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Sometimes, that made it harder. Harder for me not to blame myself.
But books? Books were the things I knew I could count on to take me away, to get me out of my head so I’d stop focusing on the blinking sign.
So I could breathe.
“This is a romance book club.” Carly Eaton, another member of our fledgling club, was perusing a second copy of the same book Mrs. DuBois was still looking at like it offended her, but Carly seemed to be reacting much differently. An excited smile was spreading across her small features. She couldn’t have been more than four foot, ten inches tall, but she was gorgeous, with her mahogany bob and bangs and deep brown eyes.
“No, Mrs. DuBois.” I needed to interject before the older, more discerning member of our new group ran away with her knickers in twist. “Just because it’s a romance club, that doesn’t mean every book we read will have open-door sex scenes. There are lots of romances without any sex at all.”
“Yeah, boring ones,” Aislinn Burroughs said. She and her best friend Billie Cade had shown up for the meeting, but I hadn’t known they were coming. “We should read a shifter romance. Those are the best.”
Mrs. DuBois made a face like someone rubbed sulfur under her nose. “What’s a shifter?”
“Oh,” Billie drawled, “you’re in for a proper education. Ace here reads all kinds of kinky stuff. A shifter is a dude who changes from a man into an animal, like a bear, dragon, or a wolf. Wolves are Ace’s favorites.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.
Mrs. DuBois clutched at the neck of her red cashmere sweater, throwing a doubtful look at Billie. “Oh my.”
“Yeah, apparently it’s uber hot.”
Now Aislinn was the target of Mrs. DuBois’s silent judgment, but she was oblivious to it because she was visually impaired. If she wasn’t allowing Billie to lead her, she used a walking cane. It was funny to me that Aislinn liked to read such explicit stories because of her prim and proper demeanor, with her perfect posture and long skinny legs, always crossed at the ankles. Sitting next to Billie, who was lounging in her armchair like this was her house and not the county-owned public library, Aislinn was the picture of poise. It seemed funny that they were best friends because they were complete opposites.
“But how is that”—Mrs. DuBois dropped the book into her lap and scrunched her fingers in the air, whispering—“sexy?”
“It’s like super alpha-masculine or something,” Billie answered, draping a thigh over her chair’s arm, purple high-top dangling over the side. “How many people have signed up for book club, Sam?” she asked.
Ticking the names off on my fingers, I counted out loud. “Well, let’s see. You, Aislinn, Mrs. DuBois, Carly, Juneau. Oh, Mrs. DuBois, is your sister joining us?”
She winced. “I think this is way too much feminism for Myrna.”
“Okay,” I said, kind of offended. I mean, did she think I couldn’t come up with some good romance classics? I would’ve handed out Pride and Prejudice for our first book if I thought any of them would finish it. “Well, I think that’s it then. Oh, wait. I can’t forget Phil.”
“There’s a man in our romance book club? I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mrs. DuBois complained. “What self-respecting member of the male species would read one of these anyway?” She held the book up in the air, shaking it from side to side.
“Philomena Beasley,” Billie said. “A woman. And why couldn’t a man read a book like this? Men like sex and romance too.”
She gasped. “Well, I never.”
“Oh, I bet you have,” Billie joked. “C’mon, tell us all how you wooed your husband. It’s one of my favorite stories ever. It involves what Mrs. DuBois refers to as an ‘aubergine.’”
Mrs. DuBois scoffed. “You really are insufferable, you know that? And of course I know Philomena. Who doesn’t know that old bat?”
“Old bat? Look who’s talking,” Billie said, and she smooched a kiss in Mrs. DuBois’s direction. They argued like mad cats, but they were weird friends somehow. Mrs. DuBois was teaching Billie to sew, and Billie was teaching her how to make TikTok videos. Mrs. DuBois even had a little bit of a following. People seemed to like her “uppity granny” schtick, though I wasn’t sure how much of a schtick it was.
“All right,” I said. “That’s six. I was kind of hoping we’d get more people to join, but six is a solid start.”
“Seven,” Carly said, “including you.”
“Oh, right.”
The bell rang on the desk in the library’s main room, and I excused myself to see who it was. The library was never really “busy,” so we were having our preliminary book club meeting during regular hours. I wanted to gauge the ladies’ interests and get to know them a bit better so I could find books that might challenge them or at least interest them. But they were all so different. I was suddenly doubting myself, wondering if I’d be able to find a book they’d all like.
My cell phone buzzed beneath my bra strap under my T-shirt because my skirt didn’t have a pocket, and I ducked into the bathroom to pull it out. Hadn’t I just said the library was never busy? Jeez. Now it was like a Costco all of a sudden.
“Hi, Gramps. Can I call you back? I’m hosting the first book club meeting right now.”
“Sure, Sunny. But did you make an appointment with that doctor I told you about? My friend’s daughter says she’s the best reproductive doctor in Jackson.”
I whispered, “Gramps!”
