The Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society

by Darien Gee

  “I know. I’d like that, too.” Hannah looks at the bananas in Frances’s cart. “Did they ask you to bring fruit?”

  Frances nods. “Baxter’s mother had made gluten-free cupcakes but they don’t sell them in the bakery. I think Noah’s teacher thought it would be easier to make a fruit salad. Which I’m sure it is.” She picks up a cantaloupe and gives it a halfhearted thump.

  “How many kids?” Hannah asks.

  “Twenty-two. Plus Miss Howe, the teacher.”

  “Cutting up fruit for twenty-three people isn’t going to go a whole lot faster than baking two trays of cupcakes,” Hannah says. She lifts a slender wrist and checks her watch. “I’d be happy to help, Frances. My mornings are slow since most of my cello lessons are after school or in the evenings.”

  “That’s a nice offer,” Frances says, “but I don’t know anything about baking gluten-free cupcakes.”

  Hannah smiles. “I do.” Her eyes cloud with concern for a moment. “But tell me first: Who’s Newton and is he okay?”

  The next two hours are a blur—Hannah efficiently leading them through the store, picking up ingredients as she explains how her neighbor is allergic to gluten but loves baked goods. At the Latham home, Hannah doesn’t seem to notice the mess, the evidence of this morning’s breakfast still on the table, the piles of laundry that need attending to. The recipe is quick and simple—butter, sugar, gluten-free flour, eggs, milk, and vanilla extract—and while the cupcakes are baking they whip up a homemade buttercream frosting. With Brady’s help, they frost and top each cupcake with a generous handful of colorful sprinkles that Frances always keeps on hand. They don’t talk about Mei Ling, about how Frances’s life feels like it’s falling apart at the seams. Instead they talk about food, about her boys, about the cello, even Jamie. Frances can tell they’re in love and it makes her think about Reed and the chasm that’s grown between them because of what’s happened.

  When Frances drops off the cupcakes she receives a heartfelt cheer from Noah’s class. Noah is beaming with pride and Baxter is thrilled to be having a proper birthday after all (Newton was sadly absent having been rushed to the vet). As her middle son gives her a grateful hug, Frances feels something inside her shift. It’s subtle. While she wouldn’t call it a happy decision, she knows that it’s the right one, at least for now.

  She stops at Reed’s office on the way home. It’s too important to wait until dinner, and she doesn’t want him unmoored any longer than he has to be. She spies him through the glass wall of his office, talking with a coworker, and is struck by how much she loves him. It makes her decision even more certain.

  Brady is the first to call out. “Hi, Dad!”

  Reed looks up, surprised. “Brady,” he says, striding over to them. He lifts Brady from her arms, pulls Frances in for a kiss. He buries his face in her hair. She inhales him, this scent of her husband. It’s only been a couple of days but she’s missed it.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry about Mei Ling. It hasn’t been easy for me but I can only imagine how difficult it’s been for you.”

  “I know,” she whispers. He guides them back to his office, closes the door. Brady is instantly taken by the stapler and tape dispenser. Reed hands him some scratch paper.

  “Let’s talk about it more tonight,” he says.

  Frances shakes her head. “I think we’ve said everything that needs to be said.”

  Reed looks sad. “I know. But are you okay with it?”

  She gives a small lift of her shoulders. “I don’t know that I ever will be,” she admits. “But I don’t want to make a decision as big as this unless we’re both on board and feeling confident. Really confident. And I accept that we’re not there, as much as it breaks my heart. But our life is good. Really good. And I’m grateful for that.”

  Reed nods. “Me too.”

  Frances takes a deep breath. Her voice is shaky. “So I think we should let the agency know that we’re turning down the referral.” Reed is silent.

  “I also don’t think I can go through this again. Maybe adoption isn’t for us—for me, at least. I don’t feel right bringing another child in when I’ll be thinking about her and what could have been.”

  There’s a doubtful look on his face. “Are you sure about this, Fran?”

