The Rejected Writers' Book Club (Southlea Bay) (10 page)

“Don’t tell me,” I said, finishing this story. “It’s moved in!”

“Just until I can find its owner. I’ve been asking around.” He was trying to earn some extra points. “I also called the animal shelter, but they’re full right now. She’s on their waiting list.”

Here it comes, I thought, I could feel it in my bones . . .

“She’s such a sweet little thing, really, lovely and good company. I was worried that the raccoons would eat her for breakfast.”

My husband’s love of cats was obvious in his concerned tone.

“So, let me get this straight. You were supposed to be getting rid of one wild animal and instead you’ve taken in another one!”

“Yes,” he answered sheepishly.

“I just might have something to say about that.”

“I thought you might.” Then he added quickly, “But, unfortunately, I have to go. I think I hear Dwayne at the door. Love you. Bye.” He hung up. He was being playful, and it made me laugh. It was well after ten, and I was sure there was no one at our door.

Under that “I’ve got it all together” exterior, my husband had always been a big teddy bear. I was pretty sure that the cat had come home to stay.

I fell into bed exhausted, but at about three o’clock, I woke up again. I often had trouble sleeping the first night away from home. I was also worried about Stacy. I put on my robe and slippers and went to get myself a glass of warm milk.

When I arrived downstairs, I was surprised to find that Doris was also awake. She stood in pink curlers, staring absently out the kitchen window.

“Doris, are you okay?”

I seemed to bring her back from a faraway place.

“Oh, Janet, I couldn’t sleep. I have a lot on my mind.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s all . . . too awful.”

There was a deep sadness in her eyes. This was a very different Doris than the one she presented to the world. She seemed utterly forlorn and lost. It was quite disconcerting.

I tried to buoy her spirits as I prepared my drink. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

She looked at me intently, as if once again she were trying to figure out if she could trust me or not, then, appearing to make up her mind, she sighed deeply.

“Do you remember when I told you there was another important reason that I needed to get back the manuscript from the publishers?”

I nodded and sat down at the table. Doris joined me.

“I did some more investigating, because I just couldn’t believe this scandalous story could be true. This evening I made a phone call to a person that could help me confirm some of the facts, and they told me something that has made me believe more than ever that the story must be true.”

“We’ll just have to make sure we get that manuscript back from the publishers,” I said optimistically as I took a sip of my milk.

I had to admit I had been hoping she’d divulge the story to me. I plucked up the courage to ask her a question I’d been wondering about ever since she’d confided in me.

“How did you find this story?”

Doris narrowed her eyes again as if she were trying to figure out how much she wanted to share.

“I was given it. The person who wrote this particular piece has passed away and often wrote many fictional short stories. I just assumed it was fiction just like all the others.”

“How did you find out it wasn’t?” I took another sip of my milk.

“By accident.” She wrung her hands slowly. “There was some information in the story that was mentioned to me in passing the other day. And so that’s why I decided to do some more checking.”

“And where is the original story now?” I asked, finishing my drink.

“It’s totally safe. As soon as I suspected anything, I hid it in a very safe place. I didn’t want it to be found while we were away. The story is about . . . someone very dear to me and . . .” She paused then, obviously trying to collect herself.

I took the opportunity to reach out and take her hand. “It’s one of your rejected ladies, isn’t it?”

Doris’s expression confirmed my suspicions, and ever so slowly, she nodded her head.

“The person who wrote this story lived in our village for a spell and, yes, it’s about one of my ladies.”

“Don’t worry, Doris. We’ll be in San Francisco in two days and you’ll get it back and this will all go away.”

She nodded. That thought seemed to cheer her a little, but I could tell there was still something behind her hesitant smile. I sensed there was a lot more to this story by the way it was affecting her, something much deeper.

Chapter Eight

THE LITTLE RED WAGON THAT COULD

The next morning I lay half-awake, roused by the intoxicating smell of coffee mingled with waffles. I pondered the conversation Doris and I had shared in the middle of the night. The fact it was about one of the rejected ladies now had me wondering. Jumping into the shower, my mind was alive, trying to figure out which one it involved.

