the fridge.
She had pulled out her collection of Belleek china yesterday and set the tea service on the counter, in preparation for a tea party with little Maisy tomorrow. Ann Marie would bake scones, and tell her granddaughter about the village in Ireland where the dishes and the teapot were made—each of them creamy white, and etched with elegant shamrocks. She ran her finger over the stack of saucers.
She sat at the table, where she had left her list of chores the night before, as she did every night, with one column for her ( Defrost lamb for P., pick up prescriptions, get the pool guy to come look at the filter ) and one for Pat ( Send money to Little Daniel, get your oil checked?, pay water bill ).
She flipped the list over now and realized what it was: the country club newsletter, reminding them to weigh in on new admissions.
“Rats, rats,” she said. The deadline was tomorrow and they had almost forgotten. She made a silent vow to write only in notebooks from now on.
At the top of the page were the words: The individuals listed below and their families have been proposed for membership. The Admissions Committee and the Board of Governors invite your comments, which will be held in confidence .
Her eyes scanned the list: William and Karen Eaves she did not know. Tom and Susan Devine she had met once or twice, but she didn’t have any information about whether they’d make good members for the club.
She and Pat had sponsored the Brewers that past summer. They were longtime neighbors of theirs who had more recently become friends. Ann Marie had been amazed at some of the comments people sent in anonymously. Someone said Linda Brewer’s bathing suit had been too tight at the Prospectives Picnic. Someone else said she took too much from the buffet. They got in anyway. Ann Marie and her husband had been members since 1987: no one would dare challenge a nomination of Pat’s.
It had been his idea to invite the Brewers along to Maine. Usually they brought George and Laney Dwyer for the Fourth of July week, but this year they were off to a family wedding so Pat and Ann Marie had to search for a backup plan for the first half of the trip. (The second week, Patty would be there with Josh and the kids, and then Ann Marie and Pat would leave and Patty’s brood would have a week on their own. For the last week of the month, Ann Marie would drive up every two or three days to check on Alice until Clare and Joe arrived in August.)
“Why don’t you guys go by yourselves? Have a romantic getaway before your grandchildren arrive and shatter the peace and quiet,” Patty had said when Ann Marie told her the Dwyers couldn’t make it.
“That doesn’t sound like much fun,” Ann Marie said. “We’re by ourselves all the time.”
She had planned to ask her sister Susan, even though Susan’s husband, Sean, was a real know-it-all, and Pat resented him because he never offered to pay for dinner, always doing that awkward, labored wallet reach, unfolding every bill as though he were in slow motion, until Pat couldn’t stand it anymore and just said, “This one’s on me, bud.”
Susan always made sure to let Ann Marie know that Sean’s plumbing business brought in plenty of cash. Since she was so intent on bragging about it, it seemed that he could at least pay for dinner every once in a while.
Anyway, Pat returned from work one night in May and said, “I saw Steve Brewer at lunch and I asked if he and Linda wanted to join us for Maine. He said he’d have to check with her, but it sounded great to him.”
“Oh, well, imagine a man checking with his wife before making a major decision,” she said.
What was Steve thinking? Could this be a good idea, or was it too risky?
“A major decision?” Pat said, reaching immediately for a box of Cheez-Its on the counter.
She had meant to hide those. He wasn’t supposed to be snacking between meals.
“Jeez, honey, it’s not like I came in and told you we’re moving
She had pulled out her collection of Belleek china yesterday and set the tea service on the counter, in preparation for a tea party with little Maisy tomorrow. Ann Marie would bake scones, and tell her granddaughter about the village in Ireland where the dishes and the teapot were made—each of them creamy white, and etched with elegant shamrocks. She ran her finger over the stack of saucers.
She sat at the table, where she had left her list of chores the night before, as she did every night, with one column for her ( Defrost lamb for P., pick up prescriptions, get the pool guy to come look at the filter ) and one for Pat ( Send money to Little Daniel, get your oil checked?, pay water bill ).
She flipped the list over now and realized what it was: the country club newsletter, reminding them to weigh in on new admissions.
“Rats, rats,” she said. The deadline was tomorrow and they had almost forgotten. She made a silent vow to write only in notebooks from now on.
At the top of the page were the words: The individuals listed below and their families have been proposed for membership. The Admissions Committee and the Board of Governors invite your comments, which will be held in confidence .
Her eyes scanned the list: William and Karen Eaves she did not know. Tom and Susan Devine she had met once or twice, but she didn’t have any information about whether they’d make good members for the club.
She and Pat had sponsored the Brewers that past summer. They were longtime neighbors of theirs who had more recently become friends. Ann Marie had been amazed at some of the comments people sent in anonymously. Someone said Linda Brewer’s bathing suit had been too tight at the Prospectives Picnic. Someone else said she took too much from the buffet. They got in anyway. Ann Marie and her husband had been members since 1987: no one would dare challenge a nomination of Pat’s.
It had been his idea to invite the Brewers along to Maine. Usually they brought George and Laney Dwyer for the Fourth of July week, but this year they were off to a family wedding so Pat and Ann Marie had to search for a backup plan for the first half of the trip. (The second week, Patty would be there with Josh and the kids, and then Ann Marie and Pat would leave and Patty’s brood would have a week on their own. For the last week of the month, Ann Marie would drive up every two or three days to check on Alice until Clare and Joe arrived in August.)
“Why don’t you guys go by yourselves? Have a romantic getaway before your grandchildren arrive and shatter the peace and quiet,” Patty had said when Ann Marie told her the Dwyers couldn’t make it.
“That doesn’t sound like much fun,” Ann Marie said. “We’re by ourselves all the time.”
She had planned to ask her sister Susan, even though Susan’s husband, Sean, was a real know-it-all, and Pat resented him because he never offered to pay for dinner, always doing that awkward, labored wallet reach, unfolding every bill as though he were in slow motion, until Pat couldn’t stand it anymore and just said, “This one’s on me, bud.”
Susan always made sure to let Ann Marie know that Sean’s plumbing business brought in plenty of cash. Since she was so intent on bragging about it, it seemed that he could at least pay for dinner every once in a while.
Anyway, Pat returned from work one night in May and said, “I saw Steve Brewer at lunch and I asked if he and Linda wanted to join us for Maine. He said he’d have to check with her, but it sounded great to him.”
“Oh, well, imagine a man checking with his wife before making a major decision,” she said.
What was Steve thinking? Could this be a good idea, or was it too risky?
“A major decision?” Pat said, reaching immediately for a box of Cheez-Its on the counter.
She had meant to hide those. He wasn’t supposed to be snacking between meals.
“Jeez, honey, it’s not like I came in and told you we’re moving
Similar Books
