The Book Club

by Mary Alice Monroe

  A familiar wheedling whisper in her mind said, “Just let go. Go on, don’t look back.” Doris shivered, suddenly cold. She blinked, then looked over her shoulder. The lights of her own little cottage flickered far off in the distance.

  She’d swum out too far, she thought with a surge of panic. She’d not be able to make it back home. A fear of death struck deep, freezing her. Dog-paddling, she jerked left, then right, looking at the circle of lights around her, realizing that she’d traveled squarely to the middle of the lake.

  Doris looked at the shore and picked out the one light from the many that was her own. The light of her family cottage was small but it shone bright and clear, as it had for years for her children, her friends, her mother and father and her husband. She felt calmed and determined.

  Doris turned in the murky water and changed direction. Her arms were tired, her heart pounding, but she stretched her arms forward, one after the other, kicking her legs, reaching for home. The trip back was arduous. Waves splashed against her cheek. She coughed back mouthfuls of water but pushed on, toward the one small light of her very own cottage. She struggled but made it back to the skimpy, muddy shoreline of home.

  Doris’s legs and arms felt like lead as she pushed a little farther up the shore and collapsed upon the soft grass. For some time she was aware only of her breathing and the blades of grass poking her bare skin, of the rich, pungent scent of earth at her nostrils, of the chorus of crickets in the trees and of the single mosquito that hummed a high song around her head. She felt oddly comforted, unconcerned with her nakedness, as though she were wrapped by the night, cradled by Mother Earth. She wasn’t afraid of the dark, or the bugs, or the mysteries that hid in the mud. Rather, she felt as though her veins had escaped from her pores and burrowed deep into the soil, connecting, rooting her to the ground. She couldn’t move. Closing her eyes, Doris slept deeply.

  When she awoke some time later the night was chill and intensely quiet and the stars shone cold overhead. Doris’s knees were near her chest and her hands were small fists at her breasts. She was shivering. She rose and found her beach towel a few yards away, then, with the light of the moon and stars to guide her, as they’ve guided a millennium of weary travelers before her, Doris found her way back up the hill to the warmth of her own bed.

  * * *

  Dawn broke to a brilliant morning. The birds sang loudly outside her window, insisting that she rise and meet the new day. When Doris finally rose, she stretched long and yawned noisily before catching sight of her reflection in the mirror. This time, she did not turn away. Doris looked long and hard at her body—at the breasts that had nursed two children, the stretch marks that scarred her pale flesh, the soft contours of waist, hips and thighs. She allowed her hands to travel across the length of muscle and bone. This was her body, the vessel that had taken her on an odyssey of experiences. It wasn’t weak or ugly. It was strong and beautiful. Resilient. Enduring. It simply was what it was, and this morning, Doris made friends with it.

  As much as she would have liked to remain naked and free, she didn’t think it fair to shock—or heavens, frighten!—the neighboring children. Yet she didn’t want to wear anything tight, or restraining, or that made her feel fat. So she dug through the closet that was jam-packed with old clothing from years gone by, and pulled out a flowing bright-raspberry-colored, crushed-cotton skirt and banana-yellow top. She’d purchased these in Jamaica years back on her honeymoon and had never worn them. They were of the one-size-fits-all variety, thank God. She liked the way the gauzy skirt swirled around her legs and her nipples rubbed against the thin cotton top, almost as if she were wearing nothing at all. Looking in the mirror, she thought she looked like some wild, enormous hybrid fruit from the tropics, then laughed, because Gabriella would think she looked fabulous.

  Ravenously hungry, she prowled the kitchen but didn’t reach for the croissants, as was her habit. She had a craving for fresh fruit and water—lots and lots of water. It was as though the remnants of a black poison had to be flushed out. After breakfast she wandered about the house, feeling all jittery inside. The cottage felt too confining. She needed to remain outdoors. So she took a long walk around the lake, watered the impatiens and emptied the hull of the canoe. After picking berries, she picnicked on those and more fruit under the immense sugar maple by the lake that she used to climb as a child.