Lavinia? There wasn’t much she hadn’t done that could be devastating to her life or that we didn’t already know about. Or Ruby for that matter. She would be proud of her own scandal. Could it be Lottie? She had a very spotless reputation. If there had been something in her past, it would be devastating for her. What if Ruby wrote horror because she really killed people as a hobby? Or maybe Ethel was really just quiet because she had a secret illegitimate child she kept in a closet at home.

I grinned to myself as I rinsed off. My husband was always remarking about my wild imagination. Maybe I should start writing books too, and if I joined the Rejection Club, they wouldn’t even need to be good.

I dressed and made my way downstairs.

Dan’s mother was busy in the kitchen. She wore a flowery apron and her hair pulled up in a chignon. Doris was by her side, helping. She nodded at me but didn’t acknowledge the conversation from the night before as she poured waffle batter into the iron.

Dan and Flora were already seated at the table in the dining room. Flora looked like a different person. Her pale, long hair was smooth and flowing about her shoulders instead of in the usual tight braid, and rather than a hat and layers, she was wearing a cream chiffon dress, pretty earrings, and a light perfume. Flora turned to me, excited as I entered. “Can you believe it?” she enthused. “Dan adores sea turtles and Italian opera, just like me.”

“And Flora loves saffron rice,” added Dan, equally in awe of his new muse.

“Ummm,” I said, trying to keep the cynical tone out of my voice.

Oh, to be young and falling in love. I wanted to tell them turtles and rice were all well and good, but if Dan wanted to build a raccoon trap in their garden in twenty years’ time, don’t let him because they would probably end up with a cat.

After breakfast, we said our good-byes to Dan’s parents, and Dan brought the car from the garage. We were a jovial party as we got into the car that morning, and even Doris, who had been thoughtful over breakfast, had cheered.

Even though it was large, I knew it would still be a squeeze in my ten-year-old Chevy Suburban. As my front car door greeted me with its usual grinding creak, I got behind the wheel, and Ethel squashed in, petulantly, beside me on the front bench seat. Doris squeezed in next to her and started scrutinizing her maps. In the back, Annie got in one side and the lovebirds got in the other. As we settled, Annie put on her soap. I drove along, listening to the story as it drifted from the backseat of the car.

The doctor character had found out his secretary was having his baby and was putting pressure on her to give it up for adoption. The other guy she was also dating was now having delusions and believed he was still undercover during the war. In the meantime, the wife of the doctor had suspected her husband’s affair after stealing the secretary’s medical chart from his office and had decided she was going to put a hit on him.

I was totally engrossed. So were Dan and Flora behind me, as Ethel periodically huffed her disapproval.

Once it had finished, Annie was about to turn off her iPad when a little bell went off. She looked at it mysteriously. It was obvious she had no idea what it meant. She waved it in front of Dan, who responded matter-of-factly, “Someone is FaceTiming you.”

Annie blinked and shrugged. Chuckling, he took it from her and pressed a button. All at once, the car was filled with the voices of Lottie, Lavinia, and Gracie.

“Surprise!” they shrieked as their faces appeared on the screen.

“Oh!” squealed Annie. “It’s the girls.”

“It is!” said Lavinia.

“Look how tech savvy we’ve become since you left. It took us a while to figure it out, but here we are, larger-than-life and beaming to you all the way from Southlea Bay.”

“How y’all doing?” asked Lavinia. “Whizz me around the car so I can see how you’re all holding up.”

Annie obliged. I waved at them as Annie flashed it in front of me.

“Wait, hold everything!” Lavinia shrieked. “Go back! Is that a man you have in the car?”

“Yes, it’s Dan,” giggled Annie.

“Ethel,” said Lavinia in a mock disapproving way, “you didn’t sneak a man under that duvet I saw you stuffing into the trunk, now, did you?”

Ethel’s eyes became as large as saucers. It was obvious how she felt about that comment.

Annie filled them in on how we’d ended up with Dan and about the rest of our adventures so far.

