fact that the man she’d loved was dead. With his death, she was forced to give up the dream of all she’d hoped her marriage would be. A true companionship—and the foundation of a family. Even if she were to fall in love again, which seemed unlikely, a pregnancy past the age of forty was risky. The dream of having her own child had died with Robert.
The four sipped their champagne in silence, each caught up in her own memories. Anne Marie saw the sorrow on Elise’s face, the contemplative look on Lillie’s, Barbie’s half smile.
“Will we be removing our shoes in order to pop the bubble wrap?” Lillie asked a moment later.
“Mom has this thing about walking around in stocking feet,” Barbie said, glancing at her mother. “She doesn’t approve.”
“It just wasn’t done in our household,” Lillie murmured.
“There’s no reason to take our shoes off,” Anne Marie said. “The whole idea is to have fun. Make a bit of noise, celebrate our friendship and our memories.”
“Then I say, let ’er rip,” Elise said. She raised her sensibly shod foot and stomped on a bubble. A popping sound exploded in the room.
Barbie went next, her step firm. Her high heels effectively demolished a series of bubbles.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Pop.
Lillie followed. Her movements were tentative, almost apologetic.
Pop.
Anne Marie went last. It felt…good. Really good, and the noise only added to the unexpected sense of fun and exhilaration. For the first time since the party had begun, she smiled.
By then they were all flushed with excitement and champagne. The others were laughing giddily; Anne Marie couldn’t quite manage that but she could almost laugh. The ability to express joy had left her when Robert died. That wasn’t all she’d lost. She used to sing, freely and without self-consciousness. But after Robert’s funeral Anne Marie discovered she couldn’t sing anymore. She just couldn’t. Her throat closed up whenever she tried. What came out were strangled sounds that barely resembled music, and after a while she gave up. It’d been months since she’d even attempted a song.
The popping continued as they paraded around on the bubble wrap, pausing now and then to sip champagne. They marched with all the pomp and ceremony of soldiers in procession, saluting one another with their champagne flutes.
Thanks to her friends, Anne Marie found that her mood had begun to lift.
Soon all the bubbles were popped. Bringing their champagne, they sat in the chairs where the reader groups met and toasted each other again in the dimly lit store.
Leaning back, Anne Marie tried to relax. Despite her earlier laughter, despite spending this evening with friends, her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away, but new tears came, and it wasn’t long before Barbie noticed. Her friend placed a reassuring hand on Anne Marie’s knee.
“Does it ever hurt any less?” Anne Marie asked. Searching for a tissue in her hip pocket, she blotted her eyes. She hated breaking down like this. She wanted to explain that she’d never been a weepy or sentimental woman. All her emotions had become more intense since Robert’s death.
Lillie and Barbie exchanged knowing looks. They’d been widows the longest.
“It does,” Lillie promised her, growing serious, too. “But it takes time.”
“I feel so alone.”
“That’s to be expected,” Barbie said, passing her the box of chocolates. “Here, have another one. You’ll feel better.”
“That’s what my grandmother used to say,” Elise added. “Eat, and everything will seem better.”
“Mine always said I’d be good as new if I did something for someone else,” Lillie said. “Grams swore that showing kindness to others was the cure for any kind of unhappiness.”
“Exercise helps, too,” Barbie put in. “I spent many, many hours at the gym.”
“Can’t I just buy something?” Anne Marie asked plaintively, and hiccuped a laugh as she made the suggestion.
The others smiled.
“I wish it was that easy,” Elise said in a solemn voice.
Anne Marie’s appetite had been nonexistent for months and she didn’t really enjoy going to a gym—walking nowhere on a treadmill seemed rather pointless to her. She didn’t feel like doing volunteer work, either, at least not right now—although helping another person might get her past this slump, this interval of self-absorption.
“We’re all looking for a quick fix, aren’t we?” Barbie said quietly.
“Maybe.” Lillie settled back in her chair. “Of these different options, the one I could really sink my teeth into is buying something.”
“So could I,” Barbie said with a laugh.
“I realize you’re joking—well, partly—but material things won’t help,” Elise cautioned, bringing them all back to reality. “Any relief a spending spree offers is bound to be temporary.”
As tempting as the idea of buying herself a gift might be, Anne Marie supposed she was right.
“We all need to take care of ourselves physically. Eat right. Exercise,” Elise said thoughtfully. “It’s important we get our finances in order, too.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more on that,” Lillie said.
“Let’s make a list of our suggestions,” Elise went on. Reaching for her purse, she took out a small spiral notebook.
“If I’m going to make a list,” Lillie piped up, “it won’t be about eating cauliflower and going jogging. Instead, I’d plan to do some of the things I’ve put off for years.”
“Such as?” Anne Marie asked.
“Oh, something fun,” Lillie said, “like traveling to Paris.”
Anne Marie felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck her. When they were first married, Robert had promised her that one day he’d take her to Paris. They talked about it frequently, discussing every aspect of their trip to the City of Light. The museums they’d visit, the places they’d walk, the meals they’d eat…
“I want to go to Paris with someone I love,” she whispered.
“I want to fall in love again,” Barbie said decisively. “Head over heels in love like I was before. A love that’ll change my life.”
They all grew quiet for a long moment, considering her words.
Anne Marie couldn’t believe Barbie would lack for male companionship. They’d never discussed the subject, but she was surprised that a woman as attractive as Barbie didn’t have her choice of men. Maybe she did. Maybe she simply had high standards. If so, Anne Marie couldn’t blame her.
“We
