Free The Reading Circle by Ashton Lee Page B

pages of Forrest Gump. It was unflattering, to say the least. Plus, he was all bundled up in his pajamas—tops and bottoms—in this case, the navy blue ones she had given him after he’d lost all that weight following the heart attack. Leading up to that traumatic event last year, he had never failed to come to bed in anything but his birthday suit—and what a big, burly birthday suit it was! But that was beginning to feel like a distant memory.
    Becca decided to try a different tack. “As I said, you and Douglas certainly meant business about Forrest Gump. But we’ve got several more weeks until the club meeting at the library. No need to rush the way you are. It reminds me too much of the way you used to wolf down your food, and you know what that led to. That was the worst night of my life when you had your heart attack at The Twinkle.”
    â€œUh, huh,” he said, still glued to the novel.
    â€œYou’re not even listening to me. You’re treating me like I’m not even in the room.” Then she jumped out of bed and stood beside the nightstand, glaring at him as if he’d just told her she looked fat or needed to brush her teeth and use some mouthwash pronto. “What’s up with you?”
    He came to finally, looking baffled as he turned her way. “What are you doing out of bed?”
    â€œOh, that does it!” she cried out. “I want to know what’s going on with you, Justin Brachle. Tell me the truth—let’s get this out once and for all. Are you or are you not having an affair?”
    Finally, he returned her glare after inverting the book and resting it on his stomach. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    She pointed to her clearly visible cleavage and arched her eyebrows dramatically. “What else am I supposed to think when you’ve been completely ignoring me lately? Except for that one time.”
    If anything, he looked even angrier as he gritted his teeth and exhaled. “I thought we weren’t going to bring that up.”
    She climbed back into bed, fluffed her pillows, and sank back against them before she answered him, softening her tone. She knew only too well that her Stout Fella had never responded to her nagging. “I didn’t mean to. I’m just confused. Lately, you haven’t even tried. Are you having an affair with that Donna Gordon from our ‘In the Flesh’ meeting last month? I can’t stand this not knowing.”
    She was referring to the series of cooking demonstrations that the two of them had agreed late last year to undertake in the library, much to Maura Beth Mayhew’s delight. It was another feather in her cap, yet another creative way to get more people into the library. The premise was that the programs would be an opportunity for Becca Broccoli of the eponymous local radio show to meet her public “in the flesh,” if you will, with Stout Fella thrown in for good measure as her smiling, eye-candy assistant. That first outing had gone over well, attracting a dozen or more people, as a recipe for white meat, chunky chicken salad with grapes and chopped walnuts was followed to mouthwatering perfection.
    â€œYes, ladies—grapes!” she had declared at the very beginning to pique their interest.
    â€œWhite or red seedless grapes, by the way. And a handful of chopped walnuts. Oh, the textures and the savory and sweet you’ll experience all in one here!”
    But it had not been lost on Becca that the audience was composed entirely of women, and to Becca’s experienced eye—unmarried women on the prowl at that. Especially Donna Gordon—she of the fluttering false eyelashes, age-inappropriate ponytail, and outdated pink Capri pants. Becca discovered she wasn’t imagining things, either. She had excused herself to run to the ladies’ room after the demonstration was over and returned to find her Stout Fella making a bicep for