“My, you girls are having so much fun. I wish I could have come along,” sighed Gracie.

“Next time, Momma, when you’re not recovering from the Lurgy,” Doris shouted from the front.

They caught us up with all the village gossip. Ruby was feeling much better, and the rest of the rejection group was planning a mini group meeting while we were on the road.

“Just for fun,” added Lavinia. “But we gotta go. Gracie and I are planning an old-fashioned tea dance, and we have a lot to do. Bye.”

We all shouted our good-byes, and Annie hung up.

Having Dan in the car certainly changed the dynamics of our group. He was fun and playful, and all of our interactions seemed easier and more comfortable as we settled into our second day. It was confirmed to me when Doris leaned across and gently tapped me on the hand, saying, “Let’s pull over and get some lunch, shall we, dear?”

Dear? Her whole face lit up, and I realized it was the first time I’d seen her cheerful since the day of the rejection meeting. It made me realize how serious this was for her.

Seeing a sign for a little mom-and-pop-style café, I pulled into the parking lot. A dainty silver bell tinkled as we opened the door. Cheery red-and-white-checked tablecloths dressed the dozen or so tables. Behind the counter, a middle-aged woman wearing an apron of the same red-and-white check was putting delicious-looking pies into a glass display case. We practically tiptoed across the polished oak floor, which creaked as we made our way into the center of the room.

Smiling sweetly, our server came over to greet us.

“Welcome to the Little Red Wagon. I’m Betty,” said our host in a soft, singsong way. “Are you here to eat?”

I wanted to say, “No, actually I’m here to stay for the rest of my life,” but found myself nodding instead. She led us to a large table in the back, close to the fireplace. Behind it, a quaint picture window framed a peekaboo view of a bubbling brook that ran behind the café. It was delightful.

“It’s warm and cozy over here,” she sang, placing menus on the table in front of us. “Now what can I get for you all?”

“I would like a patty melt,” said Doris decisively.

“You’re in for a treat,” enthused Betty. “That’s our chef’s specialty.”

Doris looked pleased, and the rest of us ordered. Betty went off to get our food.

Dan turned to the group. “So, tell me more about what you’ll be doing in California.”

Doris straightened up. “We’re on our way to save our rejection group.”

“Yes, Flora told me about that,” said Dan, and his eyes flashed in her direction. “Tell me, how did your group get started?”

Doris launched into her story with gusto. “Three years ago, Lottie, Lavinia, Momma, and I decided to start a group to support each other as we wrote together. So I wrote
Love in the Forest
. It’s sort of a mix of Jane Austen and Stephen King, if you know what I mean.”

I didn’t know about Dan, but I certainly had no idea what she meant. I couldn’t connect those two authors together in my brain no matter how I tried. But Dan just nodded and appeared to be intensely interested.

“For over a year, we laughed and cried together reading excerpts of our books, and it was like a little party every month. We were actually genuinely sad when the day came for us to send our books off to the publishers because we were going to miss our little group. So, we decided to get together once we heard back.”

Betty came back with our drinks, and Doris’s enthusiasm was so infectious that even our server seemed to be drawn in.

“I actually received my first letter about a month later and was so excited because it would mean another party for us. We had such a fabulous evening reminiscing about our year and were having such a good time that we almost forgot to open the letter. But just before the girls left, Lottie reminded us. We gathered around the fireplace to open the envelope.”

I noticed Betty was hanging around topping off waters that appeared to be already full. She then started to wipe off the already clean table adjoining ours, fully engrossed. As I sipped my water, I could tell Doris had told this story many times before.

“Inside, I found a thick, creamy-white piece of paper. You know, the sort you get at those fancy stationery stores, with the embossing on it?”

Doris closed her eyes and recited it, word for word:

“Dear Mrs. Newberry,

Thank you for sending us your manuscript,
Love in the Forest
. Unfortunately, we feel there would not be enough interest in a book where aliens abduct Elizabeth Bennett and she time travels, only to go back with a dishwasher. If you would like your manuscript returned, please send us the postage, and we will be happy to send it back to you.”