  That tree had the best limbs, she thought again, lying on her back in the soft grass. She locked her hands beneath her head and dreamily marveled at the way the light filtered through the leaves as though through tissue paper, changing the hues of green. Doris curled her toes, wishing she could climb up to those treasures beckoning lazily in a summer’s breeze, pick one, and bring it back to hold near her chest. As a child she used to sit up among the leaves for hours, just looking out at the lake and the cottages, dreaming, feeling as if she were a queen, or in a spaceship, or even just a kid lucky enough to be high up in the best climbing tree in the world.

  Too bad she’d never had a tree house. She used to pester her dad every summer to build her a house in this very tree, but he never had the interest. Then for years she’d begged R.J. to build one for their children. But he never had the time. She sighed and frowned, checking out the broad expanse of parallel limbs that crisscrossed at just the right places to support a floor. It was a shame no one had ever built her a tree house.

  Then a new thought took seed in her mind. It rooted, sprouted, grew stronger, then blossomed in a wide, ear-to-ear grin on her face.

  “Where was that hammer?”

  * * *

  Two weeks later in Oakley, Fernando was standing in the doorway of his home, shuffling his children out the door. “Gabriella! We’re going out for pizza, now,” he called. “Then I’ll take the kids for a movie. We’ll stay out as long as we can. Don’t worry, we’ll be quiet when we come back in.” He gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead. “Have a good time with the Book Club.”

  “Yeah, Mom,” her two youngest children echoed as they were hustled out the door. “Have fun with your friends.”

  Gabriella ran her hands through her hair, relieved to see them shove off. She had so much to do before the Book Club arrived and had been screaming at the family like a witch. The meetings were only at her house twice a year and when the girls came over, Fernando always took the children out because the meetings could get a little rowdy. Freddy and Elena loved the Book Club because whenever the ladies came to their house it meant treats for them.

  She stood at the door and waved as she watched her family load into the gold Saturn and pull away from the curb. A brisk wind was picking up in short gusts, shaking the long limbs of the canopy of trees that lined the streets. They scratched at the low-lying clouds. She smelled rain in the air, could feel it in the coolness of the wind cutting through the thick veil of humidity.

  Nights like these always reminded her of her childhood in Puerto Rico. The rains would come and stay for a month, making music on the tin roof. They’d stay in the house with Mami and eat warm soup. Their house had only two rooms with an electric lightbulb hanging in the middle.

  She turned and looked at her own sturdy, three-bedroom frame house with a wide, welcoming front porch, a new kitchen, two bathrooms and outlets in every room. Even though compared to the elegance of Doris’s house, her house was a small and uninspired little bungalow, in the small mountain town she came from her house would be a mansion.

  But virgencita, it would take a miracle for her to get the place in shape in time for the Book Club! She’d been stuck doing overtime with a hysterical patient at the women’s health center, tonight of all nights, and now had to scramble before her friends arrived.

  Gabriella rushed indoors and began plowing through the narrow hall like a Mack truck at full speed. With her left hand she commandeered the roaring, wheezing vacuum, with her right hand she was dusting anything she passed. She’
d never make it, she thought, crashing the edge of the vacuum against the dining room table legs. Sweat formed on her upper lip as her frustration grew. They’d moved here sixteen years ago with one child and still lived here today with four. Four kids and a husband, all of them home all day, and not one got off his or her keister to do anything to help.

  Everything looked so...shabby! The fabric on the sofa and chairs was frayed, the lace at the windows was yellowed. Her mind spun as she wondered why she hadn’t tried to clean last night? The answer was simple—she was too tired after a day on her feet. Annie and Midge always had clutter at their places, but it was artistic mess—tools and canvases and paint. Works in progress. Not a pigsty, with clothes hanging from chairs, dirty dishes on tables and magazines, toys and mail lying everywhere.