  She stares at him, her heart racing for a moment. “I’m sure. Are you not sure?”

  He hesitates but then he says, “I’m sure enough.”

  They stare at each other. Frances takes her husband’s hands, accepting his decision and her own even though she wishes it could have been different. This is still good, and she has to remember this and not let it tear them apart as it has other families. “I love you, Reed,” Frances says simply.

  “I love you, too, Fran.” He leans toward her, kisses her gently.

  “I’ll call the agency in the morning,” she says. “I want to be the one to do it.” She feels her heart clench but there’s a sense of renewed determination. “And then I want to get our life back to normal.”

  “Normal?” Reed chuckles as he gives a wry shake of his head. “No such luck. We left normal years ago.” He brushes his hand along her cheek and Frances can tell he’s sad, too. “I know you’ve been pushing yourself, and it’s been a rough week. And I’m sorry that I have to leave tomorrow for Arizona.”

  “It’s only a couple of days,” she says. “I’ll be fine.”

  Reed watches Brady as he pulls out the last of the Scotch tape, having successfully taped Reed’s chair to his desk. “Hey, why don’t you take a break from everything tonight? Call a girlfriend or go see a movie? I’ll watch the boys.”

  Frances considers this. She’s out of her pajamas, after all, so she may as well make the most of it. She doesn’t want to bug Hannah who’s already been so generous with her time today, but it’s the second Thursday of the month and most of the moms she knows already have plans. The idea of being alone holds little appeal. “Thanks, but no one’s available tonight. Everyone’s been scrapbooking these days, and there’s a meeting so they’ll be going to that. They have a potluck dinner and then scrapbook for a few hours. It’ll be late by the time they’re all done.”

  “Why don’t you join them?” Reed suggests. “That sounds like fun.”

  “Maybe.” There are so many things that she should do first—clean the garage, pack away the summer clothes—that she feels a bit guilty at the thought of sticking pictures on paper.

  “It’ll be good for me, too,” Reed says. “I miss hanging out with the boys. Maybe I’ll take them to the arcade, challenge them to a couple rounds of air hockey.”

  “That sounds like the perfect activity right before bedtime on a school night,” Frances says, but it makes her smile.

  “I’ll get them to bed, so you don’t have to worry about it. Go to this scrapbooking meeting, Fran. Sound good?”

  Frances looks out the window. Maybe the change of pace will do her good, help her get her mind off things, steel her for the difficult conversation tomorrow. She went to one meeting a couple of years ago and it was fun. “Okay,” she agrees. “That does sound good.”

  Trick McGaughy, 52

  On-Air Personality and Radio Host, KAVL 94.5 FM

  “This is Trick McGaughy and you’re on KAVL 94.5 FM, Avalon. What’s your question?”

  “Hi, Trick. My mother-in-law is driving me nuts. We have a five-year-old boy and she keeps buying him toys and candy even though we tell her not to. It drives my wife crazy, which in turn makes me crazy. What should I do?”

  Trick leans in to the microphone and steeples his fingers together. “How long have you been married?”

  “About seven years.”

  “And your boy—how’s he? Good kid?”

  “Yeah, he’s great. We don’t want her spoiling him with stuff we don’t agree on.”

  “Huh. Well, I think I have an answer to your problem. Ready? Here it is: GET OVER IT. She’s doing exactly what a grandma’s supposed to do. Consider your
self lucky that she’s involved at all. Let’s move on to our next caller … this is Trick McGaughy and you’re on KAVL 94.5 FM. What’s your question?”

  “Hey, Trick. Just want you to know I love your show and your straight-shootin’-tell-it-like-it-is advice. It’s helped me with each of my three divorces, and I appreciate it.” The man’s voice is gravelly and he coughs.

  Smoker, Trick decides. Fifties or sixties. Probably got a paunch around his belly. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he says, pleased. “What can I do for you today, sir?”

  “Well, I haven’t had much luck with the ladies, as you can probably guess. But there’s this new gal at work and I think there might be a spark …”

  “Whoa, let me stop you right there. I think we both know how this is going to turn out.”