“How sad,” sighed Betty as she served our food.

I looked around the table; Dan was listening to every word as he started eating his hamburger.

Doris carried on. “We all sat there for a while. We let the news sink in. Then Lavinia broke the silence. She said, ‘It’s a real shame the way this turned out, because it was a lovely party. At least we’ll be able to spend some time together again if we get another rejection letter.’

“And that’s when it hit me. Finishing our books had left a void in our lives, as we no longer had a reason to be together. And that was when the Rejection Club was born.

“We made a pact that every time a rejection letter came in we would have a party and see them as a blessing because it would mean we would still have a reason to get together, even though it was to share in our failure. Before long, we heard of other writers who were getting rejection letters and wanted to join our group. Now there are many of us.”

“That is such a beautiful story,” said Betty, blowing her nose on a napkin.

“Anyway, from then on we’ve kept all of our letters.”

“And believe me, we had some doozies,” added Annie with a chuckle.

A man from the other side of the restaurant held up an empty coffee cup. “Can I get some more coffee, Betty?”

“In a minute, Joe,” she responded, a little irritated, filling up our water glasses again. “Are you still meeting?” asked Betty, eagerly.

Doris’s eyes dropped to her hands folded on the table in front of her, and her voice softened. “We were. Then, just recently, tragedy struck.”

“What!” Betty slammed down her water jug in alarm. She pulled up a chair close to our table. Doris opened her purse, pulled out the now-crumpled acceptance letter, and placed it firmly down in front of her.

“Some publisher wants to publish my book. So, that’s why we’re going to San Francisco. We’re going to face this publishing guy and ask him to give us a rejection letter instead.”

“Have you tried calling them?” inquired Dan.

“Oh yes,” said Doris indignantly, “but they never get back to me. I’m not taking the chance of anything going wrong. I want to talk to them in person,” said Doris. Then she began sucking on the ice from her water.

Joe shouted once again. “Hey, Betty, a man could die of thirst over here.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” she called back reluctantly. Then she leaned forward, pulled a Little Red Wagon business card out of her pocket, and gave it to Doris, taking her by the hand. “You are a really brave person. You have been a true inspiration to me. That was a wonderful story, and I hope you get that letter for your group. Anything you need, I want you to call me. Anything! You understand?”

Doris was visibly touched by the gesture and nodded her head, putting the card away.

Betty left the table, adding with all the excitement of a child who’d just learned to spell her first word, “If you want, you can tweet me. I’m on Twitter too!”

As we made our way out into the parking lot, Dan asked if he could drive.

“Sure,” I said gratefully, handing him the keys and slipping into the backseat.

“I can map-read for you,” offered Doris, all sweetness and light. “I prefer the old-fashioned way. I don’t believe in those electronic GSPs or ESPs or whatever they’re called.”

Dan raised his eyebrows playfully. “Do you mean a GPS?”

“I guess so. I could never trust some electronic woman, with her voice all dripping in honey, telling me which exit to get off.”

Dan laughed. “Sounds good. I’m happy to have you with all your words dripping in honey instead.”

“Saucy,” responded Doris with a laugh, and I do believe I saw her blush. She, like all of us, appeared to have a little crush on our new companion.

I looked over at Flora, who was beaming and watching Dan fondly. Oh, young love. I remembered it. Wouldn’t want to go back though. It was like holding someone’s brand-new baby. You knew you loved the sounds and that baby smell and the way it felt in your arms as it made sweet baby noises. But it was always nice to give them back, knowing that you wouldn’t swap all the sweetness of a newborn for a good night’s sleep for anything.

Once Dan was behind the wheel, it was as if we were at a party. He sang old fifties songs and made us join in. We played I Spy and all manner of car games. Out the window, we watched the roving landscape change from the misty evergreens of Washington State to the rolling hills and vineyards of the Oregon Umpqua Valley. We ate a lovely lunch in the beautiful historical town of Roseburg and even took a quick detour to covered bridges in Grants Pass that Dan insisted we saw. We were like a group of excited schoolchildren on our way to camp. Even the car seemed to be behaving well.