The Cherry Cola Book Club (17 page)

Locke put his hand around Miss Voncille's tidy waist and gently pulled her toward him. “So, do you think they'll keep their word on everything?”

“Oh, I expect so. Even if you and I have to lose another rubber or two of bridge to keep them happy and on track. And I also think explaining to them why they might be without a library soon didn't hurt one bit.”

 

When Maura Beth walked into Connie's seafood extravaganza at her lake house the following Sunday, there was already a respectable crowd milling around, some with drinks, others with plates of grilled catfish and shrimp scampi in hand. In fact, the decibel level of the chatter was so high that Diana Krall's velvety recording of “It Could Happen to You” could barely be recognized.

“What a warm, rustic atmosphere!” Maura Beth exclaimed, as Connie welcomed her into what could only be described as the greatest of great rooms. It occupied the core of the house and sported rustic beams across a shed roof ceiling that was at least twenty feet high. The focal point of one wall was an enormous Tennessee sandstone fireplace, complete with crackling flames on this chilly autumn evening, while the other wall featured at least twenty framed snapshots of the most impressive fish Douglas had caught on Lake Cherico or in the Tennessee River itself. There was no denying that this was the lodge of a sportsman, definitely lacking a woman's touch, and Douglas quickly spirited Maura Beth away for a guided tour of his trophies.

“Now this one here is a thirty-one-pound striped bass I caught on a white spinner,” he explained. “White does it for me every time. I just haven't had much luck with the yellow or the blue baits.”

“That certainly is a huge fish,” Maura Beth said, trying her best to sound interested.

“And this one next to it I caught on a pig 'n' jig,” he continued. “Bet you've never heard of a lure like that.”

“It sounds like a canapé.”

Douglas snickered. “It does, doesn't it? Actually, there is a piece of pork rind on the hook.”

“Now, Douglas,” Connie said, stepping up to rescue her friend, “let's give Maura Beth a chance at the real canapés, shall we? She can come back and gawk at your fish collection later on. It's not going to swim away. You've seen to that.” On the way over to the buffet table, Connie continued her rant. “Believe me, he would have told you how much every single one of those fish weighed and what bait he used to catch them all, if I had let him.”

But Maura Beth was in no mood for criticism. “He's just proud of his pastime, that's all. Your husband is a sweetie, and you know it.”

“Well, I have to admit, I always know where he is—out on
The Verdict
or at The Marina Bar and Grill every day. Meanwhile, you'll be pleased to hear that we have some of Douglas's family down from Brentwood joining the neighbors. Matter of fact, here comes someone now I'm sure you'll remember.”

From across the room, Susan McShay ambled over with a smile and her cocktail in hand. “Surprise!” she exclaimed, giving Maura Beth a quick hug. “Paul and I decided we couldn't miss this. Connie's been talking it up so much.”

They were all joined immediately by a robust young man who was in the midst of treating one of the shrimp on his plate as finger food. “You just have to be Maura Beth with that red hair and those blue eyes,” he said. “Excuse me while I clean up my act.”

She laughed while he found a spot on a nearby coffee table for his plate and wiped his hands on a napkin.

Then Susan made the introductions. “Maura Beth, this is my ravenous son and Connie's nephew, Jeremy. He teaches English at New Gallatin Academy in Nashville, and he's been dying to meet you.”

Jeremy extended his hand and said: “I just missed you when you were up in Brentwood before. I was chaperoning a field trip to the Grand Ole Opry, believe it or not. Nothing ties you up like a busload of eleventh-grade boys ogling rhinestones, big hair, and big—”

Maura Beth grinned at his widening eyes, while she stepped in to rescue him. “Voices?”

He laughed good-naturedly. “Did I mention I teach English and am awfully good at choosing my words carefully?”

“Well, if you'll excuse us, Susan and I will keep on circulating,” Connie put in, giving them both a naughty little wink. “Please, you two eat and drink as much as you want.”