  The man protests, “But I’m telling you, this gal is different, Trick.”

  “She might be, but you’re not. I don’t think the problem is with the ladies, my friend. I suggest you take a little alone time, maybe pick up a hobby or two. What about fishing? You like fishing?”

  “Not rea—”

  “I suggest you spend your money on a good reel and learn to do a little catch-and-release. That’s where you let the fish go after you catch them. Might be a good lesson for you to carry into your romantic life—I’m not so sure you want another divorce under your belt. It shortens your life span. Next caller, you’re on the air with Trick McGaughy …”

  Trick has a one-hour slot including the occasional commercial, so he takes his time listening to the rest of the callers and doling out his sage advice. It’s the same old thing—boyfriends who won’t commit, bosses intimidating employees, stressed out babysitters, love affairs gone awry, wives catching husbands watching illicit videos on the Internet. The problem across the board is relationships, which is why he’s single and has been for a long time. He’ll take loneliness over drama any day.

  His producer, Damian Moon, taps his watch and points to the board. One caller to go and then they’re done. Easiest job in the world. He’ll head home, throw in a frozen pizza, watch a little TV.

  “… and you’re listening to KAVL 94.5 FM with Trick McGaughy. Ask me your questions, I’ll tell you no lies. What’s your question?”

  “I would like to know what your credentials are for giving people advice!” comes a snappy voice over the studio speakers.

  Trick looks at Damian who shrugs his shoulders. “Just this thing between my ears called a brain,” Trick says. “I try to use it when other people can’t seem to find theirs. Most people have too much therapy—I’m their quick and easy alternative to a better life.” Ha, take that, lady!

  “A better life? Quick and easy? What planet are you living on? I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to trivialize people’s issues!”

  “Hey, they call me, I don’t call them. And I don’t hear anyone complaining.” In fact, Trick has a stack of fan mail that says the opposite.

  “I’m complaining, young man! A woman in my scrapbooking club called you, quite distressed about a debate she’d been having with her husband over a new car. They’re retired, they have no debt, and you told her to stop being a tightwad and to loosen up, that life’s too short. Well, I’ll have you know that she took your advice to heart and cashed in one of her IRAs so they could buy this new car. Which her husband drove straight into a tree because the man is as blind as a bat. Thank goodness he didn’t hurt himself or someone else!”

  Trick vaguely remembers the caller, maybe two or three months back. “Lady, I am not a financial analyst and I don’t work for the DMV. I tell it like it is. I’m giving out my opinion, that’s all. And you should probably consider the fact that since the car was new, it might have saved his life. If they’d bought an old clunker, it might have folded up like some old accordion.” Damian gives him a triumphant thumbs-up and Trick grins.

  “Oh?” the woman says, her voice loud. “Is that what you think, Mr. Big Shot?”

  Mr. Big Shot. Trick squares his shoulders even though she can’t see him. “Yeah, that’s what I think. And I think you should mind your own business, lady. People have a hard enough time in life without having other people butt in. People like you are the problem, not the solution. If your friend doesn’t like the advice I gave, she should be calling me, not you.”

  “I’ll have you know that one of the great blessings in life is to have people around you who care,” she counters huffily. “Did you call for help when his car hit the tree? Drive his wife to the hospital, arrange a phone tree so people could offer good wishes and send food over? Are you the one sitting in the hospital room with him? Cleaning their house? Talking to the insurance company? Making sure their cat is fed?”

  Trick shifts uneasily in his chair. “Lady, I don’t even know these people.”

  “My point exactly.” There’s a smugness in her voice. “Now, I know people will keep listening to you no matter what I say. I know you live alone and keep to yourself. That’s no way to live, Mr. McGaughy. We all need people. So I’ll be coming by the studio—”

  Trick looks at Damian in alarm. He doesn’t do personal appearances and he most definitely does not want to put a face to any voice. “Don’t come by the studio—” he begins.

