Free Kindred Spirits by Sarah Strohmeyer

Beth, equally at a loss, shook their heads. “Does that. . . Did she?. . .”
    Beth covered her mouth as it slowly dawned on her Lynne’s secret wasn’t something naughty but something earth-shattering. “Oh my God.” She plunked herself on the Tupperware tub. “That must be why she didn’t want Sean or his sister or his mother cleaning out the closet.”
    “Your house,” Carol said firmly. “Let’s get rid of this stuff and then go to your house, Mary Kay, where we can read the letter in private without the threat of Flannerys barging in.”
    “What about the martinis?” Mary Kay eyed the thermos and glasses on the bureau. “We haven’t even touched them.”
    Carol smiled. “We’ll drink them at your place. It’ll be just like old times, all of us in your living room, shoes off, hanging out, trading secrets. In this case, big secrets.”
    Beth sealed the Tupperware with a declarative burp. “Carol’s right. I hereby call for a reconvention of the former Ladies Society for the Conservation of Martinis to discuss very important business. All in favor say, ‘aye.’ ”
    “Aye.”
    And with that, the Ladies Society was back in session.
    Minus one.

    It was great to be in Marshfield. There, she admitted it.
    For most of the day, Carol had been resisting the love emanating from her former neighbors and friends, even her ex. When Jake Fenster moved her to tears with his Pink Floyd arrangement, she told herself it was simply grief. When Michelle Richardson held out the olive branch and confessed that “the school board’s been in disarray since you left,” Carol passed off her gratitude as relief.
    And when Jeff linked his arm in hers and told her everything would be fine, when she drifted off into memories of them lying together in bed at the end of a long day. . . Well, the fact was she didn’t have an excuse for that.
    But now, once more in Mary Kay’s library with Beth, if not Lynne, a fire crackling in the fireplace, a lovely rosewater and pomegranate cosmopolitan before her, Carol was overcome with a serious case of nostalgia.
    She missed them.
    She missed the Society meetings, this room with its red walls and white bookshelves, their private conversations. She missed being in a small town where people used to stop her on the street to congratulate her on Jonathan’s winning goal at last Saturday’s lacrosse game or to ask how Amanda was doing at Parsons.
    How could she ever return to New York where not even her colleagues knew (or cared) that she had children? Having spent the morning dreading her return to Marshfield, now she was dreading her exit even more. Like Jeff used to say, she was a human roller coaster: never flat and one heck of a ride.
    Mary Kay lifted her glass, pink and perfect. “It’s so good to see all of us together and I don’t know about you, but I feel that Lynne’s here with us.”
    Beth patted the seat next to her on the couch, Lynne’s reserved spot, her back against the blue embroidered pillow. “Right here.”
    Carol put a hand over her heart. “And here. Within us. Always.”
    “Always,” Mary Kay agreed, holding her glass a little higher. “To our girl. Who will live in our hearts forever.”
    “Forever,” they chimed in unison, their glasses clinking.
    Each took a sip of her Persephone’s Cosmopolitan—a heavenly mixture of pomegranate juice, Cointreau, vodka, lime, and the secret ingredient—rosewater. Like drinking the season of spring from a glass.
    “OK. We ready?” Mary Kay slipped on her funky half-glasses—black mother of pearl—opened the envelope, and removed the letter. Reading a line or so, she took a deep breath and began.
    To My Beloved Society Sisters—Mary Kay, Carol, and, especially, my best friend Beth: Hi.
     
    I know that seems inadequate in light of what’s happened. Or what’s going to happen, I suppose. And that’s why I want to begin with, “How’s tricks?”
    Mary Kay stopped reading and looked over her glasses. “Is