Free Practical Jean by Trevor Cole Page A

were filled, an urgency that seemed both familiar and new. Since the funeral she’d worked hard to keep thoughts about her mother and what her mother had endured at bay. But now, surrounded by the women she was closest to, those thoughts hovered behind everything she said and heard, coloring it all, darkening it like a bruise. She looked around the room at these women and saw how life had marked them. Their worries and misfortunes sat with them like shadows. To her left was Natalie and Natalie’s hypertension and sadly crumbled marriage. At the end of the couch sat Dorothy and the awful burden of her uncrumbled one. Beside her was Louise and . . . well, Louise was perfectly healthy and had no burdens as far as Jean knew. But she was slightly odd, and that was its own kind of trouble. And over in the mahogany armchair sat Adele and Adele’s mastectomy, which she had suffered five years before after finding a lump during her getaway to Antigua. And beyond those trials, all the things that Jean as a friend had been helpless to prevent, she knew there were more to come. Vicious, ruthless time was grinding away like a jackhammer, pulverizing bit by bit the foundations of their contentment. It was coming down, inevitably. In her urgency, Jean could see what her friends could not: the room was crowded with warning.
    She tried to keep up a cheery front, smiling and laughing and doing her best to participate, but it seemed that no one was fooled. Milt was the first to act, joining Jean in the kitchen when she went to get more cheese and asking if everything was all right. She assumed he was asking because she’d found out about the Mojito tasting with Louise and he was feeling guilty, so she told him it didn’t matter. She hoped never to get upset over something so insignificant, now or ever again.
    But after that, one by one, each of the women made an attempt to connect with her. Was she all right? Was anything bothering her? They did it subtly, with eye contact or a light touch on her arm, or more forcefully by other means. Natalie asked Jean at one point to show her where the bathroom was, although she knew perfectly well, and when they were alone she cornered her in the hallway.
    â€œJean, I want you to talk to me,” she said, staring into her eyes. “You’re upset. I can tell. I felt it earlier in the shop. It’s no good sitting on feelings, you know. That’s how things just explode.”
    Jean did what she usually did, which was to make a joke about it. The only problem, she laughed, was having to manage all the personalities in the room. Everyone was “so much work.” Getting drinks, getting snacks, attending to every little remark. “It reminds me of waiting on my mother.” And of course she wasn’t serious at all—she was glad everyone was there—and Natalie didn’t take it that way. But something about confessing to a friend, even in that small way, about the ordeal of the last three months put a small chink in Jean’s wall of defense. It was the smallest of fissures, the merest hairline crack, and the emotion that leaked through it was barely a dribble compared to the vast lake still pressing against the dam. But it was enough to start her crying.
    She felt like such a child, blubbering in front of a friend. Natalie led her to the bathroom so as not to disturb the others, Jean apologizing the whole time. “I’m so sorry. This is so silly of me.” There seemed to be torrents inside of her trying to come out. But in the midst of her tears Jean glanced up and, seeing the worry in her friend’s face, she just put a clamp on things, just shut it down and composed herself. “That’s enough of that,” she said, blinking. She washed her face; the cool water against her cheeks felt calming, just like Natalie’s comforting words. And when she’d patted herself dry with a soft towel, and the two of them had come back into