The Accidental Book Club (17 page)

J
ean’s hands trembled around the two sodas she was carrying. She could feel the fizz dancing off the top of them and landing with tickles on her wrist. Bailey was by the microwave, pouring melted butter over a bowl of popcorn and mixing it together with her hand. Jean paused a moment to enjoy the contentment on her granddaughter’s face.

Laura shuffled into the room, looking wrung out and skinny, but better than she had looked in a while. She might have even been wearing blush, Jean thought. And mascara.

“Hey,” she said, and Bailey and Jean both shot glances at the clock. It was unusual for Laura to be awake and downstairs at this hour. Usually by now she was either still in bed, or back in bed, or wherever she went in between the two. “Movie night?”

“Why? You here to ruin it?” Bailey mumbled, and Jean caught herself starting to correct the girl. No. She wouldn’t get involved between the two of them anymore.

“Baseball game,” Jean said instead. She handed a soda to Bailey, who set it on the counter and plunged back into the popcorn bowl with her free hand. “I was going to watch, and Bailey decided to join me. Popcorn and soda seemed like a good addition.”

Laura’s head cocked to one side. “I had no idea you were such a baseball fan,” she said to Bailey, in a way that sounded to Jean to be not terribly kind.

“There’re a lot of things about me you have no idea about,” Bailey growled.

“You’re welcome to join us,” Jean offered, opening the cabinet to get another glass. “We’ll pop more.”

“I won’t keep you,” Laura said, leaning into the open refrigerator to rummage for a bottle of water. “I just wanted to tell you something.”

“That you’re out of wine?” Bailey sneered.

“No,” Laura shot back. She leaned against the counter and opened the water. “We’re going home. We’re leaving tomorrow.” She said this so nonchalantly, almost flippantly, as if she were pulling one over on everyone.

“What? Why?” Bailey asked, dropping her handful of popcorn back into the bowl.

“What do you mean, why?” Laura asked, her happy expression disappearing immediately. “Because you want to. Because I’m better. Because it’s time.”

“Well, I don’t want to anymore,” Bailey said. “And you are not. What about the wine? We know you drank that wine the other night. You’re still drinking.”

Laura pointed at Jean. “Whoa, wait a minute. Your grandmother drank the same wine. And so did all those ladies who were here for whatever that club is.”

“It’s a book club,” Bailey said. “And there’s a difference between a glass of wine and a bottle of wine.”

“Adults drink wine, Bailey. You shouldn’t let your father convince you that every time an adult has a drink she’s automatically an alcoholic.”

“But I haven’t had to wake up every adult in their car in the garage in the morning. I’ve had to with you, though.”

“That’s different.”

Jean set her soda down on the counter too, the game temporarily forgotten. She had a feeling that wherever this was headed, it wasn’t good, and it would most likely end with her watching the game alone—or not at all.

“How is it different?” Bailey shrieked. “It’s not! You’re making excuses.”

“I’m trying to make amends,” Laura pleaded. “Your dad is coming home too. I talked to him this morning.”

“I don’t want your amends,” Bailey said. “I want you to leave me alone. You’re good at that. Shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

Bailey left the room, heading straight up the stairs again. She’d stormed up those stairs so many times, Jean mused that there ought to be a path worn in the carpet by now.

Laura let out a breath and sagged against the counter. “I just can’t please her,” she said, almost under her breath. “She wants to go; she doesn’t want to go—whatever option is opposite of what I’m planning.”

Jean didn’t know what to say. After what she’d seen, she couldn’t really blame Bailey for being skeptical, for giving Curt and Laura a hard time. But at the same time, she felt sorry for her daughter. She could hardly look at her without seeing the child inside.
Her
child inside. Even though their relationship had been strained for years, she still wanted Laura to be happy. To be healthy. To have a good life. And she wanted to believe in Laura. Wanted to believe that she would make good on the promises she was giving Bailey.

“She’ll come back downstairs,” Jean said, and she hoped it was true. She really had been looking forward to watching the game together.

She hadn’t asked Bailey to join her for the game. She’d simply been flipping through the channels, looking for the right one, when Bailey had sauntered into the room, awkward and shy.

“Gonna watch some soft porn to go with that book you read?” she had asked in her usual abrasive manner, but something had softened in her voice.

Jean had shaken her head. “Royals are playing. I’m not a baseball fan, but your grandfather was. Sometimes I think I just watch out of habit. I was thinking about making a bag of popcorn, though, if you want some.”

“I don’t like sports,” Bailey had said. “Have you ever put cinnamon and sugar on buttered popcorn?”

Jean had shaken her head again. “Sounds good, though. Like dessert.”

“It’s the sweet-salty thing,” Bailey had agreed. “Can we make two bags? One plain and one with cinnamon and sugar? Like dinner and dessert?”

