The Rejected Writers' Book Club (Southlea Bay) Read Online Free
Author: Suzanne Kelman
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Lavinia and Lottie were about as different as two people who just happen to look identical could be. Lottie was a deeply spiritual woman while Lavinia had three husbands before her twenty-fifth birthday. I knew them both as library regulars. We never had to try to figure out which twin had ordered what; it was always pretty obvious to us. If it was entitled A Day Close to God , it was for Lottie; if it was called A Night Close to a God , it was for Lavinia.
It was widely known they had moved to our sleepy little town in the mid-1970s, running from some scandal of Lavinia’s, who, on arriving here, had run right into another one. Within two weeks of moving to the village, she’d started a notorious affair with the mayor of Southlea Bay that steamrolled him right out of office and back to his family home in Georgia. The last thing he’d promised Lavinia before leaving was that he would divorce his wife and then return to marry her. That had been the last time anyone had ever heard from him. The embarrassment of being jilted so publicly had been the final straw. Lavinia had vowed never to marry again, and Lottie had vowed to help her keep that promise. They used their father’s money to buy an elegant house with a stunning view of the Sound on the edge of town. Though Lottie had entertained a couple of suitors over the years, she’d remained single in order to keep her eye on her troublesome twin. And apparently, if the rumors were true, Lavinia had given her sister a run for her money over the years. The poor woman had probably never gotten off her knees.
Pulling a stunning periwinkle-blue silk scarf from black-and-white tissue paper, Lavinia wrapped it around her neck with a flurry and then posed like a twenties movie star, saying, “Look what we got for a steal at Claudette’s.”
I chuckled to myself. Claudette’s was an exclusive ladies’ dress shop with a door that had to be unlocked to let customers in, and what Lavinia was calling a steal was probably what the rest of us used to buy a week of groceries.
“Never mind your purchases, Lavinia,” Lottie admonished her. “We should get Doris’s momma settled. Where would you like to sit, Gracie, dear?”
The room fell silent.
“Ohh,” Gracie squealed. She seemed to be enjoying all the attention. “I’ll take my usual seat.” She pointed and then floated over to a wicker chair with delicate peach cushions and gently settled herself down.
You couldn’t have gotten much different than Gracie and her daughter, Doris. Doris was a large, rotund woman with a brusque manner. Gracie was gentle with lively blue eyes and delicate, porcelain features. She traveled softly through the world with a childlike awe. She’d moved into her daughter’s house ten years before, when Doris’s father had passed away. Insisting on moving all of her furniture in with her, the country florals were hers.
“At last,” said Doris as she bustled in from the kitchen. “I thought you ladies were never going to get here. We do start at five o’clock, you know.”
Lavinia melted like butter and laid on the Southern charm. She took Doris’s hand and looked directly into her eyes. “Doris, darling, it’s all my fault, and I’m so sorry. You’re a wonderful woman and a sweetheart for waiting for us. But we did find your momma off on one of her little walks, and we decided to stop and bring her home.”
Doris’s face softened.
“Okay,” she said, a little less surly. “Thank you for that. Now we need to get going.”
She cut two slices of lemon cake for the sisters, who thanked her with the same glassy smile, placed them directly on a side table, and never touched a morsel.
Doris started the meeting by banging a gavel on her wooden tea table. “Let’s get started. First, the promise.”
Each woman responded instinctively by joining hands and reciting together a pledge.
“Selected for rejection
We reach for true connection
Choosing a path of celebration
As
Lavinia and Lottie were about as different as two people who just happen to look identical could be. Lottie was a deeply spiritual woman while Lavinia had three husbands before her twenty-fifth birthday. I knew them both as library regulars. We never had to try to figure out which twin had ordered what; it was always pretty obvious to us. If it was entitled A Day Close to God , it was for Lottie; if it was called A Night Close to a God , it was for Lavinia.
It was widely known they had moved to our sleepy little town in the mid-1970s, running from some scandal of Lavinia’s, who, on arriving here, had run right into another one. Within two weeks of moving to the village, she’d started a notorious affair with the mayor of Southlea Bay that steamrolled him right out of office and back to his family home in Georgia. The last thing he’d promised Lavinia before leaving was that he would divorce his wife and then return to marry her. That had been the last time anyone had ever heard from him. The embarrassment of being jilted so publicly had been the final straw. Lavinia had vowed never to marry again, and Lottie had vowed to help her keep that promise. They used their father’s money to buy an elegant house with a stunning view of the Sound on the edge of town. Though Lottie had entertained a couple of suitors over the years, she’d remained single in order to keep her eye on her troublesome twin. And apparently, if the rumors were true, Lavinia had given her sister a run for her money over the years. The poor woman had probably never gotten off her knees.
Pulling a stunning periwinkle-blue silk scarf from black-and-white tissue paper, Lavinia wrapped it around her neck with a flurry and then posed like a twenties movie star, saying, “Look what we got for a steal at Claudette’s.”
I chuckled to myself. Claudette’s was an exclusive ladies’ dress shop with a door that had to be unlocked to let customers in, and what Lavinia was calling a steal was probably what the rest of us used to buy a week of groceries.
“Never mind your purchases, Lavinia,” Lottie admonished her. “We should get Doris’s momma settled. Where would you like to sit, Gracie, dear?”
The room fell silent.
“Ohh,” Gracie squealed. She seemed to be enjoying all the attention. “I’ll take my usual seat.” She pointed and then floated over to a wicker chair with delicate peach cushions and gently settled herself down.
You couldn’t have gotten much different than Gracie and her daughter, Doris. Doris was a large, rotund woman with a brusque manner. Gracie was gentle with lively blue eyes and delicate, porcelain features. She traveled softly through the world with a childlike awe. She’d moved into her daughter’s house ten years before, when Doris’s father had passed away. Insisting on moving all of her furniture in with her, the country florals were hers.
“At last,” said Doris as she bustled in from the kitchen. “I thought you ladies were never going to get here. We do start at five o’clock, you know.”
Lavinia melted like butter and laid on the Southern charm. She took Doris’s hand and looked directly into her eyes. “Doris, darling, it’s all my fault, and I’m so sorry. You’re a wonderful woman and a sweetheart for waiting for us. But we did find your momma off on one of her little walks, and we decided to stop and bring her home.”
Doris’s face softened.
“Okay,” she said, a little less surly. “Thank you for that. Now we need to get going.”
She cut two slices of lemon cake for the sisters, who thanked her with the same glassy smile, placed them directly on a side table, and never touched a morsel.
Doris started the meeting by banging a gavel on her wooden tea table. “Let’s get started. First, the promise.”
Each woman responded instinctively by joining hands and reciting together a pledge.
“Selected for rejection
We reach for true connection
Choosing a path of celebration
As
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