Free Driftwood Summer by Patti Callahan Henry

“Kind of hard to take the Driftwood Book Club to anywhere but Driftwood Cottage.”
    “Not really.” The leader picked up her book and held it in front of her body like a shield.
    Mrs. Lithgow pulled at Riley’s sleeve. “What is that woman so angry about? Did she not like my book?”
    “No,” Lucy said, standing and walking toward Mrs. Lithgow, “she’s just had a bad day.”
    “That’s it.” The leader waved her book at the group as though she were a Baptist preacher threatening fire and brimstone upon all those who didn’t believe as she did. “I’m done with this.” She walked off, then turned in a move that made her trip on a nail prodding from the hardwood floor. She grabbed the purse she’d forgotten and glared at the group. “If you can’t take reading seriously, I’ll find a group that can.”
    “Have fun,” a redhead called after her. “We’ll miss you.”
    Silence fell as the women in the circle of chairs and ottomans, coffee cups and scattered purses looked at one another for some sign of what would come next. Mrs. Lithgow spoke in a loud, firm voice. “Well, I for one am not going to miss her. She is impossibly arrogant, especially considering she is not the author of the book.”
    Lucy laughed first, and eleven other women joined her.
    Riley stood in the middle of the circle as Maisy watched the scene—part of it, yet separate. Maisy did what she always had in moments of unease: she noticed the details of her surroundings, busying her mind with ways and means to improve the decor. A hand-painted sign hung over the area: Book Club Corner. There were mismatched chairs in many faded colors, plush ottomans in green and pink, tables crafted of driftwood. A delicate chandelier hung over the center of the space. Transparent lampshades made of gauze cast a cozy twilight.
    “Sorry about that outburst, ladies,” Riley said. “You just get on with your discussion.”
    “Have you read this one?” Lucy asked.
    “Years ago,” Riley said. “It’s always held a special place in my book pile, and I thought it was time to share it with the group.”
    A clicking noise came from Mrs. Lithgow’s chair as her tongue made sounds of disappointment. “My, my, Ms. Sheffield. You choose the books, you organize the clubs and you invite the author, yet you haven’t read the book in years and years? You really must take better care of your store and its customers.”
    “Yes, Mrs. Lithgow. I will work harder to do so.” Riley turned to the group, which was suppressing laughter in various forms of body contortions. “Now, while the club finishes talking, why don’t you come with me and we’ll set up your signing table?”
    “That would be wonderful. Although I do not have a very large crowd. You must not have advertised well enough.”
    “My mistake,” Riley said, and held out her hand to help Mrs. Lithgow.
    The group began its discussion and Maisy thought she’d been successful at shrinking into the background, unnoticed, until Lucy looked up, settled back in her chair and found Maisy. A smile of recognition lit her face and she jumped up, her book falling to the floor.
    Maisy smiled back and waved at Lucy while taking backward steps toward the counter, mouthing, Later. Lucy then turned her attention back to the book club.
    Maisy sidled to the back of the store, and then climbed the back stairs. She opened the door at the top and saw Brayden sitting at the kitchen table, drawing.
    “Hey, nephew,” she said, attempting to ignore the trembling in her voice and body.
    Brayden, this boy she hadn’t seen in years, stared at her. “Aunt Maisy?” he asked.
    “Yep, it’s me.”
    He didn’t stand for her, so she went to him, hugged him in the awkward way of family who are supposed to know one another in an intimate way yet don’t. “What’re you doing?” she asked.
    “Drawing,” he said. “Waiting on Mom. She said I had to wait here for y’all before we go to Gamma’s. I’d rather be