Page 11 of The Wilder Widows

“I never really loved my husband either.” Alice shrugged. “His money, yes. But him? No. Though he wasn’t a bad man, I just didn’t love him. He was no Harry Hayes.”

“I loved my Percy.” Marge sighed.

“Yeah, but like a friend, you lesbo.” Alice rolled her eyes. “It’s different.”

Tears glistened over Doris’s eyes. “Well, I loved Harold. With all my heart.”

“You’re lucky, Doris,” I said. “I wish I could have felt that way about Bruce. But I was stuck with him.”

“Yeah, kids now these days have it easy with their drive-through divorces and their gay-loving ways.” Marge scrunched up her nose. “It wasn’t like that for us. You got married to someone of the opposite sex,” she said, pointing her finger for emphasis, “and you stayed married. Period. Nowadays, I’d be out of the closet, Sylvie would be divorced, Alice would be a swinger, and Doris... well, Doris would still be Doris.”

Doris just shrugged and nodded.

“I was a swinger a couple times.” Alice smirked. “Fun times.”

Blowing out a breath, I sat back. “There were many times after divorce became more acceptable that I thought about leaving, but I stayed anyway. And then when I was finally ready... cancer.”

“Well, now they’re all gone, and all that’s left is us.” Alice took a swig straight out of the bottle. “Just us. Bored old ladies who let their entire lives pass them by.”

“I still can’t believe this is it for me,” Marge grumbled. “Getting drunk with a bunch of old ladies. The adventurous life I had planned is gone. Gone.”

“Don’t say that, Marge.” I tried to comfort her with a touch, but the whiskey made me miss, and I patted the air instead. “We aren’t too old. Other women our age still get out there and live their best lives. We’ve just become complacent in ours, but I’m determined to find fun stuff to do. No more knitting.”

“I love knitting,” Doris pouted, hiccupping again.

“You knit your little heart out, Doris. That’s the point,” I said. “These are the golden years. We should be able to do whatever the hell we want. We earned it.”

“We did earn it!” Marge raised a triumphant fist before her arm went limp and fell back at her side. “All those years living as housewives and mothers, and what do we have to show for it? Nothing, that’s what. Now it’s our turn to do what we want, damn it! Our turn!”

“Amen, Marge. Amen.” Alice hoisted the bottle.

“I don’t feel like I missed anything,” Doris slurred. “My whole life, I wanted a family. A husband. Grandkids. I never even thought of another life.”

Marge grunted. “But now what, Doris? They’re all gone. Your kids live across the country. They come to visit with your grandkids once or twice a year. And your husband is dead.”

Doris’s eyes glistened while she stared at Marge in disbelief. Her chin puckered as she fought the tears.

Alice tossed a pillow and smacked Marge in the head. “Christ, Marge! Way to destroy Doris’s cheery outlook on life!”

Marge looked to Doris, who had a single tear dripping down her flushed cheek.

“Well, it’s true.” Marge shrugged.

“It is true,” Doris whispered, her voice shaking with the weight of her admission. “They’re gone—all of them. And I have nothing left. I’m all alone.” The sobs shook her body. “And sometimes... sometimes when I’m feeling lazy, I buy baked goods at the market and pass them off as my own!” The sobs turned to wails.

“You what?” we echoed.

“My secret.” She sobbed. “It’s that I’m a fraud. A fraud!”

“The scandal!” Alice teased. “Doris, you are a treacherous thing.”

“Going straight to hell with us.” Marge shook her head, and Doris’s sob deepened.

Alice shot Marge a look. “Now look what you did!”

“No,” Doris said between sniffles. “She’s right. You’re all right. I’m a fraud, and we gave up all our good years in service of others, and now they’ve just abandoned us. We’re alone. Old. It’s over.”

“It’s not over.” I reached over and rubbed her knee. “We won’t let it be over. There’s no way I’m going out like this, rotting away the rest of my days after I gave up my whole life married to that asshole.”