  She straightened, one hand on her aching back, sniffing the air. Something was burning.... “Madre de Dios,” she cried, flicking off the vacuum and running to the kitchen. The oven was belching gray smoke. Her appetizers! Those spicy Cajun meatballs she’d spent an hour and a half last night mixing and forming into little balls were going up in smoke. Opening the oven, waving away the blackened smoke, her heart fell when she saw what looked like two dozen black lumps of coal on the cookie sheet.

  The front doorbell rang. Her face blanched and all hope vanished.

  “Gabriella? Yoo-hoo, anybody home? Gabby? What’s all that smoke?” It was Eve and Annie.

  Gabriella hurried from the kitchen with her long hair flying, flapping a towel in the air like a wild woman. “Open the front door! I’ve got to clear out that smoke. Hurry.”

  Eve cracked open the door but Gabby barreled past her, pushing it wide and propping a rocking chair from the porch against it. “Leave it open. I don’t care if the darn bugs get in. The smoke is everywhere,” she wailed.

  “What were these poor little darlings?” asked Annie as she looked down at the twenty-four black crisps on the cookie sheet.

  Gabriella’s face fell. “They were supposed to be cute little Cajun meatballs, to go with the Louisiana setting.” Her face crumpled and she started sniffing. “I’m so far behind, I...I just forgot about them. Now look at them,” she wailed plaintively. “Look at my house! The vacuum’s out, there’s junk all over the place. My kitchen’s a mess. And look at that! Elena didn’t even bother to pick up her cotton balls after she did her nails. No one does anything to help me. I live with pigs. I can’t keep up. I’m fed up with them!”

  “You just live with teenagers, Gabby,” Eve said with a laugh, patting her back. “Finney drops his clothes on the floor right next to the hamper. Hopeless.”

  Midge walked into the house through the open door, waving her hands through the smoke. “What’s going on in here? A barbecue?”

  “A disaster,” Gabriella replied, walking forward to hug Midge.

  “Pobrecita,” Midge replied with humor, patting her gently. “At least you didn’t burn down your house.”

  “Don’t take it so seriously,” Eve said, eager to dispel the sorrow that seemed so out of place on Gabriella’s face.

  “This is a new low,” Gabriella said, breaking down. She sniffed and wiped her eyes. The words flowed out like water from a dam. “Things are really piling up for me right now. Fernando’s still out of a job and the money is tight. I can’t take on any more hours than I already have and I’m so tired all the time I just want to lie down and cry.”

  Midge stepped closer, her eyes soft with concern. “If you were in trouble, or needed help, you should have just called.”

  “You’re always the first to help us,” added Eve.

  “I didn’t want to tell you because, you know—” she tore at the tissue “—it would embarrass my husband. So I just kept going as though nothing was the matter. I wanted to cancel tonight, but couldn’t face disappointing you all. I thought I could handle it. Instead I drove myself crazy and ruined everything.”

  “You didn’t ruin anything. We’re here together, we have our books. That’s all we need,” said Eve.

  “But I have nothing good to serve you.”

  “Gabby, we wouldn’t care if you served a bag of chips as long as we got together. You don’t have to knock yourself out for us.”

  “As long as you’ve got wine, sweetie, who cares?” said Annie.

  “It’s always Muenster cheese on Ritz crackers at my house,” Midge said without apology. “So Gabby, I hope you see that you have absolutely no hope at all of convincing us that we should be upset with you because you feel you’ve failed Hostess 101.”

  “You know how it is when you want everything to be perfect for your friends? What’s that saying? At twenty you dress for men. At forty you dress for women. Is that true or what? And look at me.” Gabriella was still wearing torn sweatpants and a soiled Bulls basketball T-shirt. “What does this say about me?”

  “That you’re a busy mom,” Eve replied lightly as they shooed her upstairs to change clothes.

  “Don’t you dare come back down until you’re sweet smelling and gorgeous,” Midge called after her. Then, after Gabriella was out of earshot, Midge muttered, “Ladies, is this the time to tell you there’s nothing I hate more than housecleaning?”

