed lists, and certainly not my husband, or ex-husband—could say anything about the way I dress and make me feel bad. Because I like it.”
“See?” said Kari, raising her glass. “That’s what I mean. Audrey has got a lot of confidence; Slip’s got a lot of confidence.”
“Yes,” agreed Merit, “but I think Slip’s confidence comes from what she does, and Audrey’s confidence comes from who she is.”
“Why, Merit,” said Kari, “that’s very astute of you.”
“Very astute,” agreed Faith, taking a cigarette from Audrey’s pack.
Merit blushed like a schoolgirl whom the teacher had singled out for praise.
“So what else do you think?” asked Audrey softly.
“Well,” said Merit, “now I see what Kari means. Everybody knows how much Slip cares about big things like injustice and women’s rights and stuff. Everybody knows how hard she works to change things.” She looked at the arrangement of glasses on the coffee table, trying to concentrate. “I think . . . I think you care as much, but you just haven’t decided if your caring means very much.”
Audrey exhaled a big puff of smoke. “So you’re saying I’m more of a cynic?”
Merit made a moue, then smiled. “Am I?”
“I don’t want to be a cynic,” said Audrey, and Kari was surprised to see a glint of tears in her eyes. “I think cynicism is a fancy way of saying ‘I give up’ or ‘I’m too lazy to try.’ ”
“I don’t know,” said Kari. “I think a lot of people use cynicism as an armor—they don’t want people to know how much they do care, so they cover it up.”
“What book are we discussing?” joked Faith. “The Ego and the Id?”
“What I think,” said Kari, “is that Slip really wants to make up, just like you, Audrey, but she doesn’t know how.”
“Slip knows how to do everything,” said Audrey.
This is Audrey talking? thought Faith. Audrey, who loves nothing more than sparring with Slip?
“So do you,” said Merit. “You know how to do everything too.”
“I know that has no basis in reality,” said Audrey with a sad smile, “but thanks anyway. Now come on—if I’m going to hold it together at all, let’s talk about the book.” Suddenly energized, she reached for a brownie. “Who thought Aurora Greenway could have used a group like the Angry Housewives?”
THE CHILDREN KNEW THE RULES of the book club: they were not allowed to come into the meeting unless there was an absolute emergency. But what children consider an emergency, as opposed to what an adult does, meant at least one or two interruptions.
“Mom, Davey put Bryan in the clothes dryer”
was an incident that happened several years ago and the only one that qualified as an emergency to both children and adults. It had the Angry Housewives breaking speed records as they ran down to Faith’s basement.
As everyone charged into the laundry room, they were treated to the sight of Bryan, visible through the machine’s porthole, holding on to the sides of the dryer drum the way someone does when they’re in a funhouse barrel.
“Uffda,” said Kari as Faith opened the dryer door and Bryan spilled out, dizzy but smiling.
“He wanted to go in there!” Davey had pleaded after Audrey yanked him by the arm, asking him what the hell he was trying to do.
“I did, Mommy,” said Bryan. “It was fun!”
“We were all going to take a ride,” said Davey. Glaring at Flannery, he added, “Until someone tattled on us.”
“I know a kid who died in a dryer,” said Flannery quickly, trying to justify her tattling. “And if Bryan died, we probably wouldn’t get to play at book club meetings anymore.”
“You’re right,” said Audrey, her hand still clamped around her oldest son’s arm. “If Bryan had died, you can bet you wouldn’t get to play at book club meetings anymore.”
Now Julia and Bonnie had trooped upstairs and were halfway into the living room before Kari asked, “No one’s in the dryer, are they?”
“Oh, Mom,” said Julia, “that was just that one time.”
“Well, is there some other sort of emergency?”
The two girls held a whispered conference.
“We were just wondering,” said Julia, “why Flannery’s not here. Flannery always has the best ideas about what we should play.”
“She’s the oldest,” reminded Bonnie, nodding her head.
“Flannery’s not coming tonight, sweetie,” said Kari, “but I know a game you can play.”
“What?” they both asked, excited, as Kari threw a help-me look at her friends.
“Sorry! is fun, isn’t it?” suggested Kari.
“We don’t want to play a board game,” said Bonnie. “The boys always cheat.”
“Well, Beau and Michael don’t,” said Julia. “But Bryan does . . . sometimes. And Joe does too, but he’s not here.”
“I know what you can do,” said Audrey, standing up and starting to gather some of the treats on an empty plate. “You guys can have your own book club meeting downstairs!”
“Oh, that’s a good idea!” said Julia.
“But what about the boys?” said Bonnie, narrowing her eyes. “They can’t be Angry Housewives.”
“I guess you’ll need to come up with your own name,” said Faith.
“Angry Kids?” asked Bonnie.
“Um, I don’t think that really describes who you are,” said Kari.
“How ’bout—”
“Shh!” said Bonnie, pulling Julia’s arm. “Don’t tell them—it’ll be our secret.”
She accepted the plate of goodies with a polite thank-you, and the women listened to the girls’ excited voices as they went into the kitchen and to the basement steps.
“What book will we talk about?”
“I don’t know—how about Black Beauty?”
“Um, how about Blubber?”
“Oh, I love Judy Blume!”
Kari was wearing her light-up-her-face smile. “Good idea, Audrey,” she said. “I think you might have started something.”
“Oh, wouldn’t that be cute?” said Merit. “No, wouldn’t that be great if they did start their own book club?”
“Well, gee, Audrey,” said Faith, who suffered little prickles of irritation whenever someone had a good idea she wished she’d thought of, “you’ve got such a creative mind, why don’t you come up with an idea that’ll make you and Slip friends again?”
