Page 100 of Starting Over

Opening the door, the small jingle of a bell announced my arrival, and everyone turned to look at me.

I was wrong.

It was still awkward.

“Maureen! I’m so glad you came.” Allie rushed over, pulling me into a hug.

“Everyone, this is Maureen, she is new in town, and I want you all to make her feel welcome.”

As I looked around the bookstore, I was surprised to see so many faces I recognized. The area wasn’t huge, but there was a couch, with folding chairs spread out around it.

“Maureen?”

Turning around, I smiled at Beck.

“I’m so glad you’re here. I didn’t even think to invite you. I am so sorry.”

The young woman in front of me looked to be on the verge of tears, and I knew her pregnancy was taking its toll in other ways than just her diet.

“Oh, honey, it’s ok.” I leaned over and whispered, “It’s been a bit crazy at the clubhouse.”

She barked out a laugh. “I wish I could say that was an understatement.”

“You two have already met?” Allie asked with a grin.

“I stayed at the clubhouse for a bit until my house was ready to sleep in.”

“So it wasn’t because Declan introduced you to his daughter?”

Beck rolled her eyes. “Come on, let me introduce you to those you haven’t met yet.”

Aside from Allie, I recognized Abby Thomas, Evie Samson, Ellie, Sam, Rachel, and Lily. All women I had met at the clubhouse.

Beck introduced me to Trudy. She was in her seventies and reminded me of my mom. So friendly and ready to share everything that was happening in town.

Then there was Joellen from The Diner, and Patti from The Bake Shoppe. There was Mrs. Henderson, who was in her eighties. And Mrs. Anderson, who was in her sixties. There were also a few other younger women who ran businesses around town.

And last but never least, as Beck put it, was Beatrice Allen. When I sat down beside Evie, she whispered in my ear, warning me to ignore everything Beatrice said.

According to Evie, Beatrice was the crankiest woman in Diamond Creek and never thought twice about letting anyone know about it.

The span of ages among the women here were surprising. Back home, the younger women didn’t mix with the older women. There was a distinct separation that never felt right.

How would the younger women learn if they never spent time with the older women? How did the women in the trenches survive without the support and encouragement of the women that came before them?

“Um, I didn’t finish reading the book,” I admitted hesitantly.

“Oh, don’t worry. We never read the books,” Evie said.

“Hey!”

“Oh, Ellie, we have all read your books,” Allie assured.

“Wait, you write books?”

“Ellie here is our very own romance writer. Her pen name is Rayne Perry,” Sam shared, tapping Ellie on her knee.

“Oh my gosh, I’ve read all your books.”

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