The Book Club

by Mary Alice Monroe

  Her chest filled with air and she couldn’t speak. She tore away a piece of bread and threw it to the pigeons gathering and cooing at their feet. The crumbs disappeared in a whirring of feathers and bobbing beaks.

  “Are you all right, Eve?”

  She looked at him, unaware that her face gave away so much of her feelings.

  “I was just reminiscing.... My husband and I used to have picnics like this. A long time ago.”

  “Are you divorced?”

  She shook her head. “Widowed,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper. A shiver shot through her. It was the first time she’d used the word. It sounded cold and barren.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, I’m doing all right. He died a year ago this month.”

  “Were you married long?”

  “Over twenty years.” His eyes widened a bit and she nodded in confirmation. “A long time, I know. It’s funny, but it doesn’t seem long. In some ways it seems like we were married a short time ago, and at others, it feels like a lifetime ago.” She lifted her shoulders and said more to herself, “It was a good marriage.” She felt the weight of his ponderous gaze bear down on her and looked off across the park where toddlers were being pushed in swings by nannies. She didn’t want to discuss Tom, especially not with him. It was too painful and far too private.

  “Actually, I’m what is commonly called a widower.”

  “Really?” She was stunned to hear that and she felt sure her face said so.

  He nodded brusquely. “I wasn’t married nearly as long as you were. My wife died a long time ago. We were both quite young but, well, it was devastating all the same. I...” He waved his hand. It was clear from his troubled expression that the subject was touchy and rife with emotion. “I was an angry man for a very long time. Full of self-reproach and blame. Drank too much, did things I was sorry for.” He laughed curtly, deliberately making light of it. “I was an ass. God, how emotional young men can be,” he said with a disarming smile, then brightened with a quick, determined shift of emotions. Even in the afternoon’s sun, his eyes rivaled the sky overhead.

  “Perhaps that’s why I love my students so much. At that age they’re cauldrons of emotion, just stirring about, ready to bubble over. I hope to direct that passion into visions. Whatever it is that inspires them, be it literature, science, computers, I don’t give a damn, as long as it focuses all that fever into something they really love—other than sex, of course. It is damn hard to direct their attention away from that venue. I don’t expect them to achieve greatness in the world’s eyes, but I do expect them to achieve individual excellence. It is this inner vision, however great or small it may be, that will save them in this world of change.” He paused, then said as an aside, “Makes me wish I were a young man again.”

  “But you are young. My friend Annie says there’s no such thing as age, and though my body doesn’t agree with her, my heart does.”

  He looked at her for a long time and she could literally see the restlessness die down in his eyes. “I don’t usually go on like that.” He laughed and lifted his paper cup. “Can’t blame it on the wine. So,” he tilted his head and appraised her. She felt she came up with high marks. “It must be the company.”

  She felt a strange exhilaration that she’d not experienced since she was much younger, full of hopes and dreams and free to entertain the attentions of an admirer. And how interesting that he, too, had lost a mate. Could this link explain that something between them that went beyond mere attraction?

  “I disagree that that passion is only in the young,” she said. “I think it happens frequently in life, usually after some major change. For months after Tom’s death I did my best to get through each day, to survive, if not for myself, for my two children. And it got better, day by day. But today—” she looked up, hoping he would understand “—working in the library, I felt like my old self again. I was filled with purpose, working on something I love.”

  He nodded and his eyes kindled. “Work is marvelous in the way it can redirect a life again. Tell me, did you ever consider teaching?”

  She laughed lightly. “As a matter of fact, I have. It’s a goal of mine. But I have to update my certification.”

  “You should. I’ll help you. I can write a letter of recommendation. You’re eligible for a tuition reduction, you know. Are you taking classes now?”

