The Accidental Book Club (18 page)

J
ean had the TV turned up as loud as she could stand it. Not that she was watching what was on it—some reality pregnancy show that Bailey had liked—just that it was so quiet in the house without Bailey.

Jean had never noticed it before, but the pipes rattled at the oddest times. The clock in the kitchen ticked at an ungodly loud decibel. And the tree outside the den window scraped the gutter annoyingly.

How had she not noticed these things before?

The silence. It stretched. It mocked. It hurt.

She’d thought she’d been tormented by silence after Wayne’s death, but somehow the silence after Bailey’s departure seemed even louder, more oppressive.

Jean had taken to humming, sometimes singing aloud, old show tunes or big band classics or even Christmas carols, even though the holidays were still months away. She rattled dishes and let cabinets
thwack
closed and turned on the TV with the sound ratcheted up.

It didn’t help.

She still thought she heard the thump of Bailey’s feet coming down the stairs, still thought she heard the squeak of the pantry door as Bailey opened it to rummage for a Pop-Tart. She longed for some sort of nuisance to interrupt her day—some crazy stunt or Bailey antic.

She never would have guessed in a million years that she would miss those things.

But somehow, unexplainably, she did.

She sagged into the couch, cracking open a Kent Haruf book. She and Wayne had loved his books, with their soft, rural tones, their familiarity of character. Their comfort.

But just as she began reading, the doorbell jarred her.

“Who could . . . ?” she muttered to herself as she set the book down and headed toward the stairs. She hardly had a lot of visitors, especially at this time of night.

She grabbed one of Wayne’s old walking sticks out of the umbrella stand next to the door and then felt foolish and put it back again. For goodness’ sake, not every visitor would be out to kill her.

She opened the door and was greeted with a blast of noise—hollering and cheering that made her jump and cover her head with her arm.

“GNO!” shouted Loretta, holding a bottle of vodka over her head. Her yell was seconded by the shouts of Mitzi, Dorothy, and May, who stood behind her, waving their hands excitedly. Even Janet pulled up the rear, not yelling, but grinning shyly.

“What is this?” Jean gasped. “You scared me half to death, Loretta.”

“This,” Loretta said, pushing past Jean and leading everyone into the house, “is a GNO. Girls’ night out,” she added when Jean’s face registered confusion. “Don’t worry, I just learned what a GNO was a couple weeks ago myself.”

“We’re storming you, lady,” Mitzi said, following Loretta into the kitchen.

“Be prepared for fun,” May added, and gave Jean a sideways hug. “You need it.”

Jean heard the clink of glasses as Loretta pulled them down from the kitchen cabinet. She shut the door behind Janet and followed her in.

“It’s late,” Jean said.

“Pshaw, it’s barely nine o’clock,” Loretta countered, pouring dollops of vodka into each glass. “Don’t be an old fart.” She pushed a glass into Jean’s hand. “Drink up. You’re already one behind the rest of us.”

Jean held the glass numbly, still trying to figure out exactly what was going on here. The TV still blasted downstairs, and she didn’t understand quite how she went from not watching a pregnancy show and getting ready to settle in with Kent Haruf to holding a glass of vodka with unexpected visitors in her kitchen—visitors who were each holding a glass of their own and looking at her expectantly.

May laughed out loud. “Don’t look so shocked, Jean. We’re all of age.”

“I’m not shocked,” Jean said, then reconsidered. “Actually, yes, I am kind of shocked. We’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Here’s the thing,” Loretta said, leaning forward on her elbows on the counter. “It’s high time we did something like this.”

“You’ve had such a hard road lately with Laura and Bailey, we thought you could use a little fun,” Mitzi said. “It’s exhausting taking care of a problem child.”

Dorothy held up her glass. “Hear, hear!”

“Bailey wasn’t a problem,” Jean argued, but her argument was halfhearted. Who could deny that problem was exactly what Bailey had tried to be?

May slid off the stool she’d been sitting on and looped her arm around Jean’s shoulders. “You always take care of us. Tell us what to read, organize what we eat—”

“Oh, and we do eat!” Loretta said, lifting her glass again.

“Taking attendance,” May continued. “Leading the discussion.”

“It always gets derailed,” Jean said.

“Well, that’s Loretta’s fault,” May said. “The point is, you always take care of us, so now it’s time for us to take care of you.”

