Page 2 of The Wilder Widows

“I brought muffins. Fresh baked!” Doris pulled back the embroidered napkin lining her small basket. Steam rose off the muffins, and the intoxicating smell tempted the appetite hiding since Bruce’s death.

“They look and smell wonderful. Thank you, Doris.”

“Blueberry.” She waggled her eyebrows then placed the basket beside the lasagna dish.

“I’ve got whiskey. You’ll need it.” Alice pulled a bottle out of the colorful Vera Bradley bag dangling from her arm.

“Oh!” I appraised it and smiled. “Well, thank you.”

“I told you not to bring whiskey, Alice,” Doris scolded. “Sorry. She doesn’t bake.” The last phrase was said in a whisper as if not baking was a mortal sin best not mentioned.

Shaking my head, the first smile in days started on my lips. “No. It’s fine. Really. I appreciate it, Alice.”

“It’s the good stuff. Laphroaig Single Malt Whiskey. Cask strength. This will take the edge right off.” She set it beside the muffins and smiled, revealing perfect white teeth fit for someone of her beauty. Even at her advanced age, with her impeccable style, sparkling green eyes, and fashionable shoulder-length silky hair, she likely still turned heads of men half her age. She looked considerably younger than the other two widows standing in my living room, but from the unnatural smoothness of her skin, I suspected it was more medical enhancement than her being closer to my age. But the longer I looked at her, the more I questioned her age, now wondering if perhaps she was younger than me.

“I appreciate you all stopping to check in on me. I’m surprised we’ve never met, though I’ll admit I’ve seen you around. You ladies walk around the block together some afternoons.”

“It’s part of our widow’s club. We help each other stay in shape... or try, I suppose,” Marge said, gesturing to her ample belly. “I eat a lot of lasagnas. I’m Italian, and my mom likes to cook.”

“And I love to bake, so that’s where this is from.” Doris wiggled her large hips and giggled.

“I drink.” Alice shrugged.

There wasn’t an ounce of fat to jiggle on her fit figure. I wasn’t overweight, and I could still turn a head or two, but standing next to that leggy creature had me thinking more walking would do me good. Or perhaps more drinking if that’s what was doing it for her.

Rolling her eyes, Marge impaled her with a look. “You even drink on our walks, Alice. Don’t think we don’t know what’s in those ‘sports drinks’ you won’t let us try.”

Scoffing, Alice returned her scowl. “Only because I don’t want your cooties, Marge.”

“I don’t have cooties. If anyone has cooties, with the way you carry on with your pool boy, it’s you!”

“Don’t forget the gardener. And my yoga instructor.” A sinister smile curved her lips and caused Marge to widen her eyes, though with the size of them in their natural state, it was surprising they could get any larger.

Doris stomped her foot. “Ladies! Behave. You’re scaring poor Sylvie here.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“May we?” Doris asked, gesturing to my couch. Glad she waited for permission this time, I nodded and followed them to the living room.

They sat down and perused me once again with sympathetic gazes.

“I hope you don’t mind us barging in, but we wanted to check on you. You’re one of us now. We widows need to stick together.” Doris touched my leg, giving it a light squeeze. “There will be all sorts of things you’ll need to learn. How to pay bills. Figuring out life insurance. Garbage day. Changing light bulbs. It’s a lot, but lucky for you, we have it all figured out. All you need to do is ask!”

She pressed her glasses up on her nose, and I realized then who she reminded me of. My grandma Mildred. The glasses were similar, but it was the hairstyle that reminded me of her most. Soft grey hair pulled into a loose bun perched on top of her head was the only way I’d ever seen my grandma wear her hair. Today, as well as the few times I’d seen Doris around the neighborhood, she’d styled her hair exactly the same way.

“How sweet of you all to think of me. But actually, I’ve been doing most of that stuff on my own for some time. Bruce hated the day to day stuff, so I handled the finances, and he wasn’t particularly good at house projects either. I learned long ago how to take care of myself, but I appreciate the gesture.”

Doris slapped her leg. “Well, what a modern woman you are! When Harold died five years ago, I was lost. He was the first husband of ours to go, and it took me months to figure things out. That’s why I’ve made it my mission to make sure every Wilder Widow gets the support she needs straight away. We just want to help.”

“Well, I don’t know how to do any of that stuff, but I have people if you need them,” Alice said. “Lots of people.”

“Just don’t sleep with them like Alice does,” Marge taunted.

“Stop it!” Doris swatted a hand at them then turned back to me with her sweet smile. “You’ll get used to them. I promise we are a lot of fun to have around. And we could use a new face in our group.”

Glancing at their eager faces, my mind raced with a storm of conflicting thoughts. Do I even want to join this group of strange women? My first thought was no, but when I contemplated the lonely days stretched before me, I considered it. My life here hadn’t exactly turned out like I’d planned after Bruce moved us here from the city for his big promotion. I’d left my friends and marketing career with the goal of starting my own boutique marketing firm here. Those plans had gone up in flames when his health declined shortly after the move. My aspirations got swallowed up while I took care of him, and I’d barely made a single friend since we’d arrived here. Now I had no company to run, no friends to hang out with, and my daughter, Rachel, lived across the country in L.A.

“We meet three times a week and alternate houses,” Doris went on. “Though with you in the group, it will be four times a week. Our schedules are flexible since none of us work or have husbands or children at home for that matter. So, let’s plan Monday at Marge’s, Wednesday at my house, Friday at Alice’s, and let’s do Sunday after church here.”