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  Maura Beth maintained her poise, realizing that there was now genuine conflict swirling around the room. She must do everything in her power, however, to keep the discussion calm and civil. “Well, let’s delve into this a bit further, and then we’ll take a vote. If our club becomes the institution we hope it will, we’ll have plenty of time to read just about everything worthwhile.”

  Everyone standing resumed their seats as Justin spoke up again. “You see, Doug and I also like the fact that the Forrest Gump character played his football for the Bear. It doesn’t get any better than that, and I’m not exactly a ’Bama fan, even though my wife, Becca, is. I played my ball at Millsaps, which is boiled green peanuts compared to the big, bad SEC. Anyhow, everybody says college ball is damn near a religion here in the South, so we thought we could talk about that, too. I remember you and Becca and all the other ladies saying we should think outside the box anyway.”

  “Yes, I actually am a ’Bama fan, but I thought we were supposed to have literature in mind here, not football,” Becca said, fighting off a pout. Then she turned to focus on her husband. “That scholarship of yours is way back in your rearview mirror. You’re nearly forty years old, and you just recovered from a heart attack and an angioplasty, need I remind you. So no more wishful thinking about backyard games with the fellas—not even flag or touch. Besides, when it comes to football, what we should really be discussing is the plight of us poor football widows. From September kickoff to the end of the bowl season, it’s like we’re chopped liver. I admit I do keep up with ’Bama, but you guys let us out of the closet long enough to fix your meals and snacks, and maybe work up the energy to kiss us at halftime—if your team is covering the point spread, that is. But that’s about it!”

  “Amen!” Connie put in, a football widow herself.

  Then Locke Linwood managed a sly little grin while putting in a word. “For the record, I love shrimp with cocktail sauce, if that means anything. To the horseradish, men!”

  “Glad you said that, Mr. Linwood,” Justin added, smiling big. “Doug and I thought that reading Forrest Gump might also be an opportunity for the wives to contribute their best seafood and shrimp recipes to the potluck.”

  Miss Voncille leaned over in Becca’s direction. “You’ve done shrimp recipes on The Becca Broccoli Show, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, it was the Cherico version of the ‘shrimp on the barbie’ thing. But for the record, folks, I’m getting the impression we’re suddenly all about the shrimp here, and the prose can just run away and hide for all we care. Should we change our name to The Cherico Shrimp Club, or better yet, The Cherico Cooking Club? For wives only, I might add.”

  Then Maura Beth realized how off topic they’d wandered. “However, we were discussing whether to read The Robber Bridegroom or Forrest Gump. Do I have any more cogent thoughts on Welty’s work? There’s certainly a wealth of literary criticism out there to access.”

  “We’ve read just about everything Eudora Welty has ever written!” Mamie Crumpton proclaimed, heaving her ample bosom framed by her silver-sequined bodice. “Haven’t we, sister?”

  Mousy Marydell offered up her customary, barely audible, “Yes.”

  “Of course, I’ve always loved that story of hers about the lady who lives at the post office,” Mamie continued. “I have to admit that I don’t know anything about this Gump novel by C. S. Forester, but I do adore shrimp.” She paused briefly to run her tongue across her lips. “These potluck dinners have been scrumptious, but I don’t know what kind of culinary theme we could build around Eudora Welty. Southern food, I suppose, but everything we’ve eaten here at the library has been Southern. Comes with the territory, of course.”

  “If I may correct a slight misconception you have, Miz Crumpton,” Maura Beth explained, careful to sound as diplomatic as possible with such an influential library patron. “C. S. Forester did not write Forrest Gump. Winston Groom did. He’s an Alabama writer—and quite an accomplished one at that.”

  Mamie waved her off in typical patrician manner. “Pish, tosh! I vote for something new. Sister does, too. I think Voncille and the men make good, serviceable points. We should support them and save Miss Welty for another time. I’m sure we’d all agree that her place on the shelves is assured for all eternity.” Mamie paused and began laughing heartily all by herself, her ample dress appearing to vibrate and take on a life of its own.

