Scrapbook of Secrets by Mollie Cox Bryan Read Free Book Online

The subject was changed and Vera was grateful.
    It wasn’t as if she kept secrets from her dearest friends. Some things were too private to talk about at a crop. After all, crops were primarily for scrapbooking. Oh, yes, the social aspect couldn’t be denied. But nothing deep or heavy should be broached.
     
     
    Vera glanced at the clock and realized her mother had been in surgery for three hours. What was going on?
    “You’d think they’d let you know something,” Sheila said, her coral lipstick long faded.
    “I’m sure they will soon,” Paige offered, reaching for a muffin, her bracelets jingling as she did so.
    Just then, the door opened and the doctor stepped into the room.
    He looked tired, but he was smiling, with pleasant, deep creases framing his smile. “Are you having a party?”
    “We just wanted to make it as pleasant for Mama as possible,” Vera said, standing.
    “Well, I have good news and bad news. Your mom is fine—but the party will have to move into the hallway or go,” he said.
    Vera sighed as she felt her heart race. She grabbed her chest, and then fell into Sheila’s arms. She felt unraveled suddenly, awash in emotion and tears and sweat, sobbing in relief.
    “Vera?” the doctor said.
    She turned to look at him.
    “Have you been drinking?” He looked amused as he took in the scene of empty wine bottles and spent plates sitting around the hospital room.
    “Well, of course, she has,” Sheila said, as if it were a matter of course.
    “Well,” he said. “That’s a first. I was just going to suggest that you go on home and get some rest. But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
    “I’m not drunk, Doctor,” Vera said.
    “But you’re not sober, either.”
    “I’ll drive her home,” Sheila said, swaying a bit.
    “No offense, but you’re drunker than she is,” he chided, but he was obviously amused.
    Sheila placed her hands on her hip. “Now, look here—”
    “I’ll drive them both home,” Annie spoke up.
    “Finally a voice of reason,” said the doctor, looking straight in Annie’s eyes, with an obvious spark of interest.
    Like most beautiful women, Vera noted, Annie completely ignored the doctor’s spark. That endeared Annie to Vera even more.
    The women cleaned up the room a bit and, one by one, filed out. Annie, Sheila, and Vera hung out in the hallway until they wheeled a sleeping Beatrice by them.
    “You both look tired,” Annie said. “Let’s go home.”
    Vera and Sheila stood outside Annie’s minivan while she moved books and blankets and God knows what else from the front seat to the back of the van. Sheila climbed in the front and Vera sat in the middle seat, next to a car seat.
    As Annie drove by the Dasher house, which was still brightly lit, and had strange cars sitting in the driveway, Vera gasped.
    “My Lord,” she said.
    Annie slowed down. “What is it?” she asked; then she saw the huge pile of boxes piled out at the curb for the trash, which came every Wednesday.
    “They are already cleaning her stuff out,” Sheila whispered.
    “But she just died last night ... ,” Annie said. “And the trash collector doesn’t come until Wednesday. So what the heck is going on?”
    “Oh Annie, this is Cumberland Creek, not Washington, D.C. Sometimes you just have to put the trash out. No problem. Go around the block,” Vera said. “Please.”
    Vera and Sheila gaped at the pile of boxes, the streetlights were shining directly on them.
    When Annie pulled around again, Sheila whispered, “Stop. I recognize those boxes.”
    Annie glanced at the well-lit house. “I don’t know. I’m not sure if I should.”
    “Go around one more time and pull the car behind those shrubs over there,” Vera said.
    “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Annie said, suddenly catching on.
    “They obviously want to get rid of her stuff,” Vera said.
    “It’s her scrapbook stuff,” Sheila said with a note of steel in her voice. “The bastard.”

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