“Plus, there’s not nearly enough dancing at our meetings,” Loretta added.

“Dancing?” Jean repeated. She hadn’t danced in . . . Well, she couldn’t really remember when.

“It’s a girls’ night
out
, Jean. The opposite of in. We’re going out. To Electric Oregano. So you should get dressed.”

Jean had heard of Electric Oregano. It was the crowded nightclub downtown. “I don’t . . . ,” Jean started, but she trailed off. Why not? Why wouldn’t she? Why continue to rattle around this old house like a skeleton? Why not get out there and have some fun with her friends for a change? Laugh a little, dance a little, drink a little. Wayne was dead, but by God, she was still right here with a pumping heart and breath in her lungs. “Okay,” she said, sounding more settled than she felt. “Sure. Electric Oregano.”

“Atta girl!” Loretta cheered, and she lifted her glass again. “To books!”

“To books!” they all shouted, and drained their glasses.

It had been a long time since Jean had drunk vodka, but she didn’t remember it tasting like this. It had a familiar punch, to be sure, but there was something else to it. She examined the glass. “What is this?”

Loretta turned the bottle so Jean could see it. “Doughnut flavored. We’re going all out tonight, Jeanie. Fancy booze.” She refilled their glasses. “One more for the road.” She winked at Jean. “Don’t worry, I got us a designated driver. Go look.”

Jean headed to the den, her head already feeling light from the vodka, and peered out the front window. Parked in the driveway was Loretta’s van, a shadow Jean recognized in the front seat.

“Is that . . . Chuck?” she asked, incredulous. “You got him out of the recliner?”

“Yep! Guess the old girl’s still got some feminine wiles left after all,” Loretta shouted from the kitchen.

“It also doesn’t hurt that the sports bar next door to Electric Oregano has nachos and big-screen TVs,” Mitzi said.

“Salud!”
Loretta shouted, and Jean heard the clink of glasses again.

•   •   •

If Jean had been looking for noise distraction, she’d definitely come to the right place. Electric Oregano was loud. Deafeningly so. And dimly lit, most of the light in reds, oranges, and pulsing blues that shimmered off Loretta’s sequined silver top like a disco ball and erased everyone’s wrinkles and gray hair. The dance floor thumped, writhing with bodies, and condensation rolled down the nearby windows.

It was fabulous.

The ladies took a table in the back, near the restrooms, Loretta noting that it’d been a long time since she’d tested the integrity of her bladder with alcohol, so better safe than sorry. Plus, it was a little quieter back there. They could talk without rupturing vocal cords, which, for some reason, Mitzi had actually been concerned about.

May ordered a pitcher of margaritas for the table, and when the waitress brought it, it looked unbelievably huge to Jean. If they drank the whole thing, would they even be able to rouse Chuck next door and find their way to the van? Jean was doubtful and tried to remind herself to sip, sip, sip, and never be the first one to refill. Not that that would be a problem with Loretta at the table.

“I swear, Loretta, I don’t know how you do it,” Jean half said, half shouted over the music. “You can just about keep up with these kids.” She gestured to the crowd of young adults milling around the bar.

Loretta took a gulp of her margarita and tapped her temple. “Age is all in the mind,” she said.

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Dorothy said. She paused to let a tiny belch escape. “In my experience, age is also in the boobs.”

Mitzi burst out laughing. “My goodness, Dot, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were getting a little tipsy. Let’s dance.”

“I’ve never heard this song before in my life,” Jean said.

“Me neither,” Mitzi said. “But I like it.”

Mitzi stood and crooked her elbow toward Dorothy, who stood and linked hers to it. The two of them made their way to the dance floor, Loretta jumping up and trotting after them while shouting something Jean couldn’t make out. May giggled and slowly got up to join them.

“Why not?” she shouted over her shoulder before diving into the throng.

Jean and Janet were left alone at the table, both looking out over the dance floor. Jean noticed Janet chew the side of her lip, as she had a habit of doing when she was nervous.

Suddenly Jean felt awash with fondness for Janet. The poor girl was so timid, yet she’d continually reached out to Jean. It must have taken every ounce of courage for Janet to talk herself into going out for a night on the town with Loretta and a hundred young people. Yet she’d agreed to come.

Jean drained her glass. “Let’s do it.”

