Page 38 of Return To You

Cassandra, Ms. Angela, and the other women around don’t ask questions or seem surprised.

They all know.

Their sympathetic murmurs confirm it. I glance at Mom and Lynn who looked up from their game but stay quiet, letting the rest of the women take the lead.

“We need to do something,” Ms. Angela declares. “Can we sign a petition?”

“He’s allowed to sell,” someone points out.

“It’s just not right that he didn’t talk to her first.”

“He was always a coward.”

“Well hung, but a coward,” another of the older ladies at Ms. Angela’s table, Cheryl, chimes in.

“How d’you know he was well hung?” Kiara asks.

“That was his dad,” Ms. Angela interjects. “George.”

“Heh! Stuff happened… back in the day. We weren’t as shy as you young people,” Cheryl says.

“Ah… the sixties,” Ms. Angela sighs dreamily. “Were you part of the calendar?” she adds.

“Oh yeah. That’s how I know George Senior was—you know. Well endowed.”

“I remember you mentioning that.”

“Not that it did him any good,” Cheryl volunteers. “Or me.”

Ms. Angela giggles like this is a totally normal conversation.

“What calendar?” Haley asks.

“We did a naked calendar after the fire, to raise money.”

“Naked?” Several of the young women ask.

My attention is diverted from my present problems. These old ladies naked on a calendar? That was sixty years ago? They would have been in their twenties…

“Totally naked?” I ask.

“We shot totally naked, but you can’t see anything. Except for George. If you look closely at his month, his ding-dong shows between his legs. I think he was July. Or August. He’s fly-fishing in the Emerald Creek.”

Ms. Angela laughs loudly. “Oh my gosh! Yes. I remember now.”

“He didn’t know how to use it. Total waste,” Cheryl doubles down, turning around in her seat to face us.

"Mom!” Suzy Parker cries, putting her hands on her ears. Lynn and Mom are trying not to laugh too hard. And failing.

“Oh, knock it off, Suze. It was before your dad,” Cheryl chuckles. Then, turning to Ms. Angela, she asks, “What month were you?”

“I was January. I was in a bubble bath. We shot in the vintage tub that’s upstairs in what’s now the bakery. The tub was so deep you could only see my face, so someone brought some bricks for me to sit on. And then I had one leg out. We shot with and without nipples.”

“What?!” several of us exclaim.

“Eventually they chose to publish the one where the nipples have suds on’em. We would have made more money with nipples, but they chickened out.”

“I remember,” Cheryl chuckles.

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