In a Book Club Far Away(10)
When Adelaide and her husband, Matt, moved in a month ago, it had seemed like a good idea to them to replace the standard-issue mirror with this one. It brought great light to the room. It also reflected off the framed prints of flowers hanging on the wall behind her, creating a chaos that caused her to shut her eyes as the sounds of laughter echoed through the door. The mirror showed every flaw on her face, from the dark hue of her evident exhaustion after unpacking feverishly the last month, to the blemishes that had erupted on her skin. It revealed the stress from the move, the upcoming deployment, and the nausea that had crept in the last two days.
She gripped the sides of the pedestal sink to settle her stomach. Nausea is good, she reminded herself. Nausea was perfect, because it might mean that she was pregnant. Her period—annotated in her bedside-table chart, along with her temperature and all the other tiny personal details—was two days late. She was cautiously ecstatic, though trying to appear her joyful, presentable self was another story. “You’re fine. Everything’s fine. You wanted this book club.”
Books were Adelaide’s escape. She read to experience. And she was tired of keeping her love of books incognito. During this time at Millersville, she’d made it her duty to get to know other readers. To boot, Matt was now in a leadership position, and she would be like Mama had been: a steadfast, optimistic military spouse that others could look up to.
She just hadn’t anticipated that her planned night would coincide with what felt like hot flashes.
She patted her face with a damp paper towel and breathed in long sips of air. This was the first event in her home. At least twenty people had arrived, and she didn’t know if she had enough food. She, for sure, didn’t have enough chairs, and she could hear her mother, a triple threat in etiquette—Southern, career officer’s wife, and former event planner—in her head. Never run out of food, Adelaide, y’hear? That’s the worst sin of hostessing.
In her normal state, she’d have managed these issues with a passable imitation of her mother’s grace, but currently? She didn’t know if her own underwear was on inside out.
A knock on the door made her jump.
“Mrs. Wilson-Chang?” a woman said on the other side.
Adelaide’s heart thumped an unsteady beat at the sound of the woman’s formality. The whole Mrs. thing hadn’t stuck yet, despite six years in the role. Mrs. referred to her mother, right? It was one thing when they were in the South, where the title was customary, but in this case, her title was due to the fact that her husband was a captain; Fort Fairfax was an operational unit, and folks tended to stand at attention until they were told to be at ease.
“Hello?” the voice said again, undeterred.
If Adelaide stayed still, if she didn’t say a word, would the person go away?
“It’s Sophie… and…” the woman started.
“Regina,” a soprano voice added.
“It’s Sophie and Regina. Are you okay?”
Golly. There were now two women outside her bathroom door, and Adelaide was causing a scene, and she didn’t remember who they were. She was usually great with names, but after the first dozen introductions earlier that evening, Adelaide had lost track. She was living in a mush of timelines from their recent arrival and upcoming deployment, which had been hit with occasional bouts of confusion, all heaped up together into this one moment.
“Adelaide?”
The sound of her first name, now whispered softly, snapped her out of her runaway thoughts. “Um, yes, I’ll be right there.” She flattened down her flyaway red hair and then pressed her lips together to salvage whatever was left of her red lipstick. She noticed a smudge of mascara where a cat eye was supposed to be. Dang it.
She opened the door.
Two women looked at her with matching sets of concerned but friendly expressions. Then, slowly, after the rush of blood in her ears subsided, Adelaide pieced together who these two were from their introductions as well as from her “pre-event briefing” from Matt. Know who your guests are before they arrive, her mother had always said, and earlier that afternoon, Adelaide and Matt had discussed those attendees who belonged to the 701st.
The woman on the left, Sophie Walden, was partner of ten years to Jasper Clemens, a sergeant first class in Matt’s unit, which made him one of the more experienced and seasoned noncommissioned officers around. She was Black, tall, and refined, classic in casual clothing, and a nurse. They’d arrived in the area about the same time, though Sophie didn’t give any indication that she was at all stressed about it. Her demeanor was calm, professional, approachable.
Next to her was Regina Castro, Filipino, petite but with a personality twice her size from what Adelaide remembered from their brief introduction at the door. She was an active-duty quartermaster officer, married to Logan Hardin, who worked directly for Matt. Both were lieutenants. Today, out of uniform, she was in a red maxi dress and a leather jacket, hair loosely braided down the side. Adelaide recalled her making a beeline for a small group of attendees and chatting them up immediately.
“Are you okay?” Sophie asked.
“Yeah, of course. I was just…” Getting my life together. “Checking my makeup, is all.”
“Okay,” Sophie answered, though her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She saw right through Adelaide. “Thank you, by the way, for inviting all of us, and for picking such a great first book to read this month. I loved The Hunger Games. But I’m sure we’ll chat more about it later.”