The Dirty Book Club(65)
You mean the Brazilian Babcock? M.J. wanted to say, as she imagined a rare exotic bird with a penis-shaped beak. But Britt’s eyes were darting: this was serious.
“How would she know?” M.J. asked. “You don’t think Brandon told her, do you?”
“What are you two whispering about?” Jules asked, lashes thickened by a fresh coat of mascara.
“Easton,” M.J. said. “You never told us why you were hanging out with him the day you fainted.”
Jules swiped her hand dismissively. “I’m a softie for a good men’s chorus, so he invited me to watch them perform.” A flush crept across her cheeks as she settled into the club chair. “What? Why are y’all looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” M.J. asked.
“Like I’ve got eyes for someone other than my husband, because I don’t. Easton’s a friend. That’s all. I’d never stray from my marriage. I’m not the type.”
“And what type is that?” Britt asked.
“So, any updates on Addie?” M.J. said, eager to change the subject. “Did she decide to keep it?”
“I can’t exactly imagine her being a mother,” Britt said. “Can you?”
“Addie’s pregnant?” Jules asked.
“I was asking about the bookstore, not the baby.”
“Oh, sorry, yeah, the bookstore is on the market. Liddy found out about the quote, unquote accident. She was up for the repairs, but doesn’t have the money to get the building up to code. So, she’s selling. Addie’s off the hook.”
“Addie’s pregnant?” Jules asked again. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
M.J. stared back at her blankly, wondering if it was the same reason they failed to mention the bookstore to her; because they had a flash-fry friendship—brief and at a very high temperature—and now it was starting to cool.
Jules fingered the key around her neck.
Britt topped off her wine.
M.J. twirled the gold bands on her thumb.
“Yep.” Britt sighed. “Those are definitely crickets.”
* * *
ADDIE FINALLY ARRIVED. She was forty minutes late and unsurprisingly unapologetic about it. But if anyone took issue with it, they didn’t say. The distraction was that welcomed.
“Beer or wine?” M.J. asked her with an innocent lilt.
“Scotch.”
Glances were exchanged. The baby had obviously left the building.
“Congratulations on your newfound freedom,” M.J. said, handing her a beer.
“Meaning?” Addie popped open the button on her jeans, then sat on the short end of the L couch, beside Britt.
“The bookstore. It’s not your problem anymore.”
“Jeez.” She rolled her eyes, which shined absinthe green against all that black kohl. “News travels fast around here.”
“Not fast enough,” M.J. said. “I hear you’ve known for a while. I had no idea.”
Addie reached for a plate, then the julienne salad.
“I’m really going to miss that place,” M.J. said.
“Why? You’re going back to New York in September, aren’t you?”
Jules’s forehead furrowed with fresh hurt. “You’re leaving?”
“Actually, I’m not.” M.J. leaned forward, excited to share her news. “Remember I told you about that contract I signed?”
Britt and Addie nodded.
Jules said, “No.”
“Okay, well, actually, it’s a funny story. It started when Dan came home early from Boston and said he wasn’t going to travel anymore because he missed me—”
“Do you mind if we skip right to the letter?” Addie checked her phone. “I have to be out of here in, like, thirty minutes,” she said, her Deal with it smirk aimed straight for M.J.
“Works for me,” Jules said coolly.
With a resigned shrug, Britt pulled Liddy’s letter from the dust jacket fold of her book and began to read.
THE DATE: October 1988
THE DIRTY: Henry and June by Ana?s Nin THE DETAILS: By Liddy Henderson
I had five miscarriages in eight years.
Patrick wanted to name the babies, acknowledge their individuality, pray that Jesus would welcome them into the Kingdom of Heaven (Mathew 19:14). So I did.
But Christopher, Thomas, Edward, Tina, and Kim never made it to heaven. They went from my womb straight to my heart and stayed, packing on pounds and adding inches the way living children do.
By 1975, the weight was too much to bear. My soul was so heavy I could hardly raise a smile. I was thirty-three years old and desperate to know why the Lord was punishing me. I was a devout Christian, a United Way Community Volunteer, and the goddamn pastor’s wife! Where was my fucking baby?
I figured it out in 1976 when we met at Gloria’s to discuss Peyton Place. Abortion, suicide, rape, incest, murder, illegitimate children . . . the novel was an encyclopedia of sins. It had even been denounced by the Church. And I, Liddy Marie Henderson, was sneaking around behind my husband’s back reading it, and so many others. No wonder I was being punished.
And so I quit.
Right there in the sunroom.
Before Gloria served her lemon meringue pie.