The Cherry Cola Book Club - By Ashton Lee Page 0,47

of mine had been reading chapters in between his beer and fishing expeditions. How about that? Maybe this retirement of ours will turn out to be fun for both of us, after all.”

Maura Beth waved her off, smiling pleasantly. “Oh, I’m sure it will. And I can reschedule our Mockingbird discussion down the line. In fact, I fully intend to, even though we might have to take Stout Fella’s recovery into consideration. I’m sure we’d want Becca to be a part of it.”

“I just wish Councilman Sparks would stay out of your business,” Connie said. “He found a way to almost get the girls fighting with the boys tonight, and he also went after the lawyers with a vengeance. I saw that exasperated expression on your face at the podium.”

Maura Beth exhaled, unable to put that particular mischief out of her head. “I tried my best not to let it show too much. But don’t worry about me. I’m not giving up so easily. Scarlett wouldn’t have.”

Connie turned to get a glimpse of the front desk clock. “Oh, it’s almost ten-thirty. We have a lot of packing to do, so I better get going. And I’ll give you a call tomorrow morning from the hospital as soon as we know something definite. Then you can phone the others, if you don’t mind.”

A minute or two later, Maura Beth stood outside the front door, waving to her friends as Douglas pulled away from the curb with a staccato honk. The prognosis for Stout Fella looked promising, and she was pleased with herself for coming up with the concept of balloon therapy. But as she went back in to turn out the lights before locking up and heading home, she could feel depression spreading over her like the precursor to an oncoming cold.

Recently, she’d read a very interesting and somewhat controversial book in the collection about chaos theory. She hadn’t completely understood all of it, but the gist was that random events sometimes coincided to scotch the best-laid plans of the most organized and intelligent minds on the planet. She certainly wasn’t about to hold Justin Brachle’s heart attack against him, but that unfortunate occurrence, along with Councilman Sparks’s concerted attempts at disruption, had effectively rendered the second meeting of The Cherry Cola Book Club less than successful.

It was time to rev things up a notch, to treat the book club more like a political campaign. Somehow, some way, people must cast their votes by walking their warm bodies through the front door of the library to take advantage of its services. Maura Beth’s job was at stake, and there were people in Cherico who had stated to her face that they didn’t give a flip about that.

9

Four-Letter Words

Miss Voncille and Locke Linwood had been the first to leave the vigil at Cherico Memorial once Stout Fella had been stabilized in the ICU. “I know you’ll call us if you hear anything further,” Miss Voncille had said to Maura Beth, who assured them that she would.

But after they’d climbed into Locke’s Cadillac in the hospital parking lot below, an awkward silence overtook them both. They sat there for a while, listening to the muted sound of the engine and looking straight ahead with emotionless faces.

It was Miss Voncille who finally verbalized what they were both thinking. “Does what just happened change where we’re headed?”

He continued to idle the engine and turned her way. “I assume you mean the physical address.”

“Yes. Will you be taking me to your house on Perry Street or mine on Painter Street?”

He did not hesitate. “My invitation is still open.”

But she posed another question instead. “Do you think we should have stayed longer? I hope the ladies won’t think we abandoned them.”

“We couldn’t have done anything but sit there. The crisis seemed to have cooled by the time we left. We made our manners and showed the proper respect. I know who the Brachles are, but Pamela and I never socialized with them because they’re so much younger. They’re a different generation.” He put the car in gear and started to pull out into the street. “I don’t want to do anything tonight that will make you feel uneasy, so tell me which way to head.”

“I’m still fine with your invitation,” she said finally. “Go ahead and drive us to your house on Perry Street. I was looking forward to seeing it. And also seeing you in it.”

They drove through the heart of a mostly deserted downtown, passing