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

She was so overweight that her boobs blended in with her tummy so her silhouette was flat. “I thought the hostess was supposed to go last, Gretchen, but you know best.” She turned to me and announced. “My name is Zelda. I won’t tell you my last name. It’s too long. You’ll never remember it.” The sentences came out like a bird pecking at the ground. “I hope you fit into our group.”

What a strange thing to say. The group went right on with their introductions.

“Hello, my name is Maureen.” This tall woman was an ocean of calm, in sharp contrast to the pecky Zelda. Maureen’s silver hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was wearing shoes that I didn’t see very often on the Shore: two-inch heels. They were a statement that she still opted for looks over comfort.  She turned towards the woman standing behind the statuesque Gretchen. “Let’s not forget Denise.”

“Oh, um, I’m Denise Walters.” Everything about the woman who’d given me her seat blended together.  Her strawberry blonde hair with a hint of red hung straight around her pale face. She had a dusting of small freckles across her nose and under her watery blue eyes. “Um, welcome to our group.” Her soft voice would be blown away by a gentle puff of wind. Having introduced herself, she stepped back behind Gretchen, fading away.

“I’m delighted to welcome a new member to our group,” Maureen said, filling the awkward silence. “I’m looking forward to hearing about what you’re working on.”

Gretchen rushed towards me. "Oh, we will talk about that after we eat. Now, Emma, tell me, do you prefer red or white wine?"

And the bustling around the kitchen began. Serving dishes, plates, and utensils appeared. I felt like I had to apologize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we were going to have dinner. I should’ve brought a dish.”

Gretchen chuckled. "Oh no, that is not necessary. I love cooking and entertaining. When I am executing a menu, I shuffle my husband off to another part of our house. He does not care. He knows there is a tray of wonderful dishes coming his way." She glanced down for a moment then raised her laser-sharp eyes at me. "Are you married, Emma?" Her lips pulled tight in a challenge.

I shook my head.

“I see,” she said and I felt like I’d just been slid into a certain category. Gretchen continued quickly to cover that moment. “Preparing dinner for our writing group each month is a wonderful excuse to play with new recipes.”

“It’s fun for her, but not so good for our hips,” Zelda remarked. Everybody laughed. Gretchen blinked twice while maintaining her plastered smile. It was with a sigh of relief that we sat around the oval table of rich mahogany in the dining room and enjoyed a gourmet feast.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by.”

— Douglas Adams

At the end of the truly gourmet meal, cups of fragrant coffee were handed around, along with some chocolate cookies. With a brush of a hand over her bangs, Gretchen settled herself at the head of the table again. “All right then, shall we start the meeting? Maureen, why don’t you begin?”

“Gretchen, as you know, I…”

I tried to concentrate on what each woman was saying as we went around the table but was soon overwhelmed by too much information: where each one had moved from, where they were living now, their marital status, what they were writing, and what they hope to do with a manuscript once it was done. Watching and listening, I understood a bit more about my Uncle Jack. Whenever I visited him here on the Eastern Shore, we spent most of our time at the Cottage with brief trips to the post office, the stores in Easton, or cruises on the water in one of his little boats. He wasn't involved in the local social scene. Now, I knew why. These ladies, especially the single ones, would have hunted him down like a bloodhound. I shook off this thought so I wouldn't burst out laughing.

Catherine, sitting primly next to me, was finishing up her comments. “Emma, I’m making really good progress on my story about my mother and father when I was a little girl.” She tittered. “That’s all I’ll say right now, so I won’t ruin it for you when you read it.”

I can’t wait, glad that she couldn't hear my sarcastic thought. My hope of finding a friend here was fading.

“And now, why don’t you tell everyone about yourself, Emma,” Gretchen said.

Catherine took over. “Emma is a working girl from Philadelphia.” She made me sound like a prostitute. Then things got worse. “She is a kindergarten teacher,” she said with a … was it a sneer?

The older women—Gretchen and Catherine—moved back in their chairs. Were they germophobes? Denise and Zelda both glanced down at the papers in front of them. I figured they’d lost interest in me. Only Maureen kept her attention on me.

Catherine wasn’t done. “She almost killed herself in a terrible car crash. As you can see, she survived, but she’s dealing with a serious injury to her leg.” She turned to me. “It’s the right one, isn’t it?”

This ice queen had certainly done her homework. She didn’t get all this information from me. Just wait until I see TJ!

Catherine droned on. “She’s doing her rehabilitation here and is living in the Cottage she inherited from her Uncle Jack and she’s going to start her first book.” She turned to me with a smile as genuine as a piece of plastic. “Isn’t that right, Emma