“Damn,” I whisper.
Julie checks the app and moves through the living room.
“It’s Mrs. Mooney and several other people,” she whispers, smoothing her hair down before opening the door.
“Jules! We came to hang out with you today,” Mrs. Mooney announces. She’s the secretary of the book club. “We just got news that bastard’s been spotted in Silver Sky. Martha’s cousin saw him at a gas station, looking like hell.”
Silver Sky is thirty minutes away.
“When?” I demand.
“Early this morning. The police went, but he was already gone.”
The five women set up camp in Julie’s living room in a protective circle that’s full of maternal energy. They’ve brought doughnuts and gossip and glittery cans of pepper spray, just in case.
“Now,” Mrs. Patrick says, settling on the couch like a general preparing for battle, “we’re here to take your mind off that piece of trash. I brought my favorite card game to help pass the time.”
“Which is?” Julie asks, her brow lifted.
“Cards Against Humanity.” Mrs. Patrick pulls the extra-long black box from inside her oversized purse with a wicked grin. “TheNastybundle.”
“Mrs. P!” Julie gasps. “The sun is still up!”
“So? We’re not prudes. Honey, I’ve been married for forty years. I know things that would make him blush.” She points to me.
For the next two hours, we play the most inappropriate card game I’ve ever witnessed with a group of women over sixty. Julie laughs so hard that she’s crying. It’s the good kind of tears too. Mrs. Henderson plays a combination so dirty that even I blush.
“I can’t believe you!” Julie wheezes.
“Believe it, honey. How do you think I landed my third husband?” Mrs. Mooney smirks.
“Third?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah, the first two just couldn’t keep up with this,” she admits.
This sends Julie into another fit of giggles. And for a moment, it’s like the weight of the morning lifts off her. She’s not looking over her shoulder, not checking her phone, not thinking about Craig. She’s just alive and living her best life with a group of women who’ve collectively become a grandma army for her.
“Okay, okay,” Julie says, wiping her eyes. “I need to excuse myself, or I’m going to pee my pants.”
“TMI, dear,” Mrs. Patrick says, then plays another horrifyingly inappropriate card that makes everyone scream with laughter.
My phone buzzes. I don’t know the number, but I answer it because it might be important.
“Nick Banks?” a woman’s voice says, sounding professional.
“Yes?”
“This is Becca Burndy from theNew York Times. We’re doing a piece on revenge porn and famous victims. Your girlfriend’s case?—”
I hang up.
“Who was that?” Julie asks, returning with bottles of water for everyone.
“Reporter with theNew York Times.”
The mood shifts, but Mrs. Henderson takes control of the situation.
“TheNew York Timescan kiss my saggy ass,” she states. “Now, whose turn is it?”
