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I’ll blame not thinking about this beforehand on the tension strung tight as Eli rushed home for the supposed emergency. At least my coat hides some of the nightgown. I pull it tighter with the one hand I still have the freedom to move.
“Um,” I start.
Leaning close, she says, “Don’t explain. It’s more fun that way.”
“Mom,” Eli groans. “Let Bailey breathe.”
“Let me have a moment, Elias. This is the first woman you’ve brought home in … well,ever. I should get a chance to appreciate it.”
My eyes dart to Eli’s. The tips of his ears flush red, and he glances away from me quickly.Elias?The first woman he’s brought home?
Really?
“It’s so lovely to meet you, Bailey.” She gives my hand a last squeeze before finally letting go. I think my fingers have gone to sleep. “I’m Margaret. Everyone calls me Maggie.”
“Or Magpie,” Eli says. “Magnanimous. Margo.”
Maggie rolls her eyes. “Quiet,Elipses.”
Okay, I get it—their thing is messing with each other’s names. It’s … kind of adorable.
“And this”—Maggie sweeps an arm wide, gesturing to the room full of women, all grinning, most waving—“is book club.”
I manage a small wave with the hand that still works, and then Eli steps between Maggie and me. “Tell me about this electrical emergency.”
Maggie shrugs. “Started a little while ago. Half the lights in the house just don’t work.”
There are candles on the coffee table, none matching. From the scent lingering in the air, at least one is pumpkin spice, another vanilla.
Eli pulls the cords on the ceiling fan. The blades spin and stop, but the lights don’t click on. He points above the mantel, where one recessed light shines brightly. “That one still works. And the power is still on. I hear the heater.”
Maggie shrugs again. The move feels a little too practiced, but it’s not my place to say. “It’s the strangest thing. Some work, some don’t. I don’t know if it’s a power surge or something with the breaker box.” She laughs. “To tell the truth, I don’t know where the breaker box is.”
“It’s in the kitchen. I’ll check.” Eli meets my eyes. Hesitantly, he asks, “Will you be okay?”
“Of course she’ll be okay!” Maggie links her arm through mine. “She’s with me.”
From the set of his jaw, I get the sense that’sexactlywhy Eli asked. With a heaving sigh, he walks out, presumably toward the kitchen. It’s funny to see him like this. Different from his normal brightness or even the low mood when he came to the shelter the other day. This is more of a gruff concern, his worry working itself out in grumpiness.
The room holds its breath while he goes. Then, it erupts into sound and motion as soon as he’s gone. Voices clatter together like dishes in the sink after a meal, and I’m ushered to the couchwhere two women shift apart to make room for Maggie and me—barely.
If I were claustrophobic at all, I’d be breathing into a paper bag right now. As it is, my shyness rears its head, and my tongue cements itself to the roof of my mouth.
“Would you like something to drink?” Maggie asks. “Water, tea, wine?”
“Vodka?” a woman asks from her seat on the floor. Her face is heavily lined, her hair bright purple. A red bra peeks out from a hole in her ripped Metallica t-shirt.
“There’s also decaf coffee,” another woman says, holding up a mug that readsDeck the Fallswith a fall leaf pattern.
“We’re big drinkers at book club,” Maggie says. “Something for everyone. What’ll it be?”
“I’m fine,” I say, my voice scratchy, sounding almost unused. My heartbeat is louder in my ears than my words.
“Let me know if you change your mind,” Maggie says, then proceeds to introduce everyone in the room, assuring me it’s fine if I forget.
Turns out there are only nine women. It feels like dozens, perhaps because the room is so small and overcrowded with furniture. I only remember one name, Rachel, and only because it was my mother’s name. She’s seated beside me and, thankfully, does not remind me of my mother in the slightest. This Rachel is tall and full of angles: sharp nose, firm jaw, a pointy shoulder pressing into mine. But her smile is kind, her eyes gentle.
My mother was short like me and soft everywhere, from her gentle curls to her creamy skin and wide hips. Every so often, growing greedy for affection, I’d sink into her lap while she was reading, trying to stay still enough to be forgotten. Hoping she wouldn’t shoo me away so she could work. The only thing notsoft about her was her voice, which I remember being as tight as a guitar string.
