The Potluck Club

by Linda Evans Shepherd; Eva Marie Everson

  “Pretty,” I commented, flexing my hands.

  Leigh set the tray in its proposed place, never once taking her eyes off me. “What’s wrong, Aunt Evie? You keep working your hands.”

  I looked down at hands that looked more like my mother’s with every passing day. “Oh, nothing. A little arthritis, I guess.”

  Leigh straightened as much as she could with her belly sticking out and it weighing nearly what she does. “I think it’s a little nerves, you know what I’m saying?”

  I placed my hands on my hips. “What in the world do I have to be nervous about? It’s not like I haven’t been having this meeting every month since I was not too much older than you.”

  But she smiled at me knowingly. “You’re nervous about people being here, in your home, with your pregnant niece.” She ruffled the back of her crop of hair with her fingertips, grinning all the more. “And not a wedding band in sight.”

  I pointed a finger at her. “Now, you listen to me, Leigh Banks. You may think this is funny, but come two months from now you won’t when you’re lying up in that hospital without a husband to support you. And what about after that, when you have to support the child?”

  “I’ve told you more than once that Gary will support the baby. And believe me, he can afford to support the baby.”

  I frowned. “There’s more to supporting a baby than sending a check.”

  “I know, Aunt Evie. And he will. He’ll see the baby whenever he wants. We’re going to get it all set up legal. It’s gonna work out. You’ll see.”

  Before I could voice more of my disapproval, the doorbell rang, causing me to flex my hands again. Leigh noticed too. “See,” she said with a wink. “Nerves.”

  That child. When did she grow up and get so smart, that’s what I want to know. I turned away from the table and headed for the front door, which was opening on its own. The good Lord help me, the first arrival was none other than Lisa Leann Lambert, who obviously was raised in a Texas barn and didn’t know you’re supposed to wait for someone to answer the door before you just go barging right in. Unless, of course, you’re from Summit View and everyone knows you, and then you can knock and enter. But Lisa Leann is still, in my opinion, an outsider and shouldn’t be opening doors on her own accord.

  “Helloooooooo,” she called out, sticking her head in before anything else.

  With all the times I’ve seen this woman at church and in town, I’m still not used to all the makeup and the hairdo and the flashy clothes, so it took me a second to respond. “You’re the first one here,” I said, working hard to remember the good manners my mother had instilled in me. “Do you need some help there?” Lisa Leann was nearly weighed down with what smelled like her brisket and a large basket loaded down with six pink-foil gift bags all tied up with gold ribbon with lots of pink and gold swirly paper sticking out. What in the world is that woman bringing to our prayer club?

  “No, no honey. I’ve got it. Oh, is that a new outfit?”

  Leigh walked in about that time and said yes it was and then commented on the aroma from the brisket as I shut the door (but not before sticking my head out for a quick look-see, hoping against hope that one of the other girls was not far behind. Of course, there was not a PLC soul in sight).

  “Wow, that smells scrumptious,” Leigh said.

  “Darlin’, it is scrumptious. I don’t cook unless it’s scrumptious.” Lisa Leann let out a little-girl laugh.

  For a moment I thought of Ruth Ann. It was a fleeting thing, and I knew it was caused by Lisa Leann’s giggle. Just like Ruth Ann’s, I thought. Almost an innocence about it . . . Oh, Ruth Ann, why’d you have to go up and die on me? Why couldn’t God let you live long enough to see me through?

  I watched Leigh and Lisa Leann disappear into the kitchen. My shoulders sagged ever so slightly, then came back up again when I heard Lisa Leann remark, “You didn’t by any chance get up to Breckenridge for Oktoberfest, did you?”

  “No, ma’am, I didn’t.”

  “I wish I would’ve known about it beforehand. One thing I can do is polka with the best of ’em.” Lisa Leann laughed a hearty laugh.

  I shook my head at the very thought. Oh, dear Lord, why don’t you and I just start our prayers out right now? I took a step toward the kitchen, thinking I may as well join them as stand there like a ninny in my own foyer, when I heard a car door slam. I all but twisted myself like a screw, I turned so fast to open the door. A nice push of cold air hit me square in the face as soon as I did, and I thought, Well, Evie-girl. You deserve that slap.

