The Book Club. Mary Monroe Alice

draft from his bottle. Gabriella’s hands stilled on the counter and she waited quietly for the quake. His lips pinched, the only movement on his face, but his eyes were restless.

      “Remember I told you that there was a memo circulated around the office about a merger? They said there were going to be large-scale layoffs.” He didn’t look at her but spoke to the wall.

      Gabriella did indeed remember that. They’d talked for hours about the possibility that Fernando’s job as district manager of the electronics firm would be in jeopardy. Then Fernando had pointed out how he never missed a day of work, how he often stayed late to solve problems, and how he’d worked for the firm for over a decade. He’d seemed so confident and she slept easy at night believing he would be the last one any company would let go. But now, seeing the heartache in his eyes, she feared the worst. Her earlier premonition played in her mind and she silently cried out, No, no, don’t let him lose his job. Madre de Dios, please don’t make us go through this. Gabriella knew poverty and feared it.

      She didn’t say any of this to Fernando but took his large hand into her small one.

      “They canned me,” he said with brutal honesty. “Gave me my notice. In six weeks, I’ll be out of a job.”

      He looked at her with both wariness and anger, as though he expected her to explode, to blame him for his failure as he surely blamed himself. For a moment she felt frozen by the shock of the words. This wasn’t an it-could-happen scenario. This was the real thing. He was fired, let go, laid off, whatever words they used to stop his career—and his paycheck.

      Her head lowered as she tried to make sense of it. “I…I don’t understand,” she ventured in a small voice. “You said you thought they’d keep you. That it wouldn’t…How could they let you go?”

      “Not just me. Fifteen hundred got the pink slip, most of them in middle management. It’s happening all over.” His hand plowed through his cropped black hair. “That’s what worries me. There’ll be a lot of competition out on the street for my level of position.” His face creased and his hand left his hair to rub his brow, shielding his eyes.

      She heard the worry in his voice, worry not for himself but for his family. As a young man he had worked his way through college while still managing to give his parents a portion of each paycheck. They’d married young, had children early and he’d never stopped working hard for his family. Gabriella looked at her husband’s face and saw the defeat that would kill him more surely than any cholesterol.

      What did she have to be afraid of if he lost his job, she wondered? She loved him. He was her husband, the father of her children. She’d seen in Eve’s eyes the depth of a woman’s desolation when her husband died. What did the loss of a job matter when compared to that loss? She moved to wrap her short, plump arms around him, her head barely reaching his shoulders.

      “We’ll be fine,” she said, and was relieved to feel his arms wrap around her in a bear hug. Laying her cheek against his chest, she relished his scent on his clothes and the warmth of his arms. “You’re alive and well and we have four wonderful bebes. And I have a job, so we know we’ll make do until you find another one. And you will, too. Soon. You just wait and see. We’ll be fine,” she repeated. “We just have to keep the faith.”

      Three

      Between the dark and the daylight,

       When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day’s occupations, That is known as the Children’s Hour.

      —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,

       The Children’s Hour

      For mothers of school-age children, the first signs of fall are not the yellowing of leaves or a nip in the night air. They are the back-to-school sales, the purchase of book bags, binders and pens, and the mix of panic and excitement on the faces of their children.

      Doris Bridges sat back on her heels on the floor of her library and fingered the old, worn copy of Dr. Seuss’s children’s book. She was feeling a wave of melancholy, having just said goodbye to her eldest son, Bobby Jr., on his way to college. He was the first to leave the nest and his absence left a gaping, empty space in her heart. Opening the book, she was flooded with memories of the countless times she’d read this story to Sarah and Bobby in this very room. They’d all loved Dr. Seuss’s fantasy worlds—the children no more than her. How she used to enjoy watching their small tongues roll the strange sounding syllables in their mouths. Each child had a favorite. Sarah’s was the faithful elephant who would not desert his friends in Horton Hears A Who. Bobby’s was the rhythmic, marching beat of Green Eggs and Ham.

      She’d secretly loved it when they tussled over who could climb into her ample lap, finally settling the dispute with one leaning over her left thigh and the other over her right. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel the soft pressure of their heads resting against her breasts this very moment, feel the moistness of their foreheads after a bath and smell the sweetness of their wispy hair. Ah, such a perfume! Ambrosia. God must have created it just for mothers. The scent stirred primal instincts to love and protect the babies.

      Her babies…Doris sighed heavily and opened her eyes, feeling a wave of weepiness. All that lay on her lap now was an open book, in hands that were so much older. Wide, freckled hands with large rings and painted nails. She remembered when she hadn’t worn large rings for fear they’d scratch the babies.

      The sound of her children’s voices was still so clear in her memory; at times such as these their high-pitched singsong overwhelmed all other noise. So precious! As were the treasured images of her young family, with R.J. beside her, laughing his big, boisterous laugh. Where did the time go? Where did they all go? She sometimes felt that all she had left were these books. That like Horton, the big, clumsy elephant, she wanted to stand up in this huge, painstakingly decorated house that amounted to no more than a speck of dust in the real world and shout from the top of her lungs, “I am here! I am here!”

      She lowered her head and sniffed, feeling a vast, dark cloud envelop her.

      R.J. walked into the library with his usual bluster and stopped a few feet from her. From behind her lowered lids she saw that he stood with his feet wide apart and could envision his hands on his hips. She cringed, knowing without looking that he was frowning in disgust to find her once again wallowing, teary eyed, in her memories. She felt so sad, so often lately, and though she tried to hide it, sometimes the tears just spilled out. That lack of control frightened her—and it annoyed R.J. to no end.

      “You’ve got to get out more,” he said, frustration ringing in his voice.

      “Oh, I’m all right,” she replied with summoned cheer, forcing a tremulous smile and quickly wiping her eyes. “I just got a little emotional when I saw this book. Remember how I used to read it to the children? It was one of their favorites.”

      “Listen, I forgot to give these to John this afternoon,” R.J. said, ignoring her question. “Could you run this over to him?”

      She looked up over her shoulder to see R.J. dressed in a sporty linen trouser and blue jacket ensemble and smelling of aftershave. His thinning brown hair streaked handsomely with gray was slicked back and he had what her mother called “spit and polish.” In his hands he held a large manila envelope out toward her.

      “Are you going out?” She in turn ignored the envelope.

      “I’ve got to be downtown in half an hour. I don’t have time to drop these off myself. Just tell him I need his take on these blueprints asap.”

      It was more of a command than a request and Doris set the children’s book in her lap with a heavy sigh that spoke clearly of her unwillingness. She’d looked forward to an hour of reading before she prepared dinner. Besides, she didn’t like going over to John’s house; she might run into Annie. Lately, the quiet rivalry between them had escalated into a war. They still attended the Book Club together and the lunches and what-have-you. But underneath the polite smiles, both women recognized the teeth were bared.

      “Why can’t