Page 97 of The Lonely Hearts Book Club

Maisey grew so instantly somber that I knew she’d already heard—and that she felt the same way I did about it. “Yeah. She told me.”

“Well?” I demanded.

“Well, what? I already tried reading her palm. You saw how well that worked.” She smiled at me in such a sad, knowing way that I had no choice but to take the hand she offered me. Her fingers squeezed mine. “We might just have to let her go, Arthur. If that’s the life she wants for herself, then it’s not really our business, no matter how much we want it to be.”

“I know,” I said. “But there’s one thing I want—no, need—to do first. And I’d like you to help.”

Maisey’s surprise at hearing the plan I outlined was secondary only to her outrage that I hadn’t included her from the start. “I love her just as much as you do, you miserable old goat. Why shouldn’t I be allowed to help?”

“Does that mean you’re in?” Greg asked eagerly.

“Yes, but only on one condition.”

“Fine.” I heaved a sigh and reached for the phone. “I’ll order a pizza, but only if you let me have anchovies on it this time.”

She took the phone from me before I could dial a single number. “I wasn’t talking about a pizza. If we want to do this thing right, what we need is Mateo.”

***

As soon as Mateo joined in, the party gathered around my dining room table became, well, a party.

The last party this house had seen was a feeble attempt at a birthday celebration for Hannah when she’d turned thirteen. When Genie had been alive, birthdays under this roof were always a big deal, weeklong galas full of sugary treats and staying up well past bedtime, two things I never condoned under any other conditions. But Genie and Hannah had worn me down—they always could back in those days, when my voice was just one among three, my natural severity offset by everything good and joyful they had to offer.

The store-bought cake and stack of VHS videos I’d rented to emulate the experience hadn’t gone over well. Not enough time had passed since Genie’s death, our wounds still seeping and raw. It would have been better to make no effort at all than to draw the focus on the stark differences that had bisected our lives.

It was exactly as Greg had said. There was the before…and then there was the after. The light and then the darkness. The mother and then the none.

“Okay, so we’ve got the kindred spirits covered, and that bit about laughter making life worth living,” Mateo said, his hands turning the pages of the book faster than the rest of us could keep up. For a man who claimed to have never read the book before, he seemed to have made considerable progress over the past week. “I also like this one here. ‘She makes me love her and I like people who make me love them. It saves me so much trouble in making myself love them.’”

“That’s a good one, but…” Maisey wrinkled her nose as she examined the pages. “At this rate, we’re pretty much highlighting the whole book. Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”

Mateo snorted. “Maisey, she’s been wearing a replica of that hideous amethyst brooch every single day. She won’t mind. I’m pretty sure she’s a fan.”

Greg glanced up from the appetizers he was arranging on a platter. He was no Maisey when it came to the kitchen, but he’d insisted on doing it himself. Since no one would take his money, he felt it was the least he could do.

“It was her sister’s,” he said gently. “That’s why she wears it.”

“Wait. What?” Mateo twisted to stare up at Greg. “What are you talking about? Sloane doesn’t have a sister. I’ve known her for years, and she’s never once mentioned one to me. It’s not possible.”

Not only was it possible, but it made perfect sense. I could have cursed myself for not realizing it sooner. In fact, Ididcurse myself for it, though I kept the outburst quiet for once. I remembered her mentioning a sister to me one time—the Elinor to her Marianne—and I also remembered the reply I’d made in response to this. It had been caustic and unfeeling, just asallmy responses to her were.

“She died when they were kids,” Greg said, thus confirming me as the worst kind of man. “I think they used to readAnne of Green Gablestogether. That’s why she wanted to pick it for our next book club. It’s probably the last chance she’ll have before she leaves.”

Greg didn’t elaborate beyond that, but we could all sense the shift in the air. Even Nigel, who’d only met Sloane once, seemed to know that this thing we were doing wasn’t just about begging our friend to stay. Although I might not have known until this exact moment what had happened in that girl’s past to close her off to everything except books, I’d understood it all along.

Oh, how I understood it.

This world was a terrible place. It gave you people to love and then took them away before you stopped loving them. It made you mean and angry and cruel to those who needed you most. It ground you down until it was all you could do to get through the day.

But most of all, it tried to convince you that you were alone in your suffering.

Everyone in this room had fallen for that lie, but I wasn’t having it anymore. Not one goddamn second longer.

“Mateo!” I barked. “Come with me. Now.”

“Geez, old man, you just about gave me a heart attack,” he said, but he got up and followed me into the hallway. I could feel everyone watching us go and didn’t doubt for a second that they’d rush forward and eavesdrop as soon as the coast was clear. “I’m sorry I didn’t know about Sloane’s sister, if that’s what you want to yell at me about. She’s not exactly a Chatty Cathy when it comes to her personal life.”

“This has nothing to do with Sloane. This has to do with the things I said to you the other day.”