  Lisa Leann bypassed the foyer altogether. She shot out of the kitchen and into my living room, parting the curtains for a quick look-see. “Who’s that?” she asked. “Is that Goldie?”

  I didn’t answer. “Hurry, Goldie,” I called out. “It’s dropping colder by the minute.”

  Goldie ran in, ducking her head a bit while balancing a glass dish covered in aluminum foil. Quite frankly, she looked like she had been run over by a truck, though I would never dare to say so. Lisa Leann, however, was another matter.

  “Look at her,” I heard the Texan say to Leigh in a low voice. “Looks like she hasn’t slept in days.”

  Goldie stomped her feet on my welcome mat before entering, carrying a white bag of Toll House chocolate chip cookies she’d obviously bought from our downtown bakery, Sprinkles. She extended the bag to me. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t have time to cook anything.”

  I looked from the cookies to the Lambert woman, worried at what she might say. My sweet Leigh saved the moment with, “I love Toll House cookies.” She rubbed her swollen belly. “You can’t go wrong with the original recipe and a great big glass of milk.”

  Goldie smiled weakly. “You’re a dear and you always were.”

  “Hello and welcome to the Potluck Club,” Lisa Leann chimed in. My eyebrows shot up a good six inches, I’m sure, blending right in with my hairline. Who was she to welcome folks to my club meeting?

  Goldie must have thought the same thing. “Thank you,” she said, then cut a glance over to me. “Am I the second to arrive?”

  I placed my hand on her elbow and steered her toward the kitchen. “You are. Let’s just put those cookies on a tray so they’ll look like you spent hours over a hot stove.”

  We rounded into the kitchen when Goldie said, “My, what smells so wonderful?”

  I pinched her arm but good. “What’s wrong with you?” I whispered.

  “What?” she asked, then looked me up and down. “New outfit?”

  The doorbell chimed, and Leigh called out, “I’ve got it, Aunt Evie.”

  I looked from Goldie to the direction of the front of the house. “Thank you,” I said, though my niece probably couldn’t hear me. I turned back to Goldie. “You okay?”

  She got all teary. Before she could answer, we heard Donna Vesey greeting Leigh with a “Hey, girl.”

  Hey, girl? What kind of talk is that?

  I never got a direct answer from Goldie, but I did notice that she and Donna looked at one another like some sort of long-lost mother and child. I narrowed my eyes at the both of them, but my instincts gave up nothing. Still, looks like that can go right to the heart of a matter, no matter what the matter is.

  We’d all arrived except Vonnie, and I told the girls she’d be a tad late and I thought it best we wait on her.

  Everyone agreed. “Why don’t we go sit in the living room?” I suggested. Everyone agreed with that too. Lisa Leann rushed into the kitchen to get her basket of goodies before joining us.

  My living room is simple but tasteful. Most of the furnishings—the camelback sofa, various armchairs, and occasional tables—were Mama’s. A large picture window at the front of the room allows in plenty of sunshine and gives an overall view of the rest of the old neighborhood. I’d set a fire to going in the fireplace earlier; it wasn’t blazing full blast, but it hadn’t died out altogether either.

  Goldie and Lizzie (who brought the beginnings of a cross-st
itch pattern for the baby, which everyone oohed and ahhed over) and Lisa Leann took a seat on the sofa while Donna sat in the armchair near the window and Leigh and I sat on the opposite side of the windows in two chairs separated by an occasional table. For the first few seconds we said stupid things like “Here we go” and “That’s a lovely charm bracelet, Lisa Leann.” Then we just sat looking around like we didn’t even know one another. I personally think the cause of this was Lisa Leann, being new and all, but who knows. Finally Lisa Leann said, “Girls, I have something for each of you. Why don’t I just go right ahead and pass these out?”

  The next thing I knew, Lisa Leann was darting about the room, handing out bags like an elf at Christmas. As soon as she said, “Now don’t be shy. Just dig right in,” the girls immediately began to pull ribbon and paper away from the bags.

  The oohs and ahhs started again, which encouraged the Lambert woman all the more. “What I’ve brought, ladies, is samples of lipstick and blush. You’ll notice that each of you has personalized bags. That’s because I chose only colors I know are perfect for your skin type and coloring. Not like those giveaways at department stores. One color does not suit all when it comes to cosmetics.”

