The Rejected Writers' Book Club (Southlea Bay) (5 page)

But on reaching the front door, I realized that my bag was still on my chair and that I would have to go back in to retrieve it. As I stepped gingerly into the living room, it was a completely different scene. It was Narnia after the snow had melted, Dorothy as she arrived in Oz. It was as if someone had used a Happy-Vac to suck all the happiness back into the room. It reminded me of an ad for plug-in air fresheners that started out all black-and-white with sullen people sitting around. Then some genius had the bright idea to plug in just the right scent, and suddenly, the room erupted into vibrant colors, with everyone dancing the cha-cha around the room, wearing fiesta clothes and flowers in their hair. I must admit there had never been much dancing in my house when I plugged in one of those. Normally we were just glad it had covered up the stink. But back here at Planet Craziness, all that was missing was a sombrero-wearing mariachi band to provide the accompaniment. Everyone was talking at once about how this was all a mistake, and Lottie ran about, topping off teacups and adding cake slabs to plates.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense!” added Lavinia over the clatter. “Everyone knows your stories stink, Doris!”

With those words, everyone clapped and cheered. It was during their second whirlwind of tea and cake wedges that I managed to make my exit. Nobody cared or even saw me go.

Chapter Four

PORK RIBS
&
GREEN ALIENS

The days of fall were always pleasant in Southlea Bay, and this year was no exception. Boasting one of the warmest Octobers on record, the long, sun-filled days of October had allowed us to really appreciate the changing colors of the season. Now in their final flourish, the trees outside the library windows were a spectacular sight of gold and burnished red as they stood proud in their autumnal finery.

Halloween was a big deal in Southlea Bay. You couldn’t even buy a stick of gum for miles around the day before. We stayed open late at the library, served hot cocoa or cider, and placed bowls of candy at our checkout desk. Then, in the evening, we dimmed the lights and illuminated the building with dozens of tea lights in mason jars. It was always a welcome stop for parents on their trick-or-treat routes, a place to get a much-needed warm drink and to catch up with friends and neighbors.

That morning I was on my knees, shelving in the fiction section and wearing my “Witch Book” costume. A perfect Halloween ensemble, I felt, with its stringy black wig, warty nose, tall crooked hat, and flowing black cloak. The words “Witch Book” were painted in fluorescent-green lettering on my front, and on my back was “What can I help you find today?”

But what was hanging from my costume caused the children to squeal with delight whenever they entered the library. Dangling from thirty spidery strings were miniature handmade books, all with silly names painted on them, titles such as
Falling off a Cliff
by Ilene Dover and
Very Long Author Names
by Bob. During this time of the year, the children made a beeline for me to giggle at all the tiny books as the books swung back and forth from my cloak.

When two large shoes appeared in front of me, with Doris squished into them, I was pretty nonchalant about it. I hadn’t seen her since I had made the mistake of stumbling into the rejected ladies meeting two weeks before. I scrambled to my feet.

“Hey there, Doris. Happy Halloweeeeeen.”

I addressed her with my perfected Halloween greeting, the one that made the kids shriek with glee. No such luck with Doris. Looking at me like I had suddenly sprouted horns, it became quickly obvious she wasn’t here to celebrate the season.

Removing my warty nose, I started again. “Can I help you with something, Doris? Are you looking for a book?”

Doris appeared confused, as if that were the last thing she would be doing in a library. “No,” she said curtly. “I was looking for you. Can you stop by the house sometime today? There’s something urgent I need to discuss with you.”

My inner chambers started to shudder. I wasn’t really in the mood for another
Twilight Zone
episode.

“Is it something we can talk about here?” I asked hopefully.

Doris paused, seemingly mesmerized by a tiny copy of
A Fascinating Read
by Paige Turner as it swung back and forth precariously from my cape.

“No,” she said after careful consideration, and then, grabbing hold of the swinging book, she pulled me closer to emphasize her point. “This is something that has to be handled . . . delicately.”

She made it sound as if she were planning to give me the launch codes for a nuclear bomb.

Reluctantly, I gave in. “I have a little time to spare between three and four, when I usually grab something to eat. But I need to be back in plenty of time to get the library ready for the kids. They’ll start arriving as early as five o’clock.”