  She shook her head. “I wasn’t ready to sign up yet. It was enough right now just to get this job. But I think I’ll take you up on that offer for next semester. My goal seems reachable now. I can tell you, it’s a great relief to learn that diving back into academics isn’t as difficult as I’d thought it’d be. You see, I had this worry that has nagged at me since I turned forty. That maybe it was too late for me. That my brain had somehow gone soft over the years and I couldn’t compete anymore. That I’d missed the chance for learning. I know now that it was all just nonsense. There’s no elitism to learning. There’s only the desire.”

  “Mark Twain said learning was wasted on the young.”

  “Yessiree,” she replied flippantly, chagrined at being thought of as old. “Working at the college with those kids sure makes me realize I’m not so young anymore.”

  “Good God, who wants to be?” He reached over to grab a bottle. “More water, old girl?”

  She laughed. “Yes, thank you, Dr. Hammond.”

  “Paul. Please.” He poured more water into her paper cup while she nibbled at her bread and cheese, aware that they’d just mentally taken another step closer.

  “I was thinking,” he said, screwing the top back onto the plastic bottle. “We seem to work well together, don’t you think? And there’s a great deal more work to be done. Could you spare some time tomorrow?”

  “Oh, I think so,” she replied, curling her toes in her shoes. “Paul.” He caught her eye, then looked away as quickly.

  “Good, good,” he said before biting into his sandwich, but not before she caught the twitch of a smile at his lips.

  Another shiver shot down her spine and she felt young again. Her senses were awakening after a long sleep. She would spend another day with Paul. She would go back to school and update her skills, get her teacher’s certification, escape from filing and forms-in-triplicate. And someday, she would teach. It was her lifetime dream—why not fulfill it? Her life was only half over.

  She glanced at Paul, who was leaning with his elbows along the back of the bench, his long legs crossed at the ankle and his bold profile tilted toward the sky. Then looking down again at her cup she saw that it wasn’t half-empty—it was half-full.

  * * *

  On Friday afternoon of that week, Midge and Edith were walking down Walton Street on their way to a gallery where Midge was showing her work at an upcoming show. Midge was in a lather about the show, completely out of her mind with every detail of her paintings—how they should be hung, how she might word her program. It was at an upscale gallery that was extremely selective and this group show put her in more exulted company. It was both a nod of acknowledgment and a test. Of the five painters being exhibited, only one was even remotely likely to be picked up by the gallery. Opportunities like this didn’t come up that often. In the past few months, she’d thrown herself into her art, focused on creating a body of work that carried her artistic statement.

  Midge wanted her mother to understand how important this show was to her. Edith had begun to take an interest in her art, or at the very least, was amazed at Midge’s dedication. “I never knew you were so persistent,” she exclaimed, which up to that point was the greatest compliment about her art that Edith had ever offered. Edith never claimed to understand her abstract works, nor did Midge expect her to. Edith liked pretty pictures of things she could understand without squinting her eyes. But since she’d moved into the building, she refrained from calling Midge’s work “a
bunch of scribbles and blotches.” It was a compromise—Midge no longer referred to Edith’s poodle as “that puffball.”

  They were taking the shortcut across Washington Park when Edith stopped short, pulling on Midge’s shirtsleeve.

  “Look, over there,” she hissed from behind her palm. “Sitting on the park bench. Isn’t that Eve Porter?”

  Midge stopped and looked in the direction of her mother’s index finger. A woman who looked remarkably like Eve sat side by side with a broad-shouldered man in a tan suit. They were totally engrossed in what each other was saying. Their nearness, their bent heads, the soft laughter, the manner in which the woman lightly touched the gentleman’s sleeve, the way he cocked his head to catch every word, all marked them as a couple. Midge squinted, not believing this woman could be Eve.

  The woman’s hair was the same dark-brown, but it was styled differently. This woman’s hair was short, breezy, not worn long to the shoulder. Yet, she had the same fine bone structure, the same profile....

  “It can’t be Eve,” Midge said. “What would she be doing here? On a workday? With a man?”

