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Maggie leans into me. “Why don’t you tell us how you met my son? I didn’t even know he was on a date tonight.”
Her expression is so earnest and so hopeful, I don’t want to explain that it wasn’t a date but more of a chance meeting turned birthday celebration. So … I don’t.
“Eli volunteers at the animal shelter where I work,” I explain.
Not wholly the truth, at least notofficially, but probably easier to explain than the reality. He at least has the volunteer paperwork, even if he never plans to bring it back.
Maggie’s eyes widen. So does her smile. The tiniest dimple appears in one cheek. “You work at the shelter?”
I nod, and she goes on to talk about how much Eli has always loved dogs, but they never had one because she was a single mom and too many apartments don’t allow it. I’m on the cusp of getting Eli’s whole life story, but he walks into the room.
“I can’t find anything.” He found a hat somewhere, and it’s jammed down low, shading his eyes. His hands are in fists on his hips. “It’s not the breakers. It’s not even whole rooms or particular sockets. It seems totally random. Almost … intentional.”
Next to me, Maggie shifts, settling deeper into the sofa and taking a drink before answering. “How strange,” Maggie says. “Then again, it is an old house.”
Eli’s not buying it. Neither am I. Maggie seems far too delighted with the whole situation and not in the least concerned about why half the lights in the house aren’t working. Heaving a sigh, Eli walks over to a tall floor lamp in the corner and starts fiddling with the cord.
“What kind of books do you read?” I ask, desperately needing the focus in the room to be anywhere other than me.
“Our books vary as much as our drink choices,” the purple-haired woman on the floor says. “And unlike some book clubs, wedoactually read and discuss books.”
“Among other things,” Maggie says, then turns to me. “We all suffer from chronic illness of one kind or another. Or several.”
“Except me.” Beside me, Rachel touches her chest. “Nurse practitioner.”
“She’s here in case someone dies,” says a woman in a floppy hat.
Maggie shakes a finger. “Not true! We just all love Rachel. And remember--dying isn’t allowed during book club. It’s in the rules.”
What are the other rules?I find myself wondering.
“Fibromyalgia and rheumatoid arthritis for me,” Maggie says cheerfully, like she’s announcing a prize she’s won. “Though we try to keep that kind of talk out of these evenings. Can you believe they wouldn’t let me name our group the Chronic-Ills of Narnia? Get it—chronic ills? Chronicles? Such a missed opportunity.”
A woman with closely cropped white hair and a tiny nose ring presses a mug of tea into my hands. I don’t protest, though I didn’t ask for anything and I didn’t notice anyone leaving the room to make it. When I lift the mug to my nose, it smells like Christmas morning.
“Cinnamon herbal tea,” Maggie says. “Decaf so it won’t keep you up.” Her gaze slides to Eli, then back to me. Her smile is sly. “But if you have late night plans, I could find you something with caffeine, I’m sure.”
I take a sip of tea, which is thankfully just the right temperature to save me from having to respond. Maggie reminds me of Eli—overwhelming in the best kind of way. Still, there is a lot to process. All the new faces, the names I’veforgotten, the various unnamed chronic illnesses I’ll now be wondering about. I have some googling to do.
Suddenly, the lamp Eli’s been messing with turns on, brightening the whole room. A few women gasp. And then they all clap, like Eli just performed a perfectly executed magic trick.
Maggie grins. “Well, would you look at that! It’s a miracle.”
Eli stares at the lamp for a few seconds, then slowly turns to his mom with narrowed eyes. Keeping his gaze fixed on her, he walks to the center of the room and reaches up toward the ceiling fan. But instead of pulling the cord again, he reaches inside one of the glass globes and gives the light bulb a few turns. It immediately turns on.
“You solved the electrical issue!” Maggie says. “Thank goodness!”
“Mom,” Eli says slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes are narrowed, but I can see the amusement in the tilt of his lips. “There is no electrical issue. The light bulbs have all been loosened just enough not to work. Do you happen to know anything about that?”
Maggie presses a hand to her chest. “Me? Heavens no. Why would I go around unscrewing light bulbs? Who has time for that? Maybe we have a poltergeist.”
I stifle a giggle, dropping my gaze to my mug of tea before glancing back up at Eli. He shoots me a look that’s half apology and half exasperation before stomping out of the room, presumably tightening all the light bulbs in the house.
“There’s no poltergeist,” Maggie whispers, leaning close. “I just wanted to meet you. When Eli texted he was taking someone—a woman—out for her birthday, I had to orchestrate something. It’s what a good mother does.”
“I think my therapist would have something to say about that,” the purple-haired woman points out.
“You unscrewed all the light bulbs in the house so you could meet me?” I ask.
