The Necklace: A true story of 13 women, 1 diamond necklace and a fabulous idea. Cheryl Jarvis

she knew she wanted to belong.

      Meanwhile, the women were thinking their own thoughts about Priscilla. Every one of them admired her courage in joining a group where she knew no one. A few wondered how this quiet woman would fare with the loud and bawdy characters among them.

      When the women were finished with their salads, Jonell passed out an agenda for the meeting.

      Number 1: Who’s been naughty and/or nice? Hopefully both.

      Number 2: The cost of the insurance on the necklace: $88.46 per woman.

      Number 3: How does everyone feel about donating towels for a community project to help the homeless?

      The women wrote cheques to cover their share of the insurance, they chatted about what had happened to the necklace in the last month, it was handed over to the next woman and then at last they got up to leave. They warmly said their good-byes to Priscilla, one by one effusing over how delighted they were to have her in the group. Priscilla, herself, couldn’t stop smiling.

      

      That evening at dinner Tom saw Priscilla smile for the first time in a long while, her smile revealing teeth as white as the whites around her warm, brown eyes, now crinkling. He’d fallen in love with that smile when they were both at school, when he was a starting quarterback in the football team and she was a cheerleader.

      ‘It’s a great group of women,’ Priscilla said. ‘Thank you for making me part of it.’

      ‘I didn’t do anything.’

      ‘Of course you did.’

      ‘I just saw those women having so much fun together and I wanted that for you.’

      ‘I didn’t realise how much I wasn’t like that.’

      ‘You used to be.’

      ‘I don’t know what happened.’

      ‘I don’t know either.’

      Can any of us pinpoint the moment when we’ve lost our younger selves, lost joy in the simple things, stopped celebrating life? For years – decades – we work, raise a family, plant begonias. Then one day we wake up to chemotherapy and eulogies and nursing home visits and the realisation that we haven’t had a real holiday in years. And all we can do is ask: how did life get so hard?

      

      When Jonell e-mailed the group with the date and place for the next meeting, Priscilla responded immediately: ‘I’ll be there. Looking forward to it.’ This time she really meant it.

      But once at the meeting, Priscilla was her reticent, quiet self. She wondered if she’d ever have the confidence to speak as easily and assuredly as so many of the others. In the neighbourhood where she grew up she’d learned survival skills, but not the fine art of small talk. She noticed the women expressed differing opinions, but without raising their voices like the male pundits on the TV news. The women didn’t call one another ‘wrong’ or ‘stupid’. Priscilla had never encountered such civility in dissension. She wondered if the women would be as gracious when she spoke. She felt the same acceptance at the second meeting that she’d felt at the Pierpont Inn – more than acceptance, a sense she was valued, someone special. Her enjoyment in being with the women was beginning to outweigh her fear of not measuring up.