The Newport Ladies Book Club: Daisy

by Kilpack, Josi S.

  “Shannon had to work a later shift, so she’ll be here next month,” Ruby interjected after we’d been chatting for a few minutes. “And then Athena called me about an hour ago and said she couldn’t come—something came up.”

  “That’s too bad,” Livvy said, looking genuinely concerned. “I hope it’s nothing serious. Did she give any clue as to why she couldn’t make it? I feel bad she’s missing her own book suggestion.”

  “None.” Ruby shook her head and took the first of the éclairs resting on a pedestal cake plate on the coffee table. “But that’s why I ended up making these. Athena was supposed to bring the treats this time.”

  I could smell the chocolate—why could I smell the chocolate? I was hungry, but the éclairs didn’t sound very good. Still, I didn’t want to be rude as Ruby passed the cake plate around, so I picked up one of the small cocktail napkins and then chose an éclair, the smallest one with the least frosting.

  “Could be a work deadline or something else with her magazine,” I said. I’d looked up her magazine, Newport Travel, a few days ago. So many online magazines were being thrown together by anyone who had anything to say, and I had wondered how hers would compare. It was very crisp and included more than just information on traveling through Newport. I’d looked forward to talking to her about it. Too bad she hadn’t been able to make it to group.

  “I’ll give her a call later to see if she’s okay,” Ruby said. She picked up her copy of The Poisonwood Bible from the coffee table and officially began with the book talk. “Since Athena picked this month’s book, she was supposed to lead the discussion, but I suppose I’ll have to do.” She chuckled and consulted some papers she’d printed off the computer. She gave us some basic biographical information about Kingsolver and her work, then started discussing the actual book. “Okay, so my first thought was about the nature of religion and how it impacted the lives of the five female voices in the book. I believe in prayer and Jesus and all that, but I’m not much for organized religion, and books like this kind of make me glad I’m not—especially as a woman.”

  I couldn’t help but look at Paige, who had already told us she was a practicing Mormon. I was a little surprised that Ruby would state her opinion so strongly so early in the discussion. Paige seemed to realize she’d ended up in an unexpected spotlight and she cleared her throat.

  “I don’t think the problem is with organized religion, per se,” she said. “Throughout history, people have used religion and God as an excuse to do all kinds of terrible things. But religion was just that—their excuse. Religion has done as much to bring people together and accomplish amazing things as it has to destroy. It’s powerful.”

  She picked up her éclair, but put it back down when no one else spoke. She looked around and must have taken our silence as a sign we expected her to say more. “You all know I’m a Mormon,” she said. “Something you might not all know is that my church helps people all over the world. One of its missions is all about reaching out to those in need. In that way, I think organized religion is a really good thing, not just for its members, but for the people they can help.”

  Ruby leaned forward. “When you say help, don’t you just mean the boys in suits who teach about your church?”

  Paige shook her head and went on to describe the extensive service her church provided to all types of people. She also mentioned Mother Theresa and all the good she did as a Catholic nun. I knew all about Mother Theresa, but I kept that to myself. I wasn’t just raised Catholic, I was raised Catholic—Sunday Mass, first communion, praying to saints, the whole thing. I never questioned it, really, just nodded and listened and tried to be a good girl so I’d never have to confess anything. It wasn’t until I got older that I learned about the Crusades and politics.

  Paige continued to talk about a bunch of other non-Catholic religious people—some of whom I’d never heard of. The last person she brought up was Jesus. I avoided her eyes and nibbled at the éclair, but I wasn’t hungry, and sugar didn’t sound good, so I returned it to my napkin.

  “He was a good man,” Ilana said. “I’m Jewish, so, well . . .”

  She trailed off, but one look at Paige showed how hard the comment had hit her.

  After another moment, Paige continued. “I guess what I’m saying is that some people get so wrapped up in one thing—and it could be a good thing, even—that they lose sight of what’s most important. So that thing could be saving the heathen, like Nathan wanted to do in the book, even at the expense of his wife and daughters. Or it could be someone working so hard on a charity that helps people in another country but totally ignoring the needy right under their own roof. The organization isn’t the problem. It’s the slanted focus of someone who turns from devotion to obsession. And any obsession is unhealthy, especially if it’s at someone else’s expense.”

  Her voice had sped up as she reached the end of her monologue, which was too long not to sound defensive, but being a Mormon in California probably made her defensive.

  “You make a really good point,” Ruby said, nodding slightly. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Nathan used religion as a crutch to feel important and do what he wanted to do. Sort of took himself out of being responsible for anything—he could blame it all on God and his desire to serve.”

  Livvy squirmed in her chair. “Ooooh, that makes me hate him even more.”

  “I’m glad that your church is such a support to you,” I said to Paige. That would have been nice when I needed people to rally around me, but that hadn’t been my experience. “But not everyone gets the same kind of support through their parishes. What you said about good people in churches is true. Absolutely. And I think Paige is on to something when it comes to people using religion as a crutch—as an excuse.” I paused and organized my thoughts. “From my experience, the problem comes—and all too often—when people put church before God.” The final words brought up an emotion that took me by surprise, and I had to look away. Maybe they sometimes put church before their children too—maybe when their children needed them the most. “One good thing about organized religion—at least in real life, not in the book, for sure—is how it can bond families together. But if some family members are devout and others . . . aren’t . . . religion becomes a schism and something . . . something painful.” We all were quiet for a moment, and I was glad to have time to gather my thoughts. “We saw that with Rachel when she struck out on her own; she never looked back on God or her family.”