  Maura Beth frowned and waited for the woman and her mounds of fabric to cease and desist. “Did I miss something?”

  “I was just thinking,” came the reply, “that no one is going to steal The Robber Bridegroom from us.”

  There was a forced ripple of laughter, if only because most people found Mamie Crumpton, her money and social position, to be intimidating, and few had ever dared to cross her without a significant price to pay.

  At that point Maura Beth could see that Forrest Gump was going to win the day. Both Becca and Connie again shrugged their shoulders, also knowing full well that when Mamie Crumpton made up her mind, that pretty much settled the issue in question. When the vote was finally taken, in fact, The Robber Bridegroom came in a distant second, at which point Maura Beth—always voting last—joined the majority so as not to appear inflexible or holding on to a lost cause.

  “Well, it looks like we’ll be reading Forrest Gump for our March meeting. And bringing lots of shrimp and seafood dishes as a consequence,” Maura Beth announced. She could feel herself forcing the muscles of her face into an artificial configuration of approval. Why, it just wouldn’t do for her to become as despotic and heavy-handed as the Cherico councilmen were! “Becca, you’ll coordinate who brings what as usual, won’t you?”

  Becca nodded complacently at first, then suddenly seemed more sanguine. “Hey, why be a salmon swimming upstream about this? As long as we’re also going to be discussing football—and football widows, I trust—why don’t we include some of our favorite tailgating dishes along with the shrimp? I stumbled upon a classic or two during my time at ’Bama.”

  All of the men present broke out in generous nods and smiles, and Justin spoke up for all of them when he patted his stomach and said, “Sounds like a mighty good deal to me!”

  Nonetheless, Maura Beth struggled to fight back the uneasy feeling dogging her. In a breathtaking turn of events, The Robber Bridegroom had been apprehended and put away for a while, and furthermore, the all-encompassing emphasis on food was leaving a bad taste in her mouth. “I just want to remind everyone again that we are first and foremost a book club. I’m pleased that everyone enjoys the potluck so much. Sharing delicious food and companionship is a big part of what we’re all about here. But we’re also here primarily to review literary works. I hope we’ll all read Forrest Gump in that spirit and remember how much we value those outside-the-box angles when we get together. That’s what has given The Cherry Cola Book Club such a unique calling card so far. Looks like we now have a book club for the boys, so to speak. Of course, our ultimate goal should be to become a book club for all of Cherico.”

  After the meeting had adjourned, some of the members stuck around to thank Maura Beth. “I never thought I’d find the time in my busy schedule at The Twinkle to read books,” said Periwinkle. “Or listen to ’em in my case, since I check out the audios to keep me occupied to and from work. Why, sometimes I think I’m in an episode of Star Trek the way I start out from The Twinkle after I close up and shove one of those CDs into the dashboard. Then, bam! There I am transported to my front door with no conception of any time having passed at all.”

  “And I have to say that I’ve rediscovered reading,” Mr. Place said. “When I’m not turning out my desserts, that is. And I believe I’d have my mama reading, too, if she didn’t have so much trouble with her eyes. By the way, she sends along her regrets that she was feeling a little bit under the weather and couldn’t be here with y’all this evening.”

  “I’m sure we all hope she’s feeling better soon. Meanwhile, you must evaluate ou
r cookbook selection sometime, Mr. Place,” Maura Beth suggested. “I have the sneaking suspicion that our collection needs weeding desperately in that area. Oh, and don’t forget that we have large-print books for readers like your mother. I’m sure she can find a genre she likes.”

  “I’ll remind her.”

  Renette Posey entered the exchange with her girlish excitement. “Oh, we definitely need to weed, Miz Mayhew. Just the other day I found a dusty old cookbook published way back in 1943 with a chapter on how to grow vegetables in your Victory Garden. I didn’t know what on earth they were talking about until I got home and Googled it on my computer. Imagine growing everything under the sun in a terracotta pot to spite the Nazis!”

