Blinking, I stare at a young woman in an apron and a butterfly-scattered hair scarf.
“Don’t mind her,” Lynn, at my side, assures me as she closes the door. “It’s book club night. That’s Mirabelle.”
Mirabelle’s back straightens at the sound of her name, and she stops arranging an assortment of cookies around the teapots on the coffee table to look at me. Surprise ripples in her eyes. “Boys aren’t allowed at book club,” she says. “That’s a rule. An unspoken rule, but still a rule.”
“Oh, he won’t be here long, Mira,” Leeann says. “We just need to help him with a problem.” She lowers her voice, but not enough. “He’s going to marry August.”
Mirabelle’s lashes flutter, and she doesn’t bother whispering—or attempting to whisper—when she says, “He is?”
Sagely, Leeann nods.
Mirabelle smiles, genuinely elated…genuinely seeming delighted…and I find my heart squeezing at the idea that someone else I’ve just met could care about my August’s happiness so much. I love this town. I wish I’d bothered to visit more, for longer, not just for an afternoon here and there in between work trips.
“Come, come.” Lynn ushers me in, and I hug my grandmother before taking the single seat across from the long couch full of women.
Kind, yet mildly apprehensive, Grandma Beth lifts her teacup and says, “Tell us what the problem is, Ali.”
Ali. I haven’t heard that one out of text for a hot second. Blowing out a breath, I say, “I have a date with August this weekend…at the lake.”
Grandma Beth winces, and the other elderly women cringe, eyes settling on my blond wig. Mirabelle, however, lights up. “That’s so cute! Augustlovesthe lake. Do you know her favorite snacks? I know them. I saw her shopping list once since we have the same shopping day. You could surprise her.”
I find myself forgetting the point of this meeting as I lean forward. “Really? That would be wonderful. I was planning to home-make a picnic. I’ve been looking for recipes that taste like summer. I was going to take a risk on making a dragon fruit pie.”
“Dragon fruit?” Mirabelle’s lips form a perfect circle. “That sounds positively exotic. If it turns out, will you get me the recipe?”
“Absolutely. I’m hopeful. August seems the type who’d enjoy something out of the ordinary.”
Mirabelle bobbleheads. “Completely.”
Lynn clears her throat, and Mirabelle and I startle, giving her our attention. She murmurs, “I think…perhaps before we start making menus…we should figure out a solution to the big problem?”
Ah.
Right.
Lifting my hand, I graze my fake hair.
Grandma Beth’s brows lower, and she turns to rest her palm on Mirabelle’s knee. “Now, dearie…you must make a promise to me right now. What we’re about to discuss is secret.”
Mirabelle’s head tilts. “Is this love yet unrequited? I won’t tell.”
“Something like that,” Leeann murmurs, lifting her eyes toward the ceiling. “Promise us what we talk about here today will not reach August.”
Tentatively, Mirabelle says, “Okay…I promise.”
“Excellent!” Leeann claps, turning back to me. “So. What have you figured out so far?”
What indeed… “It is not advised to swim in a wig.”
Mirabelle’s eyes lock on my head, and she says, “You’rebald? And August doesn’t know?”
Withering, Grandma Beth continues patting Mirabelle’s knee. “Not…quite.”
“Worse,” Leeann says, deflating.
Mirabelle utterly pales. “Oh my word. You have cancer.”
“No.” I throw my hands up. “No, no. I don’t. It’s nothing that terrible. I’m just…not blond.”