  “But Rachel never really looked to God at the start, either,” Livvy pointed out. “She was always materialistic and vain, start to finish. She was the polar opposite of her sister Leah. Nathan’s religion is his worshipful obsession, but Leah worships her father to the same crippling degree. She wants so much to please him that she very blindly accepts every crazy idea that man takes into his head.”

  “She does denounce her religion, though,” Paige offered. Devil’s advocate? “She leaves the Baptist faith behind her.”

  “But not God,” Livvy clarified, looking a little uncomfortable. “In fact I think He becomes bigger in her mind and heart as the book progresses.”

  “But to say that is somehow indicative of organized religion being a bad thing isn’t fair,” Paige interjected. “Nathan was one man who used his religion badly, but that doesn’t mean the Baptist faith in and of itself is bad. Doesn’t drawing that conclusion do the very same thing Nathan did? State that one way is the right way at the expense of all other ideas?”

  Wow, the conversation had quickly gone a lot deeper than I’d expected it to go, but I wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable with it.

  “There’s a quote along these lines,” Livvy said, flipping through her book. “On page one forty-one Adah says, ‘I wonder that religion can live or die on the strength of a faint, stirring breeze. The scent trail shifts, causing the predator to miss the pounce. One god draws in the breath of life and rises; another god expires.’ Maybe instead of God being the focal point of that quote,
it’s more like vision or belief or something a bit more ethereal in relation to God. Not one of us in this room believes in God the same way as another one does, but I imagine that if Nathan had respected the god worshiped in the Congo, even if he remained true to his own beliefs, the story would have been very different.”

  “And probably not worth writing about,” Ruby said with a chuckle. “Without conflict, there’s no story.”

  That’s true, I thought, considering the need for conflict in a good story—something for the characters to overcome. Wasn’t life like that too? Full of conflicts we either act against or react to? The question was whether or not I was learning from the conflicts of my life. I liked to think I was, but it was hard to see until time stretched far enough past it to give me perspective. And then one change in course, like Stormy leaving, brought everything into question all over again. Was I a better person now than who I started out as? Was I all that different from the seventeen-year-old girl who had announced to her parents that she was going to have a baby, deal with it?

  Ilana leaned forward slightly and raised a hand, ready to speak. We all took the cue and listened. “I’m a bit split on the whole organized religion thing. I grew up with a pretty conservative family. We always went to temple on the Sabbath, we ate kosher, I had my bat mitzvah, the whole bit. My parents have always found strength in reading the Torah and following the laws, but as I’ve gotten older, I’m not so sure I believe any of it—even whether there’s a God.” She pointed at the book in my lap. “As far as the story in Poisonwood goes, I see it being just as much about the repression of women as about religion. Religion is just the vehicle the author uses to tell the story about the women and how they’re kept in place and held back.”

  “That’s a great point,” Livvy said, smiling at Ilana. “And there are all kinds of political, gender, and socioeconomic themes throughout the book. Seeing only the religious connotations is missing a huge portion of the story.”

  Ilana nodded and leaned back in her chair, as though content to have done her part to participate.

  “You don’t like the éclair?” Ruby suddenly said to me, breaking the tension.

  I looked around and realized everyone else had eaten theirs, even Ilana.

  “I love éclairs,” I quickly clarified. “Paul and I went away last weekend, and I haven’t quite recovered from something I must have picked up down there. I didn’t mean to waste your food, though.”

  Ruby sympathized immediately. “I’ve been getting the darndest indigestion at night myself,” she said, patting her ample tummy. “Don’t know what’s causing it. I don’t dare see a doctor in case it’s an ulcer—or something worse.” She said the last with a whispered tone, hinting what horrible thing “something worse” could be. “I hope your situation isn’t serious.”

  “I don’t think it’s anything like that,” I said. “It’s probably just a bug or maybe some food poisoning. I’ve been a little sick to my stomach ever since, and sweets are especially unappetizing. I’m tired a lot, too—probably from not eating like I usually do. I’m sure I just need some extra sleep to kick it.”

  “Nausea and fatigue?” Paige asked. “Maybe you’re pregnant.”

  My head shot up, and I stared at Paige. Did she really just say that? I forced myself to be calm, however. If I wanted to come across as the woman who had it all together, I couldn’t fly off the handle when someone made a stupid comment. “That’s quite impossible. I took care of that fifteen years ago.” I smiled but I could feel the coldness of it. I could tell from Paige’s expression that she could feel it too. It was presumptuous for her to say something so personal; I had a hard time feeling bad about my reaction.

  “I’m . . . sorry . . . I didn’t mean . . .”

  Without warning, Livvy jumped in, patting her copy of the book and totally changing the subject. “Adah’s character fascinates me.” She went on to explain how Adah came to realize she limped out of habit, finding comfort in her disability.

