Page 93 of Too Old for This
“It’s been so nice to be able to spend some time with Lottie,” she says. “We’ve never been alone together.”
“So you’ve had some girl time,” Sheila says.
“Oh, yes, and I’ve heard all about you and your church activities. Just last night, Lottie was telling me about—”
“The new play,” I say. “The one we’ve been talking about for so long.”
Honestly, I didn’t have a choice. Morgan smiles and nods. Sheila and Bonnie look confused. As they should.
“You know, the one Glenda is always talking about,” I say. “From the book of Judges?”
Morgan smiles. “I saw the finger. It looks great.”
“I’m sorry, did you sayfinger?” Sheila says.
I reach across the table and knock over my cup of fruit punch.
Sheila yelps and jumps up, trying to avoid getting dripped on. I wave my hand to get Glenda’s attention while Bonnie calls out for more bingo cards. At the next table over, Ella and Maxine start shushing us. Glenda rushes over with towels and a very patronizing look. She speaks in a stage whisper.
“Let’s try to keep it down.”
Nothing like a little chaos to make everyone forget about the wordfinger. I hope.
I glance over at Morgan, who dives right in to help mop up the table, not caring at all about that nice silk dress. She catches me watching her and flashes a smile. It looks genuine and innocent until she winks.
I hate winks. They’re so ambiguous.
By the time we settle back down with a clean table and new bingo cards, one game has ended and another has started. I reach over and pat Morgan’s hand, pointing to the card in front of her. Morgan nods and runs a finger over her lips, like she is zipping them closed.
We make it through the rest of the night without any severed body parts. Nobody brings up the finger when we say goodbye. Sheila is too busy checking her shoes for drops of fruit punch. Bonnie’s eyes are glassy. She must have finished off her flask by herself.
As Morgan and I walk out to the parking lot, she hooks her arm in mine.
“I can see why this church is so important to you. Your friends are so nice.”
“They loved you. I can tell.”
She smiles, looking like a child.
Almost.
“There isn’t really a play here, is there?” she asks.
I wish my son hadn’t picked someone who was so clever.
“No. There’s no play here,” I say. “Not atthischurch.”
Morgan looks confused. “It’s at another one?”
“That’s right.”
“You’recheatingon your church?”
“It’s terrible, right? I’m terrible.” I shake my head, take a deep breath. “They just have so many more activities. Here, we just have bingo night.”
Morgan throws back her head and laughs.
“It’s really not funny,” I say. Even though it is.