“Perfect. And don’t worry, I can feed you.”

“Oh no, don’t trouble yourself. I can just grab a sandwich at the store or something.”

The thought of eating at Doris’s again caused my insides to scream for mercy. It felt as if my blood sugar was only just returning to normal after my last visit.

“Nonsense,” she said sternly as she waved a hand dismissively at my costume. “You can’t do all this . . . this . . . whatever it is on a store sandwich!”

She said “store” with such fervent disapproval in her tone that I couldn’t stop myself from bursting out laughing, even though I could see she was deadly serious. Covering it up by coughing, I put my false nose back on.

“I will expect you at three o’clock sharp,” she said.

I tried to protest one last time, but before I could get another word out, she was already out the library door. I thought she’d gone when her head popped back in and she shouted back to me, “I’ll make pork ribs and beans. That ought to give you enough stamina for all this foolishness.”

Then she was gone. Pork ribs and beans, God help me! I stood there, bereft and pretty sure I could hear my cardiovascular system starting to cry. Slumping back down onto the floor to finish shelving, I felt totally disheartened. Somehow, Doris had managed to take all the steam out of my day.

As I sat, pouting and stacking, an elf popped up over the top of the shelf. It was actually my boss, Karen, wearing a three-point green felt hat with miniature silver bells hanging from the points and jangling as she bobbed her head. She was dressed in a green felt tunic with a sparkly zigzag collar, red-ribbed woolen tights, and pointy shoes. On her face, she had painted rosy red cheeks and dotted her nose with dainty brown freckles. She looked as cute as a button. But her tiny elf face appeared concerned.

“You have a phone call from someone called Christopher?”

Thoughtful for a moment, I followed her back toward her office.

I’d forgotten my cell phone that morning, but no one usually ever called me at the library. Martin worked locally as a production consultant at a local engineering company. This was a break from his years in California working with the big aircraft companies that were based there. During those years, he had spent the majority of his time crawling inside aircraft to make sure their equipment was up to FAA standards. Now, on the island, he had a more flexible and easy schedule and always just dropped by if he needed something.

Karen politely excused herself and closed the door as I picked up the telephone.

“Hello, this is Janet Johnson.”

The voice that came back was tense, and there was a lot of background noise, as if the person were calling from a busy street. A strained voice filtered through. “Janet, it’s Christopher.”

I sat down hard and caught my breath. It was Stacy’s husband. He’d never ever called me at work before and calling himself Christopher instead of Chris had thrown me. Something was wrong.

“Oh, hello, Chris. Is everything okay?”

“Not really. I’m here at the hospital with Stacy.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” My throat tightened. I could barely get the words out.

“She started bleeding this morning. At first she was just spotting, and her doctor said not to worry and to just rest. But then as the morning went on, it got worse. So, we came here.”

“I see,” I said weakly. I really wanted to say something motherly and wise but was unable to as my heart tried to thump itself out of my chest. I tried to absorb this information.

“Are you still there?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes. Yes, I’m here. What is her doctor saying now?”

“She’s reassuring but also concerned. The hospital did some preliminary tests, and now she’s in with a specialist. Stacy just thought I should let you know.”

“Of course. Call me when you know anything. I’ll be here until just after eight and then home after that.”

“Okay, I’ll call you when I have an update.”

Putting the phone down, I sat there feeling helpless and wanting to hold my daughter as I had when she’d been a little girl. It was times like this I hated being so far away from her, but Stacy had never liked the island and insisted on staying in California when we moved.

Karen tapped gently on the door.

“Everything alright?”

I told her the news, and she made all the right sympathetic noises. Though I wouldn’t call us close, she was a wonderful boss, and we had gotten to know each other quite well over the years.

“Do you mind if I call my husband?”

“No, of course not.” She shook her head, causing all her little bells to jingle. Despite how I was feeling, it delighted me.

“I won’t be long; then I’ll get on with shelving the DVDs.”

“Take as long as you need,” she replied.

I called Martin, and he listened intently, then commented in his levelheaded way. “Let’s wait to see what the doctors say. She’s in good hands. No point worrying about a storm until we smell rain.”

“Maybe one of us should go?” I thought aloud.