  I narrowed my eyes as I opened my bag, more out of have-to than want-to. Turning the lipstick on its head, I read the name “Bashful Berry” and thought, Well, how can a berry be bashful?

  “What do you mean, Evie?” Lizzie asked from the sofa.

  I jumped a bit. “What?”

  “What do you mean when you ask how a berry can be bashful? It’s just a name, you know. Like Passion Fruit—which, by the way, is my color. Fruit can’t be passionate, but there’s something zany about certain fruits. Thank you, Lisa Leann. This is marvelous.”

  Had I spoken out loud? What else had I said, that I thought I’d only thought? Good heavens!

  Lizzie continued. “Speaking of berries, did any of you notice the cute outfit the Berry girl was wearing at services on Sunday?”

  Well, of course we did . . . what little bit there was to it.

  “No bashful there, huh? But a bit too tight if you ask me,” Lizzie commented. “What the kids are wearing these days. If I told you girls some of the things I see every single day of the world at the school . . .”

  “Like a walking advertisement for early sexual activity,” Goldie muttered. She shot a glance over to Leigh. “I’m sorry, Leigh.”

  Leigh’s eyes brightened, and she chuckled. “Think nothing of it. I was pretty much a virgin till I met Gary, you know what I’m saying?”

  “Leigh!” My voice was a firm warning.

  “Well, I was.” So much for the warning. “Besides, these days waiting till I was twenty-four makes me like a freak or something.”

  Lisa Leann giggled. “Honey, I like your forthright candor.” She crossed her legs, and her charm bracelet jingled like a gypsy’s tambourine.

  Donna leaned over and placed her elbows on her knees, nodding. “I’d have to agree with Leigh. Our generation feels differently about sex than yours does.” Her eyes scanned the room, and I noticed they skipped Goldie’s altogether.

  Lizzie brushed an imaginary piece of lint off her wool slacks. “What’s to feel differently about? The Bible says that marriage is between a man and his wife. Period. Anything that deviates from that is outside the will of God.” She looked over at Leigh. “I’m not saying you’re going to hell or anything, honey . . .”

  “Well, let’s hope not,” I interjected.

  “But what I want to know,” Lisa Leann piped in, “is if you’ve asked God to forgive you.”

  Donna sat straight up. “Forgive her for what, Lambert?”

  Lisa Leann met her eyeball-to-eyeball. “For having sex.”

  “Outside of marriage,” Goldie added, though—once again—we could hardly hear her.

  “Actually, I have,” Leigh answered.

  I looked at her sharply. “Is this really necessary?”

  Leigh winked at me, which she does frequently. It’s her way of saying “Take a chill pill,” as she puts it. “Not necessarily necessary, Aunt Evie. But I have nothing to hide.” She rubbed her tummy. “Obviously.”

  She turned her attentions back to Lisa Leann. “I’m not saying I think of this baby as a mistake. Babies are gifts from God; I don’t care how they come into this world. But I’ve asked God to forgive me. I told him I’d be the best mother in the world . . . with his help.”

  “Then,” Lizzie said, “why not marry the father?”

  Well, now, wasn’t that just the $64,000 question?

  Leigh became tight-lipped. Looked down at the evidence of her sexual encounter, then back up. “He hasn’t asked.”

  Well, I can tell you right now, my mouth just fell open. Just fell right open. This was the first I’d heard tell of the young man’s lack of intentions. “What do you mean ‘he hasn’t asked’?”

  Leigh shrugged her shoulders. “Just that. He asked me to move in, of course.”

  “Ugh,” Donna said, sitting back in the chair. “Show me a good man, and I’ll show you a woman in drag.”

  While the rest of us sat shock faced, Leigh and Donna laughed like Donna was some sort of Phyllis Diller. “Girls,” Lizzie said, coaxing the conversation back to a more decent level.

  The “girls” sobered.

  “It’s the truth,” Leigh said, more to Donna than anyone else. “Gary—that’s the name of my ex-boyfriend—wanted me to move in, you know what I’m saying? Said he loved me, and what in the world was I suddenly becoming so conventional about? But I told him I wanted to do this right. To be right with God again like I used to be when I was a kid. I told him no more—ahem—playing around and running around like tomorrow doesn’t matter.”

