I guess maybe I felt gratitude and more than a little pity for the guy who'd saved my life, or maybe he’d just grown on me. But it was the end of the world, for crying out loud. You shouldn’t have to spend it alone.
I studied Liz’s face for a moment. Her upper lip twitched into what I believed to be the beginnings of a smile—possibly of relief, although that was debatable. Then her lips puckered again. Back to frowning. I guess my words hadn’t gotten through to her. But hey, it was worth a try.
The book club started around four on a day so cold that the central heating seemed to do nothing. George had Lee cover my shift that night. So I had to go no matter what. Clever guy. Although, I wanted to go regardless. Hanging out with people who liked books was right up my alley.
“Bring your dog too,” George had said. “He’ll definitely win over some points with the others.”
“He’s not much of a reader,” I replied. “And he may get a little bored…unless there’s snacks.”
“Lucky for him, there is. Cheese and crackers and some punch. Nothing crazy, but enough to hold us over until dinner. We always have to beg Debbie for the grub, but between you and me, she wasn’t too hard to convince this week. I think it’s got something to do with you, Miller.” George winked. “I mentioned your name and she perked right up. You got yourself an admirer.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Not a chance.”
“Eh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” He elbowed me. It hurt more than he meant it to. “Ah, I’m just joking. Debbie, she’s a sweetheart.”
“And a hell of a good cook.”
“You can say that again.”
“And a hell of a good cook,” I repeated. George rolled his eyes.
We walked down to the library, which, like most everything else in the City, wasn’t much. Just a single room with three metal book racks and two tables. The snacks were on one of these tables, and two women stood around it, picking at the cheese and crackers.
Wendy, who was probably in her early forties, with hair not just red but a shocking red-orange; and Scarlett, the artist who was probably closer to my age and whose work decorated the interior tunnel walls.
Wendy turned around and smiled at George, Chewy, and me. I gawked at her hair. I was in awe of its color. Where it might look ridiculous on most people, she pulled it off marvelously.
“Yes, it’s real,” Wendy said. “No dye job here.”
“You can close your mouth now, Miller,” George said. “I’d like to say you’ll get used to it, but I haven’t so far, and I’m thinking I probably never will.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Wendy waved a hand. “Oh, don’t be, I’m used to it. People have been staring at me like that my entire life.”
Scarlett turned around, her hands full of food. “I’m totally jealous.” She took a bite out of a triple-stacker and spoke with a stuffed mouth. Crumbs fell down her chin and dusted the tabletop. Chewy found this particularly enjoyable. He wandered over to Scarlett and began licking up the fallen cracker pieces. You can believe that for the duration of the club meeting, he kept very close to Scarlett. In my limited experience with them, dogs are partial to messy eaters.
“Hey, Grady, nice to see you here.” Scarlett raised a hand toward me. She wore gemstone rings on nearly every finger. Ell had once described Scarlett’s style as “fortune teller chic.” Long skirts and tops with winged sleeves, always a dark red or a deep blue; bright gold hoop earrings; and a rhinestone-riddled headband holding her hair back.
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“It’s going—”
“Scar, what did I tell you about talking with your mouth full?” Wendy chastised, a hand on her hip.
“That it’s not polite.”
“Exactly.”
Scarlett then proceeded to open her mouth in Wendy’s direction, which was full of half-chewed cracker and cheese mush, and said, “Ahhhhh.”
Wendy scowled, looked at George, and said, “Is it too late to revoke her membership?”
George was grinning. “Aw, lighten up, Wend.”
Wendy’s eye roll almost put Ell’s to shame. I nearly got whiplash just looking at it.
“Sure, sure,” Wendy said. “Let’s get down to business. I assume you’ve all brought your copy of Frankenstein by the fabulous Mary Shelley.
“Grady and me are sharing one, if you don’t mind. We each made our own highlights—in different colors, don’t worry.”
That was true, but I did most of the highlighting. My color was blue, his was yellow. I hadn’t read Frankenstein since high school, a time when I’d have much rather shot computer-generated aliens all night on Xbox than ever crack open a book. No video games here. I was okay with that; reading Frankenstein was quite a treat, and I wasn’t stingy with my highlighter.
“I guess to start us off, I’d like to know your thoughts on it,” Wendy said. She riffled through her battered copy; George and Scarlett did the same.
“I loved it,” Scarlett said. “Expected it to be kinda boring since it was written, like, a thousand years ago, but it was quite a cracker.”
“Agreed,” George said.
They all looked to me. “Exactly.”
Wendy smiled. “I’m glad, because it was my choice.”
“I wanted to read Twilight,” Scarlett said, “but apparently it wasn’t spooky enough.”
“Vampires don’t sparkle,” George grumbled, frowning.
Scarlett shrugged. “Maybe not, but it’s still about vampires. It doesn’t get more Halloween-y than that.”
Tapping his copy of Frankenstein, George shook his head. “Uh, yes, it does.”
“A lot of people call this book the first science-fiction novel,” I added. “It’s not just horror.”
“Thanks for the backup, Grady,” Scarlett said.
“Just