“Let’s see how things look in the morning first, shall we? Things always change so quickly with Stacy.” Then, without a pause, he asked, “What’s for dinner?”

Only my husband could change topics like that. He had that male way of thinking. In his mind, the problem of Stacy was now solved, so he could move on to his own culinary needs. He divided his whole world into little boxes on shelves. We had finished talking about the family box, so he’d put that one back. Now he’d taken down the dinner box. I, on the other hand, only had one large box that I juggled in the air, and random things bounced and spilled in and out of it all day long.

“I’ll be having pork ribs, beans, and candy!”

“What?” he asked incredulously.

“There’s spaghetti sauce in the slow cooker for you. I’m on Halloween haunting duty, remember?”

“Oh right, yes. Have fun.” He was ready to wind up the conversation now that he knew his culinary needs were met. He was very predictable, and I did love him. Hanging up the phone, I got to work.

It was surprising how fast the time went with all the Halloween excitement. It was 2:45 p.m. before I knew it. My head was down, checking in books, when Karen reminded me to take my break before it got kid-crazy. I stopped and remembered I now had to face Doris and her urgent matter.

When I arrived at Doris’s, I was grateful to see there were only two cars in the driveway. I was also pleasantly surprised to observe that even though Doris didn’t appear to have an exceptionally high opinion of Halloween, she’d decorated her house in preparation for the event. Wiry black spiderwebs hung in shrouds from her front porch, eerie candlelit jack-o’-lanterns decorated her steps, and her welcome angel sign had been exchanged for a witch riding on a broomstick.

About to knock, I noticed the door was already ajar. Pushing it open slowly, I spied Ethel, seated like the Queen of Sheba in the middle of the hallway, dressed as an alien. At least I think that was what she was. Her face was painted green, and she had two silver pipe cleaners sticking out of her head. She wore a silver-and-green tunic, green tights, and an expression on her face as if she were chewing a bumblebee. The moment she saw me at the door, she grabbed the large bowl of candy balanced on her knees and protectively pulled it close to her chest.

“Hello, Ethel,” I said, wondering if I would ever win this woman over. “Is Doris around?”

Doris bellowed from the kitchen, “Have your food all ready. Come on down, follow your nose!”

Entering her kitchen, I took in the heavenly smell. The table was already laid with a festive harvest-themed tablecloth and a vase brimming with golden chrysanthemums. In the center was a large pot of something that smelled wonderful. I beamed. It had been a long time since someone had cooked a hot meal for me, and it reminded me of my childhood.

“Did you know you have an alien in your hallway?” I quipped, removing my nose and hat.

“Oh, yes,” said Doris dismissively. “I always have to get Ethel to sit there to stop all those young rodents from trampling over my chrysanthemums. I hate this silly time of the year!”

She pulled a loaf of freshly baked bread out of the oven and turned around to face me—a fake knife was sticking out the side of her head. Starting to laugh, I covered it up with a fake cough as Doris just stared at me. Despite hints to the contrary, Doris didn’t seem to have any overt sense of humor that I could find.

“If you don’t like them coming up your driveway, you should turn off your lights. They wouldn’t bother you then.”

She glared at me with a look of disdain, and her fake knife trembled comically as she answered me. “Not do a holiday?” she said indignantly. “I don’t think that’s even American, is it? I might hate it! But I’m an American, and there’s been Halloween candy at my door for forty years. I have to support this community in all its foolishness, whatever it is. I am, after all, patriotic!”

I had to stop myself from laughing again, realizing Doris’s act of patriotism consisted of sticking a fake knife on her head and putting a disgruntled alien on garden guard duty.

Doris turned back toward the stove. She wrapped the hot, homemade bread in a green-and-white-checked napkin and placed it in a wicker basket. Her fake knife wobbled ominously as she bustled over and placed it on the table.

“Can I help?”

She brushed me off and pushed me down into a seat. She always seemed to be pushing me down into chairs. I felt as if I were five years old.

She moved around the kitchen and added a pitcher of iced tea, butter, and cutlery to the table. Then she fetched napkins and seated herself.

I poured myself some tea while she heaped piping-hot pork and beans from the pot into a bowl. It didn’t take long for her to come straight to the point.