Audrey inhaled deeply as she lit her cigarette and waved the match out. She and Faith were the holdouts; inspired by Slip, Merit (Merit! The human chimney!) had quit smoking cold turkey and hadn’t cheated once. “I want to . . . every day,” she had told the others, “but how can I when the girls tell me how much more they like to hug me because I smell so much nicer?”
Three of Audrey’s expert smoke rings quivered toward the ceiling.
“Grant and Stuart said I should come up with some kind of extravagant gesture.”
“Extravagant gesture?” said Faith. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you know,” said Audrey, laughing at Faith’s impatient tone, “something that will get her attention. Listen to me—I sound like some jilted sap trying to get his girlfriend back.”
“So do you have any ideas?” asked Kari, checking cups to see who needed more coffee.
With a deep sigh, Audrey shook her head, her eyes staring ahead.
“Oh, my gosh, look at that snow,” said Merit, following her gaze. “The girls are going to need their boots to walk home in that.”
Faith stood up and went to the window. “They’re not going to need boots, they’re going to need snowshoes.” She stood for a moment, a cigarette held to her lips, her other hand cupping her elbow. “Hey, I’ve got it! Why don’t we have a snowball fight—just like we did when we decided to start AHEB? We can have it in Slip’s yard so she’ll just have to come outside.”
“And then what?” asked Audrey.
“Well, then,” said Faith, thinking, “you can hit her with a snowball and she can hit you and by the time you’re done, all your aggressions will be out.”
Kari shrugged. It might work.
“What about the kids?” asked Merit.
“We could leave a note,” said Faith. “They might not even come upstairs, but if they do, they’ll see the note.”
“I’m in,” said Audrey, stubbing out her cigarette.
FAITH HAD BECOME a devotee of the snowball fight, inviting her kids or Wade and once her in-laws, who’d come for Christmas, to wage snowy war. She had flung snowballs at Slip when she’d returned from a run, and at Kari and Julia when they were sliding down her hill to the creek basin. She had thrown a lot of snowballs since her induction, but the Angry Housewives had never had an all-out snowball fight like the one they had had all those years ago.
Until tonight. As the first snowball smashed against her shoulder, Faith was slaphappy, grabbing at the snow that seconds earlier had been falling from the sky. She was laughing maniacally—the only way possible to laugh during a snowball fight—and had just gotten Merit right on the butt when the front porch light of Slip’s house came on.
Audrey looked up, hope inflating inside her, but instead of Slip coming out to play or to forgive, it was Jerry, in his robe, who stepped out onto the porch.
“Hi, Jerry,” said Kari, and the others chorused their hellos. “We were hoping Slip might want to come out.”
“I’m sorry,” said Jerry, pulling on the lapels of his robe, “but Slip’s asleep. Gil’s a little sick and she fell asleep when she put him to bed.” He looked around at the women standing in the falling snow. “I could wake her up.”
“That’s all right,” said Audrey, knowing she wouldn’t want to be roused out of a warm bed to dodge hard balls of snow. “I hope Gil feels better.”
“Thanks,” said Jerry. “Well, good night.” He made a half turn toward the door and then stopped. “I sure hope things work out between you two, Audrey.”
“Me too,” said Audrey softly as Jerry went back into the house.
IT WASN’T THAT KARI WAS an insomniac; she just didn’t need much sleep. Late at night, with the house making its graveyard-shift tickings and thrummings and creaks, she would work on sewing projects or organize all the scrapbooks she kept on Julia. Sometimes she just sat in the dark, looking out the sewing room window. It faced south and was perched high enough so that she could see Faith’s and Slip’s houses at the end of the block.
It was a time of prayer too, when she’d draw her chair close and thank God for all that she had to be grateful for. She sent up many prayers of gratitude as she looked out that sewing room window, wa
tching the seasons strip the trees or fill them out, watching the path of the moon, the clouds roll in or tear apart, the quick darts of rabbits and birds and, once or twice, a deer.
She loved watching the seasons, which reminded her of people: spring with its softness and tender green buds was a baby, and as the flowers burst forth and the leaves unfurled, a toddler. Brash summer was a child, all blue lakes and blue water and yellow sunshine—full of possibility—until around mid-August it became a teenager, sulky and stormy, a little dangerous. Autumn, beautiful rusty gold and maroon autumn, was a matron in tweeds and sensible shoes who begged you to come outside and take a walk with her while listening to her recite Shakespeare and Byron and Shelley. In very late October, when the crispness of the air was turning cold and the billowing blue sky was now a gray canopy, Kari thought of her grandmother, who had lived with Kari’s family after her stroke. The air and the earth at this time of fall was kind and wistful, just like her grandmother, who always seemed happy to see you, but you knew you wouldn’t be together long.
And winter, of course, was the most ancient of white-haired, blue-veined relatives. But age didn’t mean powerlessness, and this old crone always fooled you with how strong she really was. . . .
Seeing motion, Kari leaned forward. What or who was out in Slip’s side yard at—she looked at the luminous face of the clock above her sewing table—1:35 in the morning?
It didn’t take her long to recognize Audrey; tall, statuesque Audrey was pretty easy to identify, even bundled up in winter, but who was the person next to her, helping her build the snowman? She squinted her eyes—it wasn’t Paul, was it? No, Audrey and Paul were friendly enough; they hadn’t had the acrimonious divorce Merit and Eric had, but still, they didn’t go off together at 1:35 in the morning to build snowmen in a neighbor’s yard—especially a neighbor with whom Audrey currently was not speaking.
No, that wasn’t Paul, thought Kari, and with the tip of her nose touching the pane, she squinted again.
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