  “Having an affair, if you ask me,” Edith said knowingly. “And she caught herself a real hunk, too. He’s absolutely mouthwatering. Though a bit old for her, wouldn’t you say? What is he, sixty? More my age, don’t you think?” She was staring at him, twitching, like a dog on the scent.

  “Good God, Mother, you’re absolutely feral. Behave yourself. I wonder why she hasn’t mentioned him?”

  “She’s keeping him all to herself. I wouldn’t have thought she was that smart. Never trust the quiet ones. Come on. Let’s have a little fun.”

  “Mother, stop!” she demanded.

  It was too late. Edith was striding with the concentration of a bird-dog heading for the brush.

  “Eve Porter, it is you!” Edith called out as she neared. Midge had no choice but to follow.

  Eve startled when she saw Edith but she recouped quickly and smiled warmly, echoing the hello with a wave of her own. When she spotted Midge, a faint, telltale blush glowed on her cheeks and her eyes sparkled a bit too bright. It was clear she wasn’t expecting anyone to discover them. Midge glanced involuntarily at the man.

  He stood as the women approached. He was a bit taller than Midge, and broad. Eve was dwarfed beside him. A powerful man with a hint of eccentricity that stimulated Midge immediately. It might have been the suit and longish hair combination, or his straight-shouldered stance, or the intelligence that shone in his remarkably brilliant blue eyes, but she liked him. And her mother was practically salivating. Edith darted furtive glances his way while they made their hellos. Midge noticed he didn’t jump in with his name and an offered hand, but waited, unperturbed, until Edith said with inexcusable coyness, “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  The blush on Eve’s cheeks heightened a bit. “Of course, excuse me, I was just getting to it. Mrs. Edith Kirsch, Midge Kirsch, I’d like you to meet Dr. Paul Hammond, the chairman of our English department. We’re working at the Newberry together. On a project. A research project, you see.”

  Midge had never seen Eve so unnerved. Eve was usually extremely gracious, but this afternoon she seemed positively tongue-tied. Midge, in contrast, remained aloof, nodding her head with a tight smile.

  “Delighted to meet you,” he said. “Eve is something of an expert on the Romantics, I was delighted to discover. I don’t know where I’d be without her.” He glanced down at Eve with affection shining in his eyes.

  Midge thought the comment was about as subtle as a Mack truck. She glanced at Edith. The British accent practically had her mother on her knees.

  “How fortunate to be able to do research in the park,” Midge said with more sarcasm than humor. Then, seeing Eve widen her eyes, she felt a flush of shame and could have bitten her tongue. “On such a lovely day,” she amended unsuccessfully.

  Eve’s smile was brittle. “We do manage to squeeze in lunch.”

  “She’d work right through, but I insist. I’m a bear when I’m hungry. And since I’m the chairman, Eve obliges me.” He smiled and his charm eased them past the tension.

  “Well, we really have to go,” Midge said, glancing at her watch. “We’re headed for the Wittman Gallery, just a few blocks away. My new show is scheduled there this weekend, remember? Friday night. I have to check the wall where they’ll be hanging my work. Did you receive the announcement?”

  “Yes, it was beautiful. Thank you,” replied Eve. Her tone was still cool.

  “It was very nice meeting you, Dr. Hammond. You’re more than welcome to come to the show, too. It’s open to the public.” She didn’t expect him, but it was the polite thing to do.

  “I’m looking forward to it. I’ve a keen interest in art and I don’t know many Chicago artists. It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Midge.” Then, turning the force of his charm toward Edith, he nodded. “Mrs. Kirsch.”

  “Edith,” she replied, extending her hand like a queen.

  Midge took her mother’s arm and practically dragged her off. “Don’t look back,” she whispered, but of course Edith did, once more over her shoulder.

  “Now that is someone I could fall for,” she said with a throaty sigh. “Such charm. Only the British act and sound like that. And those eyes. Oh, my God, I could feast for a week just staring into those eyes.” She looked up and cast her daughter a long, simmering look. “How come you never bring home anyone like that?”