  Maura Beth was decidedly embarrassed by the revelation, briefly looking off to the side. More than once she had postponed weeding certain areas of the collection for the simple reason that the library lacked adequate replacement funds. “I must apologize for having held on to such an outdated subject like that.”

  Renette was right, and Maura Beth knew it. They still had far to go to bring The Cherico Library up to modern, state-of-the-art standards. Forget just keeping it open; they needed more money to hire staff, improve the collection, get some computer terminals, and that was just for starters. Expanding the book club was an integral part of the equation. Determined to make that happen, Maura Beth thanked her loyal members and sent them on their way with a pep talk. “In the six weeks until we get together to review Forrest Gump, don’t forget to remind your friends and relatives to check us out the way they did at our To Kill a Mockingbird meeting in November. Let’s continue making The Cherry Cola Book Club and this little library the toast of the town.”

  2

  The Infrequent Reader

  Fifteen minutes or so after The Cherry Cola Book Club had officially finished with its buffet and small talk, Maura Beth found herself alone in the library, tending to such routine tasks as flicking off light switches everywhere before she went home to her little purple-decorated efficiency on Clover Street. Renette had helped her put the leftovers away in the library fridge and wanted to stay until the last key had been turned in the last lock, but Maura Beth had sent her off, sounding like a concerned mother lecturing her daughter on the great truths of life. “Go get your beauty sleep, sweetie,” she had told her. “Build up your pretty reserves while you’re still young. The bloom is off the rose soon enough.”

  No wonder, then, that Maura Beth jumped noticeably, even swearing that she felt her heart skip a beat or two, when a timid little voice out of nowhere called out, “Miz Mayhew?”

  Maura Beth quickly turned from her vantage point outside her office door and peered toward the dimly lit entrance. “Who’s there?” she said in a tone that managed to sound both frightened and incredulous. “Is that you, Renette? Did you forget something?”

  The shadowy figure moved forward slowly into the illumination surrounding the circulation desk, and Maura Beth saw who it was, much to her great relief.

  “Oh, it’s you, Miz Duddney! What a surprise!”

  Indeed, it was. Maura Beth had not set eyes on the dull, monosyllabic spinster since her dismissal as Councilman Sparks’s secretary late last year. Everyone in the inner circle of the book club was convinced that Nora Duddney’s firing after decades of service was an attempt to bring Maura Beth “into the fold.” But the ploy had not worked. Maura Beth had seen through it, turned down the extra money as Nora’s successor, and fought even harder to remain at the helm of her beloved Cherico Library. Yet Maura Beth had wondered more than once what had become of the poor woman. She seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth—until tonight.

  “I’ve come to join your book club,” Nora explained, now face-to-face with Maura Beth. “But I needed to tell you a couple of things—privately.”

  Maura Beth fumbled for the right key on her big ring and unlocked her office, flicking on the light switch as they both entered. “Please, have a seat, and we’ll have a nice talk.” Once they were settled in across from each other, she resumed. “You missed an interesting meeting here, you know. But I’m thrilled you’re joining. You’ll love our little group that’s growing every day. There are so many wonderful novels out there to explore, and we decided tonight that our next read will be Forrest Gump by Winston Groom.”

  Nora said nothing at first, playing with a few strands of mousy brown hair that had defied her best efforts at grooming and fallen haphazardly across her forehead. For a second or two, she looked as if she might be getting ready to pull them out by their roots. What she desperately needed, Maura Beth conjectured while watching the nervous display, was a visit to Cherico Tresses for a few highlights, or at the very least a bona-fide hairstyle. Not to mention a clothes makeover and a touch of makeup. Nothing drastic, mind you. Just a little something to bring her out of her pale, late middle-aged stupor.