Once Maura Beth had helped herself to a plate and a drink, and Jeremy had refreshed both of his, they found a couple of seats near the fire and settled in.

“Mom told me what you're trying to do with the book club down here, and I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to meet you.
To Kill a Mockingbird
is my all-time favorite Southern novel,” he was saying after a swig of his beer. “I don't think it can ever be reviewed enough, and I make all my students do a term paper on it. It's a rite of passage in my classroom. Sometimes I describe it as a rite of passage for all true Southerners.”

Maura Beth was content to let him do most of the talking while she took him in from head to toe. He was tall and dark haired like his father but had more of his mother's softer features, and she liked the fact that he enjoyed his food so much. However, he was no Stout Fella. Her assessment was that he was just about the right size—someone who might have leapt off one of the pages of her cherished journal of wishes.

“. . . and it's so unusual for a novel to become an instant classic,” Jeremy continued. “But
Mockingbird
was the rare exception. The problem now in teaching it is that we're so far away from that era of turmoil, and so much is taken for granted that was once a great struggle. There are still issues to resolve, of course, and I try to point them out. Getting my students to understand the novel in the context of its time is a tremendous challenge, but it's one I'm determined to meet.”

Maura Beth finally put in a word. “Yes, I know what you mean. I think I'd like to make that the focal point of our big meeting in a couple of weeks. I want people to reflect upon the changes in the South since Harper Lee wrote the book. Of course, I wasn't around during all that civil rights turbulence.”

“Same here, and I'm afraid my students are far more interested in technology than political history.”

Maura Beth rolled her eyes and tilted her head. “Oh, yes. The cell phone thing, etcetera. It's all we can do to keep patrons from talking up a storm in the library. They hide back in the stacks and think we won't hear them gossiping and carrying on with their friends. It's so distracting. We have signs up everywhere, but they might as well be runes.”

“Yep, those ringtones still go off now and then in my classroom despite the threat of detention. I'm afraid it's an addiction for some people.”

“Sometimes I wonder what the future of communicating through books will be with all this electronic instant gratification,” Maura Beth added. “There are those who feel that some readers will always want to hold a bound copy in their hands—something that they can put on a shelf and hand down to their children as part of our cultural heritage. And then there's the doomsday scenario which always favors books.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It's the one where if civilization falls apart and there's no technology left, you can still read a book lying in the grass munching berries or sitting up in a tree eating a banana.”

“Never heard that one before,” he said, tossing his head back as he laughed.

“That's because I just made it up. I have some other scenarios, too.”

Now it was his turn to listen to her meanderings, and there was nothing but admiration on his face when she finished. “You really are a dyed-in-the-wool librarian, aren't you?”

“Guilty. I give my mother full credit for encouraging my love affair with books. She took me to the Covington Library when I was six and made me think summer reading was the only way a kid could have fun. That, licking cherry Popsicles to get a red tongue, and playing in the sprinkler to cool off.”

The two of them kept probing, tackling various pop culture issues of the day and finding that they were in agreement for the most part. They would have preferred to be left alone entirely, but no matter where they moved throughout the great room, there was someone to hug or a hand to shake and always an introduction to be made.

“Jeremy, I'd like you to meet my friend, Periwinkle Lattimore,” Maura Beth began, just as they had grown slightly uncomfortable from the warmth of the fireplace and claimed a couple of chairs farther away. “She runs the most successful restaurant in town, and if you haven't already, you must try her tomato aspic next time you go to the buffet table. They're those round red things that jiggle when you put them on your plate. But believe me, they're beyond delicious.”

After a firm handshake, Periwinkle said, “Your Aunt Connie was thoughtful enough to throw this shindig on a Sunday. That's my only day off from The Twinkle.” Then she leaned in to Maura Beth. “Oh, by the way, I've come up with the catchiest new slogan for my advertising, and I'm having it printed on the next batch of flyers, along with announcing Mr. Place as my pastry chef. How does, ‘Eat at The Twinkle—The Restaurant of the Stars,' sound to you?”