Janet looked up, terror-stricken. “Oh. No. I can’t.”

“Sure you can,” Jean said.

“I’d embarrass myself. I haven’t ever gone dancing.”

“Never?”

Janet shook her head. “I didn’t even dance at my wedding. I’m just so . . .” She gestured toward her body and shrugged.

Jean was struck with a flashback of Bailey, striding across the pool deck, naked as the day she was born, not a fear to be seen. Oh, to have that confidence.

She watched their friends on the dance floor. They stuck out like sore thumbs in the sea of twentysomethings, wearing their comfortable shoes and high-waisted jeans. They looked like a bunch of old ladies bobbing around with their fingers snapping and their hands clapping to the rhythm. Even May, who was far from old, looked out of place among the sexy kids. But the ladies hooted and smiled while they danced. They leaned into one another and shouted, then threw their heads back and laughed. And nobody thought anything of it. Nobody even seemed to notice them.

“If they can do it, we can do it,” Jean said, gesturing toward Loretta and the ladies.

Janet chewed her lip feverishly, then nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “Okay.”

The two of them stood up and faced the dance floor, the lights bouncing off their faces. Jean looked toward Janet and grinned. Janet grinned back.

And they headed toward the dance floor.

•   •   •

“I think I broke muscles,” Loretta said. “Is that possible?”

They were all back at Jean’s house, draped over her couch and love seat, mugs in hand. Jean had brought the coffeemaker down into the living room and brewed the coffee right there on the end table so they wouldn’t have to traverse the stairs again, partly because they were all still a little unstable on their feet, and partly because they were already all sore from the dancing.

“I can’t feel my feet,” Jean said. “I think I left them on the dance floor.”

“You were moving pretty good during that Pitbull song,” May said.

“Remind me again who Pitbull is,” Mitzi said.

“I’ll sing it,” Loretta said.

A chorus of
No!
broke out, and someone tossed a throw pillow at her.

“I haven’t been up this late in a long time,” Mitzi said, checking her watch. “I think I’m getting slaphappy.”

“Well, don’t fall asleep or we’ll put your bra in the freezer,” Loretta said.

“Oh, my God, I remember doing that at sleepovers,” May said. “Do girls still do it?”

“No idea,” Jean said. “Do they still play truth or dare?”

“I think it’s two truths and a lie now,” Dorothy supplied. “Or at least the boys used to talk about that.”

“What is that?” Jean asked.

Dorothy refreshed her cup and sat back. “Just like it sounds. You go around the circle, and each person tells two truths and one lie, and everybody tries to guess which one is the lie. You know how kids are. Full of too much information and calling it fun.”

Loretta pulled her feet up on the couch. “Oh! Let’s play it!”

“What? No,” May said.

“Aren’t we a little old for that?” Mitzi said.

Loretta raised her eyebrows at Mitzi. “Do I need to sing the Pitbull song again?”

“No!” they all shouted together, and settled into giggles once again.

“I think we should do it,” Janet said, and everyone turned to look at her. She shrugged. “We already embarrassed ourselves dancing like fools. How bad can this be?”

“Speak for yourself,” Mitzi said. “My moves are hardly embarrassing.”

“The kick thing is kind of embarrassing, Mitz,” Dorothy said. “I’m in. Let’s play.”

Mitzi and May protested, and the ladies razzed and goaded until finally May threw her hands up in surrender. “Okay. Fine. Let’s do it. Who’s first?”

“I’ll go first,” Dorothy said. She set her coffee cup on the table and paused to think for a minute. “Okay. I can do the splits. I once snuck over to Elan’s house in the middle of the night and dumped the entire cat litter box on his front porch. And I’m going to be a grandma.”

“All lies,” Loretta said. “You’re supposed to tell two truths.”

“There are two truths in there!” Dorothy protested.

Mitzi sized her up. “It’s truth, truth, lie. And gross about the cat box. Hilarious, but gross.”

“Nope,” Dorothy said.

Loretta shrugged. “Then it’s lie, truth, lie. Two lies. Still cheating.”

Dorothy shook her head. “I swear there are two truths. It’s truth, lie, truth. I never did the cat box thing. Wanted to, but didn’t.”

There was stunned silence. Jean broke it. “Forget the cat litter. You’re going to be a grandma?”

Dorothy nodded. “Devon. Seventeen years old, a baby himself.”