  To my relief, Livvy’s attempt to change the subject worked, and the conversation continued in other directions after that. Livvy talked about her favorite parts of the book, delving into all kinds of political analogies I’d somehow missed completely. I had to admit I was surprised by Livvy’s comments. I hadn’t pegged her as someone with so much depth. Ilana participated more in the discussion, and we talked about the individual characters and how, even though their hardships were the same in regard to time and place and being dominated by a zealot, they all had different reactions—different kinds of growth that came from their struggles. Livvy relayed a few of her favorite quotes, and one of them was something I’d noted when I read it, but had forgotten until now.

  Orleanna, the dominated wife for whom I had great sympathy—and annoyance—throughout the story, had summed up the state her life was in when the story began: “I had washed up there on the riptide of my husband’s confidence and the undertow of my children’s needs.”

  I could so relate to that, but I didn’t dare say anything, especially in regard to all that had happened with my daughter these last weeks. Paul certainly wasn’t a riptide, but Jared had been. Still was. My children, much as I loved them, had felt like undertows all of my life. I looked at Livvy and wondered how she felt toward her family. Did she feel the undertow? I had a feeling she did, but that she used strong strokes to keep them all above the waterline.

  “Well, it’s getting late,” Ruby said as the discussion started winding down. “Does anyone have a suggestion for next month’s book?” She looked at Paige, who was texting. I grimaced. Older people didn’t much care for the distraction of technology. “Would you like to choose it, Paige?”

  She didn’t look up, intent on the message she was sending.

  “Paige?”

  She looked up quickly and dropped the phone into her lap, clasping her hands over it. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Ruby was asking if you’d picked out the book for next month,” Livvy said. “It’s your turn.”

  “Oh, um, I’m not sure right off the top of my head. Do any of you guys have one in mind?”

  We were all silent, and then Livvy cleared her throat. “Actually, The Poisonwood Bible reminded me of another book—very different, of course—that I read a long time ago. It’s called My Name Is Asher Lev. Have you guys ever read it?”

  “I have,” I said. “Or at least I read part of it when I was dating a guy who was Jewish.” I smiled sheepishly. “I stopped reading when we broke up, though, so I never finished it. It’s by Potok, right?”

  “Right,” Ilana said.

  I wondered if she’d be uncomfortable with the book, but she didn’t seem to be. She’d said she was agnostic, so maybe religion just wasn’t a hot topic for her either way. Certainly there was more to My Name Is Asher Lev than religion, just as there was more to The Poisonwood Bible.

  “We don’t have to read something Jewish your very first month,” Paige said, voicing my discomfort.

  “I don’t mind,” Ilana said, uncrossing her legs and crossing them again the other direction. “I’ve read The Chosen and really liked it.”

  Livvy nodded and scooted forward in her chair again. “Not that we want religion to be a theme or anything, but I loved the way that Potok delved into the interpersonal relationships, into specific practices of his orthodox life and found himself within those things but also outside of them.”

  I blinked. Holy moly, there was more to Livvy than met the eye.

  Ruby clapped. “Sounds delightful. I’ve never read that one, but I visited Israel many years ago and it was wonderful.” She turned to Paige. “What do you think, dear?”

  “I’ve read something by Potok, but I don’t think it was that book. I’m totally up for it.”

  We confirmed next month’s date—December fourth—and finished things up. Livvy and Paige each had another éclair. I still felt bad about the one I had no desire to eat, so I rolled it up in my napkin in hopes no one would remember, and tuc
ked it in my purse. Ruby walked us to the door, and we said our good-byes “until next month.”

  As the three of us headed down the walk, Ruby called after us. “I’ll let Athena and Shannon know about the new book. See you gals next month. Oh, maybe I’ll find a latke recipe so our refreshments will be Jewish! Ilana, if our meeting ends up during Chanukah, could you still make it?”

  “I don’t celebrate either holiday,” Ilana said. “So I’ll be here.”

  I cast a sidelong look at her, but she didn’t seem annoyed with Ruby’s comment. Whatever her feelings were, she was at peace with them, which made me realize that although I had stepped away from the religion of my youth, I wasn’t at peace with that division yet. The realization bothered me, but I waved good-bye while Ruby said something else to Paige, who was closest to her.

  I went to bed at nine thirty, explaining to Paul how tired I was.

  “You’re always tired lately,” he said, pouting a little. He’d wanted to go out for a late movie.

  I apologized again and went to bed, but then stared at the ceiling as Paige’s words came back to me. Nausea and fatigue? Maybe you’re pregnant.

  But I’d told her it was impossible, and it was. Whatever was making me feel this way was something else. I rolled over and pushed the thought out of my head. I had enough to worry about without dwelling on impossibilities.

  Chapter 12

  Sunday night I got a call on my cell phone from a number I didn’t recognize.

  “Hello?” I said, answering it with one hand while I continued emptying the dishwasher with the other. With only two of us at home, I was running the dishwasher only twice a week. Ironically, it made emptying the dishwasher seem like more work now that it wasn’t part of my typical routine.