“Love it. Ties everything up neatly!” Maura Beth exclaimed. “Your decorations, the star quality of your food. It's a winner!”

“Next time I'm down, I'll have to give your restaurant a try,” Jeremy added. “Maybe the weekend of the
Mockingbird
review.”

Maura Beth's delight was unrestrained. “You'd come all the way from Nashville for that? Of course, I'm sure you'd be a wonderful addition to the discussion with your teaching skills and knowledge of literature.”

“Wouldn't miss it, especially now that I've met the moderator.”

Periwinkle gave him a thumbs-up and Maura Beth a wink on the sly. “Well, if you kids will excuse me, I'm starving. So I'm headed over to that seafood spread to see what kind of damage I can do.”

No sooner had she left, however, than Connie began ushering over some of her neighbors for an introductory chat. Predictably, Maura Beth put the opportunities to good use.

“You and your husband must come and visit me at the library sometime, Mrs. Milner,” she advised one couple, mustering every ounce of her charm. “I'm sure we can find you something of interest to put on your card. You do have one, don't you?”

The stylish matron hemmed and hawed. “You know, I—well, I believe I let mine expire. I'll have to check.”

Maura Beth continued to press. “No problem, if it did. We'll get you a new one, and you'll show it next time you go to The Twinkle—oh, you do enjoy The Twinkle, don't you?”

“Why, yes, I think it's marvelous. I especially like all those stars spinning around and dangling from the ceiling. And the food is delicious.”

“Those mobiles are creative, aren't they? You know, the owner, Periwinkle Lattimore, is here tonight,” Maura Beth continued. “Anyway, next time you go there, you can present your library card and get two-for-one drinks or half off your dessert. And with the new pastry chef Periwinkle just hired, you'll have at least a dozen new scrumptious selections to choose from.”

Mrs. Milner's eyes widened as she turned to her husband and smiled. “What a clever idea, George. We must take advantage of it!”

When the next couple confessed that they had seen
To Kill a Mockingbird
at the theater many years ago but had never bothered to read the book, Maura Beth was prepared. “Mr. Brimley, I don't know if I'd say that the movie was just as good as Harper Lee's novel, but it did take top honors in Hollywood. And I have several posters of Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch to remind myself of that illustrious fact. Meanwhile, I'd love to have you and your wife attend our review at the library, have something delicious to eat, and give us your opinions on the subject in general. Connie's left a stack of flyers over by the buffet table with all the information.”

During the lull that followed, Jeremy excused himself when he spotted his mother energetically motioning to join her across the way. Meanwhile, Miss Voncille and Locke Linwood showed up, spilling the good news about the Crumpton sisters and the bumbling bridge game that had won them over.

“As Locke has been reminding me constantly,” Miss Voncille explained, “I was completely, but I trust not transparently, incompetent in my play. I've never had such a good time losing.”

“Excellent work,” Maura Beth said, shaking her hand vigorously. “As I keep telling my clerks, nothing less than standing room only will do for The Cherry Cola Book Club this time around.”

“Locke and I are getting an awfully good feeling about this,” Miss Voncille replied. “Everyone in the club is certainly doing their part.” And then they were off to join the crowd at the buffet table.

But it was when Jeremy finally returned from the visit with his mother that Maura Beth realized the evening would end up being about far more than the library's future.

“Mom wanted a blow-by-blow of how it was going with you,” he told her. “She said she was getting tired of trying to read our lips and body language from a discreet distance. Typical mother, huh?”

Maura Beth flashed a smile and couldn't help batting her eyelashes coyly. “And what did you tell her?”

“I said that I wanted very much to see you again and that I hoped you felt the same way. And I didn't mean just for the
Mockingbird
review.”

At first Maura Beth said nothing, playing at building the suspense, but she couldn't sustain it for long. “When you have a weekend free of field trips, please give me a call. I think I'd like to discuss everything under the sun with you.”