Life, Etc. -- Five

                                           

         “Hi, Megan.” Diane enthusiastically greeted her at the door, “So good to see you!”  Megan smiled as she looked around Diane's living room--a subtle seashore decor with overstuffed light blue and white checked chairs and yellow sofa.  Here and there beautiful shells from the beaches of Greece and Italy graced shelves and tables—keepsakes from the many travels when Diane’s parents were alive.  The entire room spoke of fun and warmth.

          “Thank you.  I’m going to have my talk with Roland Fisher soon and have been thinking about it on the way over.  So it's nice to be welcomed with your smile...of course, it’s always fun to meet with this group.”

          Megan helped finish preparing tea and coffee.  Just then the doorbell rang and the women began arriving.  They found their favorite chairs.  Diane teased that they were like school children attached to their desks.  The women chatted cheerfully for several minutes when the doorbell rang again.  Diane got up to answer it, and suddenly the room grew quiet.

          A woman in the chair beside Megan whispered to no one in particular, “Mrs. Fisher.”  Megan looked up and saw the grayest woman she’d ever seen.  At perhaps 5’ 5”, she appeared skinny even through the gray coat.  Her black, much worn shoes, along with her mousy-gray hair pulled back in a bun and a colorless face only added to the overall look of sadness.

          Diane greeted her in an almost falsetto voice, “Mrs. Fisher has decided to join us this afternoon.”  A few mumbles of welcome came from among the women, but it was obvious that the atmosphere had changed—a gray cloud had descended upon the group.

          Megan planned to discuss a book by Hope Edelman.  The author had been in Ashland recently and a friend of Megan’s had gone to hear a reading from The Possibility of Everything.  The book had just arrived in a shipment, and Megan thought it a wonderful memoir.   However, now due to Mrs. Fisher’s presence, and much of the author’s focus on her daughter’s healing by a Mayan bush doctor, Megan felt apprehensive after this morning’s encounter.

 

          OK, Megan, chin up.  You have nothing to hide.  You are selling books and found the writing and story to be really good.  You’re not forcing or manipulating anyone into buying it.

         “Well, Friends,” began Megan, “I have a book that tells a truly amazing story….”  Megan gave a brief biography of Hope Edelman and then a short review of the book and the author’s other publications.  At every opportunity Megan looked toward Mrs. Fisher.  Her countenance was somber; her eyes looked downward as if she were preparing herself for bad news.  During the short discussion, she remained quiet, but Megan could see from her occasional glance Megan’s way, she was paying attention.

 

Before Mrs. Fisher left, both Megan and Diane spoke to her and encouraged her to come again.  Even as they shook hands, the woman’s expression showed little life.

          “Well, what do you think brought Mrs. Fisher?” Diane said after she closed the door behind the last guest.  “After his comment to you this morning, I wonder if she was scouting for her husband.”

          “You know, all I can feel for her is sadness.  Her expression—or lack of it—made me want to hug her.  However as stiff as she sat, I imagine she might have the warmth of a telephone pole.”  The women sat quietly for a moment.   The next second the galloping sounds of six and eight year old boys came clamoring through the back door.  Megan looked at her watch.

 

          “Hey, I’d better get home.  Emily will be coming soon.”  Megan glanced at the doorway as Jordan and Jeremy came bounding into the living room.  “Hi boys!  I’ll go and let you have your mother to yourselves.”

                                                 

          Back in the shop, Megan told Chris about Mrs. Fisher’s visit to the book club.

 

          “I’ve heard they are a very weird family.  He’s a real dictator, and she’s Mrs. Milktoast.  There is a daughter a little younger than me, but they home school so no one knows much about her.”

 

          “Well, Chris, as uncomfortable as all of us were when she arrived, I still believe she is not like her husband.”  Megan felt a sense of protection toward Mrs. Fisher.  “You know we must be close in age, but she sure looks older.  I’d like to take her out and buy her some bright colors to wear.”

          Chris smiled.  “Megan, you want to save the world, don’t you?”

          “OK, Smarty, get to work or I won’t give you the brownie I brought back from Diane’s.”

             To be continued...