“Of course,” Jean had said, rushing to the pantry to pull out the bags. Bailey had searched the cabinets for cinnamon and sugar and a bowl large enough to toss it in.

It wasn’t a big moment of closeness. Sometimes it was as if they were in the same room together, but not in the same room at all, both in their own worlds, each afraid to say something that would forge a relationship that might one day get ripped apart.

And all of a sudden it was that day.

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” Jean asked Laura.

“That’s the plan,” Laura answered. “I know, can’t get here soon enough, right?”

Jean shook her head. “Why would you say that?”

Laura rolled her eyes at her mother. “Mom, I’m not deaf. I hear you crying in your bedroom. I hear you talking to Saint Kenny. I hear you complaining to your friends. I get it. We’re a burden. Especially Bailey.”

Maybe at one point they might have been, Jean thought. But somewhere along the line, she’d begun enjoying that burden. She’d begun enjoying Bailey’s snarling attitude, her rude comments, her embarrassing actions, their awkwardly silent breakfasts, and shopping excursions. She was engaged in Bailey’s life now, and she didn’t understand how she’d spent so many years without Bailey around.

“She doesn’t want to go,” Jean said to Laura.

“She’s a kid. They never want to do what they’re told. She’ll go.”

“No, but she . . .” Jean trailed off.

“She what?”

“She’s finally settling in,” Jean said.

“She’ll settle in at home,” Laura said. “She’ll remember when she gets there how much she wanted to go back. Listen, so we’ll pack up tonight and hit the road in the morning. You want us to wake you?”

“No,” Jean said, feeling close to tears and not understanding why. Laura was right—she had complained so many times about having them there. At times it seemed like they would never leave. At times it seemed like she would break down, like the whole house would fall apart with them in it. But now that they were leaving, all she could think about was that she and Bailey had not even put the cinnamon and sugar on the popcorn yet.

“You don’t want us to wake you up when we leave?”

“No, I don’t want you to go.”

“Why not? You’re miserable with us here.”

“At least leave Bailey here,” Jean said, aware of the desperation in her voice but unable to do anything to stop it. “Just until school starts. You and Curt can spend a couple weeks getting things put back together.”

Laura shook her head, annoyed. “No. We don’t need a couple weeks to put things back together, and we’re not going to want to drive across the state to pick her up two weeks from now anyway. We’re leaving in the morning.”

After Laura had gone to pack, Jean had stared into the popcorn bowl, not seeing the popcorn there and trying to convince herself that their leaving would be a good thing. Her book club meetings wouldn’t have to take a breather after all. She wouldn’t have to worry about Bailey embarrassing her in front of anyone she knew. She wouldn’t have to clean up messes left behind from Bailey’s tantrums. And once again the house would be silent and controlled.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling that silent and controlled was no longer what she wanted, that once Bailey left, silent and controlled would feel . . . lonely. Before Wayne died, this house was hardly ever silent and controlled. She felt incurably widowish when everything was silent and controlled, rattling around the old place, nothing ever moving, nobody ever challenging her. When had silent and controlled gotten so depressing? Or had it always been that way?

She picked up the small bowl of cinnamon and sugar, the one Bailey had mixed to sprinkle over the popcorn. There were little indentations in the mixture where Bailey had licked her finger and pressed it into the granules. Jean shook the bowl slightly, until the indentations were covered over, the surface of the cinnamon and sugar flat. It was that easy to erase Bailey having ever been there.

In the end, she couldn’t make herself pour it over the popcorn.

In the end, she’d turned off the TV, thrown away the popcorn and the soda, and gone to bed.

J
ean pushed her cart down the breakfast aisle as fast as she could. Since Bailey left, she hadn’t been able to restrain herself from buying Pop-Tarts—iced cherry, Bailey’s favorite. She knew it was a stupid move. She would never eat them herself. And Bailey wasn’t going to be coming back anytime soon. The boxes were stacking up in the pantry, lined up like lonely pets waiting for their owner to come home. But still Jean bought them. Somehow buying Pop-Tarts made her feel closer to Bailey.

Such a silly feeling, anyway, she realized. It wasn’t as if they’d ever gotten close. The morning that they’d left, Bailey hadn’t even hugged her good-bye.

“Thanks for stuff,” she’d said, looking at the tile in the entryway, clutching her pillow and blanket to her stomach in a mirror of what she’d done when she’d arrived at the beginning of the summer. “Tell the old biddies I said it’s been real.” She’d started to walk out the door, but had stopped after a step. “Tell that one old biddy that her cake was actually pretty good.”

That had been it. She’d stalked out the front door and shut herself into the backseat of Laura’s car. Laura had followed her out, tugging a bulging suitcase behind her. “I’ll call when we get there,” she’d said just before sliding in behind the steering wheel. But of course she never did. Some things never changed.

