in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.
Jean and Lucy looked up together as she stepped into the living room and struck a model pose, one hand on her hip, the other behind her head. Lucy squinted. Jean’s mouth dropped open.
“Wow,” she said to Lucy. “Doesn’t Mommy look sexy?”
Lucy mulled this over for a moment or two, with an oddly reflective air. Then she nodded, but there was something tentative in her assent, as if she wasn’t quite sure she’d understood the question.
Exhaling sharply, Jean raised her dumbbells overhead.
“Funny you should mention Dostoevsky,” she said. “We’re reading Crime and Punishment in our book group.”
“Crime and Punishment?” Sarah huffed, struggling to keep pace. “That’s pretty highbrow for a book group.”
“Not for us.” Jean pressed the weights straight out from her chest. “We only read the classics. Last month we did Sister Carrie. ”
“Good for you,” said Sarah. “Some mothers from the playground tried to get me to join a group last year, but all they ever read were those Oprah novels.”
“We’re schoolteachers,” said Jean, as if that accounted for the difference.
“I went to one meeting, and half the women hadn’t even done the reading. They just wanted to sit around and talk about their kids. I mean, I went to graduate school. Don’t call it a book group if you’re not gonna talk about books.”
“We have some very stimulating discussions,” said Jean. “You should come next month. We’re doing Madame Bovary. You could be my little sister.”
“Little sister?”
“We’re trying to get younger women involved. We call them our little sisters.” She waved her hand, as if it wasn’t worth discussing. “I’d love it if you’d be my guest.”
“I’ll think about it,” Sarah said, groaning inwardly. The last thing she wanted was to spend a night talking about Flaubert with a bunch of retired schoolteachers. “I’m sure I have a slightly different critical perspective from the rest of you.”
“That’s the whole point,” said Jean. “We could use some fresh blood.”
They did their usual three-mile loop, through the park and around the new developments, Jean pumping iron and talking about the book group the whole time. She described the other members in unnecessary detail, sketching in their educational and family backgrounds, and making sure not to neglect their charming personality quirks. Bridget spoke three languages and had traveled everywhere . Alice, attractive but very demanding, was working on hubby number three. Regina’s son—he was always a high achiever—was CFO of a Fortune 500 company. Josephine was funny and very opinionated, but her memory wasn’t what it used to be. Laurel only attended during summer and fall. The rest of the year she was a golf widow in Boca.
“I tried to get Tim to take up golf,” she said, as they turned back onto their street, “but he wouldn’t do it. He’s too busy sitting around the house all day letting his brain turn to mush. It’s hard to believe, but twenty years ago, he was considered to be a charming and intelligent man.”
Once Jean got started on the subject of her husband, it was hard to get her to stop. A lot of their walks ended with Sarah inviting Jean inside for a glass of ice water, then having to listen like a therapist to an hour’s worth of complaints about Tim’s failure to cope with retirement. That night, though, Sarah was saved from this ordeal by a surprising development: Theresa from the playground was sitting on her front stoop, obviously waiting to speak to her.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” said Sarah. “I think I have a visitor.”
Sarah hadn’t seen any of the other mothers since the day she kissed Todd. She’d gone back to the Rayburn School playground the following morning, and for the next two mornings after that, but each time the regulars were absent, the picnic table empty and reproachful. They
Jean and Lucy looked up together as she stepped into the living room and struck a model pose, one hand on her hip, the other behind her head. Lucy squinted. Jean’s mouth dropped open.
“Wow,” she said to Lucy. “Doesn’t Mommy look sexy?”
Lucy mulled this over for a moment or two, with an oddly reflective air. Then she nodded, but there was something tentative in her assent, as if she wasn’t quite sure she’d understood the question.
Exhaling sharply, Jean raised her dumbbells overhead.
“Funny you should mention Dostoevsky,” she said. “We’re reading Crime and Punishment in our book group.”
“Crime and Punishment?” Sarah huffed, struggling to keep pace. “That’s pretty highbrow for a book group.”
“Not for us.” Jean pressed the weights straight out from her chest. “We only read the classics. Last month we did Sister Carrie. ”
“Good for you,” said Sarah. “Some mothers from the playground tried to get me to join a group last year, but all they ever read were those Oprah novels.”
“We’re schoolteachers,” said Jean, as if that accounted for the difference.
“I went to one meeting, and half the women hadn’t even done the reading. They just wanted to sit around and talk about their kids. I mean, I went to graduate school. Don’t call it a book group if you’re not gonna talk about books.”
“We have some very stimulating discussions,” said Jean. “You should come next month. We’re doing Madame Bovary. You could be my little sister.”
“Little sister?”
“We’re trying to get younger women involved. We call them our little sisters.” She waved her hand, as if it wasn’t worth discussing. “I’d love it if you’d be my guest.”
“I’ll think about it,” Sarah said, groaning inwardly. The last thing she wanted was to spend a night talking about Flaubert with a bunch of retired schoolteachers. “I’m sure I have a slightly different critical perspective from the rest of you.”
“That’s the whole point,” said Jean. “We could use some fresh blood.”
They did their usual three-mile loop, through the park and around the new developments, Jean pumping iron and talking about the book group the whole time. She described the other members in unnecessary detail, sketching in their educational and family backgrounds, and making sure not to neglect their charming personality quirks. Bridget spoke three languages and had traveled everywhere . Alice, attractive but very demanding, was working on hubby number three. Regina’s son—he was always a high achiever—was CFO of a Fortune 500 company. Josephine was funny and very opinionated, but her memory wasn’t what it used to be. Laurel only attended during summer and fall. The rest of the year she was a golf widow in Boca.
“I tried to get Tim to take up golf,” she said, as they turned back onto their street, “but he wouldn’t do it. He’s too busy sitting around the house all day letting his brain turn to mush. It’s hard to believe, but twenty years ago, he was considered to be a charming and intelligent man.”
Once Jean got started on the subject of her husband, it was hard to get her to stop. A lot of their walks ended with Sarah inviting Jean inside for a glass of ice water, then having to listen like a therapist to an hour’s worth of complaints about Tim’s failure to cope with retirement. That night, though, Sarah was saved from this ordeal by a surprising development: Theresa from the playground was sitting on her front stoop, obviously waiting to speak to her.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” said Sarah. “I think I have a visitor.”
Sarah hadn’t seen any of the other mothers since the day she kissed Todd. She’d gone back to the Rayburn School playground the following morning, and for the next two mornings after that, but each time the regulars were absent, the picnic table empty and reproachful. They
Similar Books