  “That’s one of the things I needed to tell you. I’m not a reader,” Nora said finally. “Never have been. It’s not that I dislike reading, it’s just that . . . well, I have this trouble. I see words and letters all reversed—I’ve been that way all my life, like I’m from another planet. That’s why people always saw me taking my time at the typewriter—and then the computer when we finally switched over at City Hall. I actually understood what I was supposed to be doing—it just took me a while to get it done.”

  “You’re dyslexic?” Maura Beth said, indulging a sharp intake of air to put an exclamation point on her epiphany. “All this time you’ve had dyslexia?”

  “Yes, I have. A severe case, I’m afraid. And I didn’t find out about it until many years into my adult life. While I was growing up, everyone just thought I was—well, you know . . . slow. And that included my parents. Back then, the diagnosis wasn’t so easy to come by. They never knew what the real problem was. Just that the doctors said I needed looking after.” But she said nothing further.

  “Now I can see why you wanted a little privacy.”

  Again there was decided hesitation, and Nora looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Yes.”

  “Try to relax, Nora. I’m pretty good at listening.”

  Nora swept the wild strands out of her face with the palm of her hand. “I, uh, was beyond shocked that Councilman Sparks fired me. That job was the one thing I thought I could count on, come hell or high water. It was my ticket to stability in my life. But . . . I was just swept aside.”

  Now it was Maura Beth’s turn to feel awkward, knowing the truth about the entire secretarial situation, but she had no intention of revealing it. It was obvious that Nora had a low threshold for hurt feelings. “Yes, I think it was very unfair to you after all those years of service to the town. Did Councilman Sparks even know you were dyslexic?”

  “I’m not sure. I know I never told him. I was afraid he might hold it against me.”

  The sadness in Nora’s already drab face was too much for Maura Beth to bear. “Shame on him if he did and still let you go!”

  “I appreciate you taking my side.” Then out of nowhere, her face brightened. “But maybe the joke’s on him. It’s gotten back to me that the lady who replaced me, Mrs. Lottie Howard, is driving him crazy. Something about abbreviating his messages all the time and trying his patience in general. I never tried to cut corners and somehow managed to meet his deadlines.”

  The image of Nora as a dim-witted, washed-out nonentity quickly began to dissolve as Maura Beth took in every thoughtful sentence headed her way from across the desk. Suddenly, there was a real person behind the blank façade Nora had always presented to the world. And there was now a legitimate reason for the one-word utterances and grunts that had always characterized her behavior. Obviously, the woman had always been in the midst of supreme cognitive concentration.

  “I’ve gotten over the shock, though,” Nora continued. “Now I’m just angry, and I think it will help me to be with people.” There was more hesitation. “Of course, I’ve been wondering if I should maybe look for another job somewh
ere because—”

  Maura Beth interrupted and leaned in, genuinely puzzled. “Is this a matter of finances? If it is, I truly sympathize, but I’m afraid I have no budget to hire you here. I’d be embarrassed to tell you what I make, much less my front desk clerks.”

  Nora suddenly exuded confidence as she replied, her face more animated than it had ever been on the job at City Hall. “No, I’m not hurting for money. I’ve saved up quite a bit over the years. I was actually paid handsomely, believe it or not. But I earned every penny, if I do say so myself.”

  Maura Beth continued to be in awe of the new Nora, all dewy petals opening up in the light of truth. Here was someone most of Cherico had thought of as no more significant than the wallpaper in Councilman Sparks’s office, and she was now standing up for herself every bit as impressively as Maura Beth had stood up for the little library on Shadow Alley.

  “If you know any of this already, stop me,” Nora continued. “My father, Layton Duddney, and Councilman Sparks’s father, Wendell, were both on the Council way back when certain matrons of Cherico decided to contribute some of their hard-earned inherited money to start up a library—”

  Maura Beth couldn’t suppress the high-pitched giggle that floated up out of her like a hiccup. Would wonders never cease? Nora Duddney even had a subtle sense of humor, taking that potshot at wealthy Chericoans the way she had just done.