No hugs, no tears, just a normal day. Jean had stripped their beds and vacuumed their floors before lunch.

But she’d kept buying the damn Pop-Tarts.

Just as she reached the end of the aisle, she saw Janet ducking down the next aisle over. “Janet!” she called. “Hello!” Janet stopped, checking over her shoulder like a fugitive.

“Hey, Jean.”

Jean rolled up to her. “Did you get my e-mail? About the club? Bailey and Laura have gone home, so I thought we could meet next Tuesday?”

Janet nodded. “Yeah, I, um . . .” Her face reddened, typical Janet-style, and she chewed her bottom lip nervously. “About that . . . I wanted to tell you . . .”

Jean’s heart sank. She was afraid this was going to happen. They’d take a break, and the club would die. “Please don’t,” Jean said.

Just then, a blur of khaki and yellow polo whizzed around the corner from the bread aisle.

“Janet!” the man boomed, his head so shiny it reflected the overhead lights. Janet jumped—her knees bent into a crouch, as if she were going to sprint away. But she stayed put, and he strode up to her. He shook his head as if she were too useless for words. “The fish case isn’t going to clean itself. I told you to clean it and I expect it to be done. At no point did I tell you to stand around and chitchat, did I?”

Janet shook her head, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

“Then get to it, and next time I have to come find you to remind you about your job, you won’t have one.”

He toddled away, down the pasta aisle, stopping to straighten a box of macaroni, which had been knocked askew on the shelf. Jean gazed at her friend in wonderment. How could she work every day with such a man?

“I’ll let you go,” Jean said. “But next Tuesday, okay? My house. All desserts.”

Janet nodded, and Jean turned to leave, but just as she turned her back, Janet’s tiny voice piped up. “Will you be home tonight? I get off at six.”

“Yeah, why?”

“I need to talk to you. I’ll come by.”

Janet hurried off to the fish case, where Jean later found her, most of her girth stuffed down into the case as she tried to wipe the inside of the glass with a cloth. Jean made one more sweep down the cereal aisle, where she picked up another box of Pop-Tarts, thinking she would mail them all to Bailey—it would be a nice surprise, a Pop-Tart variety care package—but knowing that she would never get around to it, because there was something she loved about seeing them in her pantry.

•   •   •

Later, after Jean got home, Loretta came by with a magazine page she’d torn out at the doctor’s office.

“This year’s best discussion books, according to . . .” She studied the article. “I can’t remember. According to these guys, whoever they are. There’s a vampire book on the list.”

Jean made a face. “Remember the last time we tried the vampire thing? None of us finished it. In fact, we banned vampires, if I recall.”

“That was before I was brilliant enough to have us read it at Halloween time. We can dress up for our meeting. I’ve got just the vampy negligee.”

“Nope,” Jean answered, taking the list and scanning it. “Some of these look all right. I heard someone talking about
Where’d You Go, Bernadette
at the salon the other day. Supposed to be really good.” She handed the list back to Loretta. “No costume required.”

Loretta took the list, folded it. “Well, that’s no fun.”

“That’s me. No Fun Granny. Just ask Bailey.”

“How is old perky Bailey?”

Jean shrugged. She had no way of knowing how her granddaughter was doing. While she’d never been close enough to get day-to-day information out of her, she’d never missed it before. Now she felt it, like a daily blow. “I guess no news is good news,” she said.

“Healthy outlook,” Loretta said as she bent to retrieve a can of soda out of Jean’s refrigerator. “Want one?”

“Sure.”

They opened their sodas and went outside to sit on the front porch swing. The neighbors’ kids were out throwing a ball at one another’s feet, stopping every few minutes to argue over who was “out” in a game Jean couldn’t quite decipher. Their dog stood on his hind legs and barked over the fence at them. Jean liked watching the kids, watching the game and the way they fought and the healthy way they giggled or cheered or even pouted. It was good to see someone else’s happiness. It was a good reminder for Jean to have some of her own.

Jean had forgotten about Janet, so when the green pickup pulled into her driveway, at first she was confused. But when the door opened and Janet stepped out, Jean and Loretta offered a wave. Jean got up to fetch Janet a soda, but Janet waved it off.

“I can’t stay,” she mumbled, the blood seeping upward from her collar to her face.

“Couldn’t wait for the meeting next week?” Loretta said. “You’re a bit early.”

Jean bumped Loretta’s shoulder. “Don’t listen to her. She was over here with a book list herself.”

“Yes, and good news. We’ve chosen another Thackeray,” Loretta added. “This one’s titled
How All of Humanity Can Kiss My Ass.
”

Jean gasped and Janet giggled, settling herself onto the porch step a few feet away from the swing. “I can’t believe you just said that,” Jean said, barely holding back her own laughter. “You just get worse and worse every day.”