  But she did her part, helping Annie and Eve finish the vacuuming, toss out the trash, wash up the dishes and give the infamous meatballs a salute and a send-off down the disposal. They found a box of crackers and a bag of tortilla chips in the pantry and in the fridge, a wedge of cheddar cheese and salsa. Midge opened a bottle of red wine while Annie started a pot of coffee.

  Upstairs, Gabriella felt the return of her equilibrium. She wasn’t sure what had happened down there. In fact, she felt a little bit embarrassed, but whatever, it worked. Support was all she really needed right now, to know that she wasn’t alone. Juggling her job, plus her husband’s emotional mood swings, had proved too much. She’d been too proud to tell anyone. She thought she was so competent she could handle it all.

  Well, she wasn’t. She had to remember that. And wasn’t it nice to know that she could ask for help?

  When she came back downstairs in her clean clothes, she paused at the bottom step and allowed a wide smile to carve deep into her cheeks. Her friends were sitting around the coffee table, relaxed and chatting amiably. Everything seemed to be running smoothly and her home looked beautiful. Perfect. It wasn’t House Beautiful, but she had never wanted that. Her home was a reflection of her own tastes, not those of someone she’d hired. The cherry-red upholstery on the sofa, the beautiful mosaic coffee table from Puerto Rico, the gilt-framed Lord’s Prayer signed by Pope John Paul II over the fireplace—each of these was a part of her.

  “You guys are the best,” she said, coming into the room and sitting next to Midge.

  Midge leaned back into the cushions while her friends chatted. Eve was graceful as always dressed in a light-blue gingham summer dress that skirted around her ankles. Annie appeared more subdued than usual, curled up like a sleek, sleepy cat in an enormous, cushioned chair. Her clothes were baggy and soft and she wore little or no makeup at all, which made her fair skin appear all the more pale. Gabriella had changed into her signature bright colors and her magnificent, long black hair fell loose down her back like some unicorn’s mane. She seemed relaxed again and was busy cutting up slices of cheese and setting them atop crackers while she talked.

  Midge’s emotions had come a long way in the three weeks since her opening at the gallery. After the show she’d considered dropping out of the club, or at the very least to be frosty and let them know in blunt words how hurt she’d been that no one had showed up. Wasn’t she always there for them when they fought with their husbands, or talked about their kids? And that was fine. But she wasn’t married and she didn’t have all those hallmarks. Sometimes it seemed that she was always the one giving.

  Then she’d received Doris’s letter, and heard about t
he trouble that had exploded at her party and sent Doris and Annie spiraling. Eve had telephoned to apologize for missing the show. After they had talked awhile, Midge understood, even agreed with, her decision to stay home with her children. And tonight, seeing Gabriella at her wit’s end, Midge was left to wonder how she could have been so blind herself not to see her dear friend reach the end of her rope. Most of all, yesterday Annie had confided to her that she had cancer. In that moment Midge’s own problems seemed petty and insignificant.

  Friendships were easy when life was going smoothly. What was hard was to be there for your friend when life got rough and the friendship was neither easy nor fun. The challenge was to forgive the friend when she failed. She’d heard that a person should count herself blessed to have even one true friend in her life. She had four: Gabriella, Eve, Annie and Doris.

  The thought of Doris reminded her of the letter she’d received only this morning.

  “I received another letter from Doris,” she announced. Immediately the others quieted and leaned forward with comments on how relieved they were to hear from her.

  “I brought it along so I could read parts of it to you,” Midge continued, pulling the letter from her leather bag along with a pair of tortoiseshell reading glasses. “It’s so unlike her. Tell me what you think.”

  She spread open the three-page letter filled with tiny script and slipped her glasses on. Scanning it, Midge explained, “She starts with asking how I am, etcetera etcetera.... She tells how she made a quick decision to go to the cottage, how she’d never done anything like this before.” Midge raised her eyes and they all shared a worried look. “Apparently she wrote R.J. and the children letters, too, and asked them not to call or come up.”