  “Please, Mother.” Midge’s voice was frigid. “Let’s not start that again.”

  “No, I mean it. If you did a little something with your hair, wore a bit of makeup, you could attract someone like that. I wonder who gave Eve her new haircut? You’d look good in a short style like that.”

  When she did not reply, Edith asked with a huff, “And why were you so rude? I couldn’t believe that remark about the park.”

  Midge frowned and held back her reply. She was ashamed of what she’d said, of how she’d behaved. How could she explain to Edith of all people that she found Paul Hammond attractive? But more than that, it irritated her no end that Eve Porter, who had been married to a dynamic, handsome, wealthy doctor, already had someone who was obviously interested in her. So soon. It was a bitter pill to swallow. Eve had only been alone for a year. While she...

  She had been alone for so very, very long.

  * * *

  “You sly devil! What’s this I hear that you’re off having rendezvous in the park—with the chairman of your department no less?” Annie stood at the door of Eve’s apartment with a bottle of white wine in her hand. “Let me in. I’ve brought fortification. This is going to take a long time.”

  “Who told you?” Eve said with a groan as she stepped aside and waved Annie in. There was laundry piled all over the living room sofa, the television was blaring and empty cups and candy wrappers littered the table surfaces. It was a typical Friday night.

  “The word’s out in the street. Film at eleven.” She set down the bottle and made a beeline for the kitchen. Eve madly collected the trash and cups, then followed her in.

  “Really, Eve, how unfair is this?” Annie said, driving the corkscrew into the bottle. “You tell me all the boring details of your financial life, but when it comes to your love life, zip. I’m demanding the juicy stories, dearie. Consider it my fee. You’re holding back.”

  The cork popped out and Eve laughed, delighting in the very idea. “I do not have a love life,” she argued back.

  Bronte walked in at that moment. “Love life?” she asked, scowling. “Who? You, Mom?” There was no mistaking the accusation laced with horror.

  “Don’t listen to Annie. She’s crazy,” Eve hurried to reply. She turned her head to privately glare at Annie. “Where are you going tonight?” she asked Bronte.

  “Just to a movie. With friends.”<
br />
  “Uh-huh. Just girls?”

  “Yeah. Of course,” she said sullenly. Eve’s heart skipped, knowing Bronte’s anguish that she didn’t have a boyfriend yet. Eve couldn’t understand why the boys weren’t flocking around her daughter. On the other hand, she was relieved. It was a reprieve. “Vicki’s dad is driving us. Gotta go.” She paused, then asked with suspicion, “Are you going to be home tonight?”

  A short laugh escaped Eve. “Gee, I don’t know. Finney’s spending the night at Nello’s so I thought, whoopee! Time to go wild! After I finish the laundry I might really go nuts and do my nails.”

  “Very funny. I’ll be home about ten-thirty.” Then squinting her eyes, she added, “Maybe sooner.”

  After Bronte left, Annie shook her head and poured out the wine. “Since when did she become the mother here?”

  “She’s just being protective.”

  “The day I let my kid give me permission...”

  “Annie.” Eve’s voice was a warning.

  “Okay, okay. Let’s get back to what we were discussing earlier, shall we, my dear? Come on, let’s get comfortable.”

  They went into the living room, moved a few piles of clothes and sank into the cushions of the sofa. “Do tell,” Annie said, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “And spare no details. My love life is in a shambles and I need a booster shot here.”

  “There is nothing to tell.”

  “That’s not what I heard. What was the phrase?” she asked, tapping her chin. “Lovers in the park?”

  “Oh, no...that sounds like Edith.”

  “Wait, wait,” she said, barking out a husky laugh and almost spilling her wine. “There’s this song she sang. How does it go?” She sang a few bars. “‘Here we go walking in the park, goosing statues in the dark, if Sherman’s horse can take it, so can you.’”