  “—and dropping off my card, along with some materials so you can come to a meeting of the Avalon Ladies Scrapbooking Society and meet some of the people who listen to you. And this time, I think you should listen to them. You might learn a thing or two about real life and be able to give out more thoughtful advice in the future. And since I know we’re live on the air, I have all your listeners as my witnesses, and the ladies of the Society will be making it their mission to call you until you come to a meeting.”

  “I’m not coming to any meeting and that’s all we have time for today. This is Trick McGaughy and—”

  “—and Mr. Moon, your mother and I go way back. She’s a fine woman and a member of the Society, too. We’ll be expecting both of you at our meeting tonight.”

  Damian looks panicked and hits the button to queue the music, but it’s too late. The damage has been done.

  Trick pulls the headphones off his ears and stares at Damian. “What was that?”

  “Man, she told my mom?” Damian says with a shake of his head. “That’s low.”

  “Well, I’m not going,” Trick says stubbornly. He doesn’t like being coerced like this. This is why he doesn’t interact with people directly unless it’s absolutely necessary.

  “Did you hear her?” Damian looks chagrined. “You have to! Plus I don’t want my mom on my case—she’s already threatening to kick me out.”

  Trick is disgusted. “I don’t know what you’re doing living at home anyway—you’re forty, Damian.”

  “Hey, it’s free rent, man. Not all of us get to be big radio stars. Plus she has cable …”

  Trick just shakes his head.

  “… and she’s my mom.” Damian looks down. “She’s been lonely since my dad died. Marcia got the house after my divorce and I didn’t have a place to live—it works out well for both of us. It’s kind of nice, actually.” He looks up at Trick. “Look, I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d go, Trick.”

  Trick makes a face. He’s worked with Damian for about ten years, but he doesn’t mix his personal life with his work life. And a scrapbooking meeting? Trick doesn’t even know what that is. “Sorry, buddy, but I have plans tonight.”

  “No, you don’t. And Trick, I’d do it for you.” The look on Damian’s face is serious, and Trick knows he’s right.

  “Fine,” Trick finally grumbles. “I’ll go.” He breaks into a grin when Damian claps him on the shoulder in happy relief.

  “You’re a good friend,” Damian says, and Trick looks at him in surprise. He doesn’t keep company with anyone so this is a label he isn’t used to. “My mom always brings this meatball corn stew that’s really good. I’ll tell her to make extra for you. Hey, you’ve never even been over to our place! Why d
on’t you stop by before the meeting? I’ll give you directions. You know, I bet those old ladies will have tons of questions for you. This might even be kind of fun!” Damian is babbling like a teenager.

  Trick’s not so sure about that, but there’s no backing out now. As for fun, well, Trick’s annoyance is turning a bit into admiration—it’s not every day he has a caller who can steamroll him like that, and he has to admit that he’s a bit curious to meet this lady who sounds like someone’s grandma. Trick thinks back to his own grandmother, now long gone, and just as feisty.

  “Meatball corn stew,” he says with a nod. “All right. I’m in. What time do you want me there?”

  Chapter Nine

  “This is so typical,” Isabel complains as she stirs her tomato soup. She drops in a handful of croutons, wishing she’d thought to pick up some real food before coming over. Yvonne never seems to have more than soup and rice cakes in her pantry. “You find the only available guy in Avalon, and of course he’s a looker.”

  “Make that with a capital L.” Yvonne is glowing.

  Isabel shoots her an annoyed look. “But he does live with his mother,” she reminds her.

  “Yeah, the jury’s still out on that one. But maybe he’s got a good reason, like she’s sick or something.” Yvonne’s brow furrows. “Although she looked pretty healthy to me. So that’s probably not it.”

  “Maybe he’s gay,” Isabel suggests a bit too hopefully.

  “Nice try. I don’t think so.” Yvonne is smirking.

  Isabel points her spoon at Yvonne. “I got it. He’s the devil in disguise.”

  Yvonne rolls her eyes.