Letters in Time, Reiss Susan [read me a book TXT] 📗

the bathroom. I straightened my bangs and shortened my braid. It wasn’t perfect, but it had to be better than it was.

Now, I was running late. It took me a long time to decide what to wear to a meeting of writers. I bypassed a pantsuit, too formal. I decided against jeans, too casual. Maybe if I dressed the part, I'd feel more like a writer so I pulled out a black maxi skirt with a black sleeveless top and a funky pair of earrings. Yes, it was a creative type looking at me from the mirror. I was proud of myself that I got downstairs as Catherine drove up in her oyster white Jaguar. She was dressed in a soft, flowing white silk dress that almost matched her car. She seemed to favor the frozen shades of an ice princess.

I forced an excited smile on my face and made my way down the steps. The walker was inside, leaning against the foyer wall. I held an old cane from the closet firmly in my hand.

"Oh, Emma," Catherine called out. "I'm so glad you're coming tonight. Every writers group can benefit from fresh blood, especially ours."

She didn't smile.

I had to ask, "I hope you don't mean that literally?"

Her laughter rang out. “You’re so funny. I just know we’re going to be great friends.” And we were off. She didn’t even wait until we were on the main road before she started probing.

"You know, TJ didn't tell me very much about you. Why don't you use this time to tell me about yourself?"

I didn't think I'd have to face this question until we got to the meeting, but it would be good practice. "Well, I majored in elementary education in college and have a minor in English. I teach kindergarten now."

“OH! You must be sick all the time!” She swiveled her head toward me. “You aren’t carrying germs now, are you?”

“Catherine, keep your eyes on the road.” I chuckled to hide my fear. “No, I haven’t been in the classroom for a long time.”

“Oh, sorry. One can never be too careful as one gets older.”

“Now, it’s your turn,” I said. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Well, I’m working on a memoir. I come from a very interesting family.”

I hoped she couldn’t see me rolling my eyes in the growing darkness as we flew down the road with the waters of the Chesapeake Bay off to our right. The sun almost touched the horizon. It wouldn’t be long before night would fall well before dinner time. The August humidity and high temperatures were still with us, but fall was not far away.

Thankfully, she soon clicked the turn signal and we drove onto a gravel driveway marked only by a split rail fence. It was one of many roads that branched off the main roads and led into woods or cornfields. Often, these drives did not lead to farmhouses, but to beautiful homes especially ones with spectacular views of the water. The meeting place for the writers group did not disappoint.

Even though the house was new construction, it incorporated design elements of a Victorian home plus the ambiance of large, brightly lit windows and a huge wraparound porch. Catherine pulled up in a parking area where her Jaguar fit right in with the BMWs and Mercedes-Benzes.

It was slow going for me to make it up the front steps. I wasn't adept at using the old cane. Halfway up the front steps, I chided myself for letting my pride and vanity overwhelm my need for support.

Finally, at the front door, Catherine hit the doorbell and walked right in. I followed her into a two-story-high entryway. I caught glimpses of modern furnishings rather than antiques. The hand of a talented interior designer was evident. Catherine continued down the hall to the kitchen that overlooked the water. There, a flood of recessed lighting revealed a collection of women talking and munching away.

Catherine clapped her hands. “Hello, everybody! Let me introduce Emma Chase, our newest member.”

The five women felt like a mob as they surrounded me to shake my hand, pat my arm and introduce themselves. I didn’t catch any of their names in the confusion.

Catherine clapped her hands again. “Okay, girls, let’s give the woman some room to breathe. Denise, why don’t we let Emma sit there then we can all introduce ourselves?”

With a meek smile, Denise floated off a high barstool at the island counter. She had a petite, willowy body that reminded me of a pixie, but instead of being pert, she was so shy, she seemed to sink into herself. Denise drifted over to stand at the shoulder and one step behind a woman who towered over everyone else by height and sheer will. I estimated she was about 5'11" with ramrod straight posture that made her look taller. Was that a natural position or was she wearing a brace?

“That is a good idea,” the tall woman declared. “We will make our introductions as a group so Emma only has to tell us about herself once.”  The woman smiled, but her black eyes focused on me, full of judgment. "I'm Gretchen Fleischer." Her long bangs hid her eyebrows and just touched her large, stark white glasses. "Welcome to my home." She paused.

And I responded dutifully, “And a beautiful home it is. Thank you so much for the invitation.” Suddenly, I felt like I was attending one of my mother’s club meetings of Mainline Philadelphia where everyone wore a conservative A-line dress and a strand of pearls and knew her place.

A middle-aged woman in an olive-green midi skirt and matching short sleeve sweater set that did nothing for her sallow complexion stepped forward.