  “You go, girl,” Donna said with a nod.

  “Men have to be put in their places,” Lisa Leann said. “Have to see the importance of God in the big picture. We women get that. Like I was saying to my daughter just the other day, ‘Mandy, think about it, darlin’. Who was the proactive one in the Garden of Eden? The woman was, that’s who. She was out there trying to at least find knowledge while all Adam was doing was sitting around naming animals.’”

  “What does that mean, exactly?” I asked. Call me a stupid old virgin, but I just didn’t get a bit of this.

  “It means women are a lot smarter than men. I, for one, think we have a deeper pull toward God’s heart.”

  “I wouldn’t say that—”

  “She has a point, Evie,” Lizzie said. “Women are more in tune to the emotional side of God. His heart. Women understand the romance of God.”

  “What does that have to do with naming animals?” Goldie asked.

  “More importantly,” Donna said, “what does it have to do with Gary and Leigh?” She turned to look at my niece. “So what do you think? He’ll come crawling?”

  Leigh shook her head. “I’m not saying that’s what I want.”

  “What do you want?”

  Leigh shrugged her shoulders again. “I really don’t know. Right now I’m just taking it one day at a time.”

  “I think we should pray for Gary,” Lizzie said. She looked at Leigh. “We’ll pray for you too, of course, Leigh. We’ll pray that God will give you direction. But we need to pray for Gary’s heart.”

  “Is Gary a Christian?” Lisa Leann asked.

  “A Christian?” I jumped in. “What kind of Christian could he be?”

  “What’s new about Christian hypocrites? I’ve carted more than a few to the Summit County jail,” Donna said. I noticed she deliberately avoided Goldie when her eyes swept across the room.

  “You can be a Christian and not be perfect,” Lizzie said. She leaned forward a bit and toyed with her blunt-cut fingernails. “My own Tim is a Christian. They made a natural mistake, is all.”

  The only face in the room that didn’t at least go pink was Lisa Leann’s, and that’s only because she wasn’t around when Tim and Samantha had to get married. I wanted to kick myse
lf all the way to the bedroom, where I could hide under the covers the rest of the day. Goldie patted Lizzie’s knee and said, “Tim is a fine man.” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “We’ve all got our fair share of crosses to bear,” she said, then looked past Lizzie to Lisa Leann. “Lisa Leann, if you plan to spend any amount of time with this group of women, you’ll find out that we not only have enough to pray about within the community but within our own circle as well.”

  Lisa Leann started to say something—God only knows what—but was interrupted by Donna, who once again leaned forward. “Hey, ladies, let me ask you a question.” We turned to give her our attention. “Any of you who’ve been in town a while know of a woman by the name of Jewel?”

  I looked from Donna to the sofa where Lizzie and Goldie exchanged blank glances. “No, why?” I answered.

  “A few weeks ago I stopped a man from California. Name of David Harris. Nice looking guy too,” she added with a raised brow toward Leigh, who said, “Do tell.”

  “Mid-thirties. Close to six foot. Black hair. Brown eyes. Looks Hispanic. Maybe Mexican. Mexican-American. Hard to say, really.” She ran a palm across the top of her short blond hair.

  “A Latino?” Lisa Leann asked. “This Texan can tell you right now I think those men are hot. That Julio Iglesias can park his slippers in my closet any time he likes.”

  I decided not to comment on that. “Keep on with what you were saying, Donna,” I told her.

  “Apparently he has a mother here. I’m thinking he was adopted and is trying to find her. This isn’t official or anything, but I kinda feel bad for the man.”

  “I’ve never heard that name before,” Lizzie said. “But I can ask Samuel. See if he remembers.”

  Goldie shook her head. “This could’ve been before I moved here.” She looked at Lisa Leann. “I married a local.”

  “Where’re you from, darlin’?”

  “Georgia.”

  Lisa Leann smiled. “I thought I detected an accent.”

  Donna cleared her throat. “Evie? You look like you’re thinking about something.”

  My eyes widened. “No. I’m not thinking anything.”