“At my age, I prefer to think I worsen by the hour. Otherwise I’ll never hit my goal.”

“We are not reading another Thackeray novel,” Jean said. “We’ll read that vampire book first. Thackeray’s officially been banned.”

“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Janet said. “Well, not just Thackeray. Rodney too.”

“Who’s Rodney?” Loretta asked, turning to Jean. Jean shrugged.

“My boss. Jean’s met him a couple times.”

Jean thought,
“Met him” might be a stretch. More like “watched him yell.”

Janet’s jaw hardened. “He’s such a jerk. In some ways a lot like that book. Remember in that book where the narrator says the only thing fat women are good for is moving furniture to dust underneath it?”

Loretta and Jean both nodded.

“If only he knew how wrong he is. I never dust under my furniture,” Loretta said. “Though I’ve thought about dusting Chuck every now and then, just to make sure he’s still alive.”

Janet cleared her throat, and still the beginning of her next sentence came out with a squeak. “Rodney actually said that to me today. He said, ‘Fat people are useless unless you need something heavy picked up or a wall knocked down.’”

“Oh, my God,” Jean said. “He didn’t.”

Janet nodded. “He says stuff like that all the time. He’s constantly yelling at me in front of customers and he calls me Two Ton Tilly and he’s always saying things to really embarrass me and I’m so sick of it.”

“Have you talked to anyone about it? His boss, maybe?”

Janet shook her head, swallowing miserably. Jean thought maybe she could see some tears perching on Janet’s lower lids, threatening to spill over. “I’m afraid to. I’m scared they’ll just laugh at me and do the same thing. Or fire me, and we really need the money right now. It’s stupid—I know.”

“Oh, honey, it’s not stupid. You’re shy. You can’t help it,” Jean said. Even Loretta seemed to be without wisecracks at the moment. “But he’s wrong. He needs someone to tell him how wrong he is. He needs someone to put him in his place.”

“That’s the thing,” Janet said. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Because Thackeray’s the same way, only he’s not just saying it to me. He’s saying it to every big woman out there.”

“Oh, hell, it ain’t only big women he hates,” Loretta interjected. She took a sip of her soda. “Basically if you are penis-free, he’s got a grudge.”

“Exactly,” Janet said. “And he’s spreading that crap.” She paused, blinked at the word
crap
, as if she couldn’t believe it had actually come out of her mouth.

“Well, you don’t need to worry. We’ve read our last Thackeray book,” Jean said. She raised a hand. “Executive decision.”

Janet pressed her lips together tightly, then said, “I think Bailey was right. We should invite him to our meeting. We should give him a piece of our minds.”

Jean and Loretta looked at each other in surprise; then Loretta let out a bark of laughter.

“I can see it now. ‘Dear Mr. Thackeray, Please come halfway across the country so we can tell you what a blowhard donkey’s ass you are.’ I don’t think it’s gonna fly.”

“It still might be worth a try,” Janet said.

“He’s gonna volunteer to stop by so we can yell at him?” Loretta asked.

“Well, no,” Jean said. “We don’t have to tell him why we want him to come. We just have to ask if he will.”

“And before he knows what’s going on, we can give him a piece of our minds. I can sit on him if he tries to leave. Just like Tess does to that boy in
Blame
. He’ll love the irony,” Janet said, and then put her hand over her mouth to cover a laugh.

Loretta waved at Jean and Janet with her soda. “You two are crazy. It’s never gonna happen.”

“All we have to do is ask,” Janet said. “The worst he can do is say no, right?”

“No, the worst he could do is say yes,” Loretta said. “Guy’s a jerk.”

Jean looked from one of them to the other. She remembered that day Bailey had proposed this very thing to the group. How boldly she’d stood in front of a bunch of strangers, three, four times her age, and had levelly mapped out her idea.

They’d all but laughed her out of the room. Jean had gotten so very angry. She’d told Bailey to leave.

To have Thackeray visit now would be a slap in Bailey’s face, especially with her not here to meet him and give him a piece of her mind herself. No way could Jean do it. Not now.

“We should just help you stand up to Rodney instead,” she said quietly, and her heart felt heavy as she saw Janet’s face fall, going from expectant to dashed. There was no chip on her shoulder as there had been on Bailey’s. Bailey handled rejection with fury; Janet looked like she wanted to throw herself in front of a bus. “Loretta’s right. Thackeray will never come here.”

“So we shouldn’t even try?” Janet asked, her voice going wobbly.

“No. We should just move on,” Jean said, but she wasn’t sure whom she was talking to—Janet or herself—or what she was talking about.

Was she telling herself to move on from Thackeray’s book?

Or from Wayne’s death?

Or from losing Bailey?