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Once a month, on Wednesday nights, for 23 years we meet, sometimes in restaurants but lately in backyards with potluck themed dinners and lots of wine. We are the Don’t Worry Be Happy Book Club (DWBH for short). We started as a larger group but are now 10 regular members, ranging in age from our early fifties to mid-seventies. Half of us are in long-term marriages, three of us are widowed, and two of us are divorced. We like to read popular fiction and memoirs, but sometimes throw in some classic literature just to remind us of what a good book really is. A quick calculation shows we’ve read over 275 books, albeit we have taken some months off.

We do talk about the book during our meetings, but really, mostly we just talk. We all have children. Some of those kids have grown and flown and some remain/returned to our nests. When we first started this book club, our children were small and we had a lot to say about good schools, better teachers and best extracurriculars. We then moved on to college apps, driving lessons and first boyfriends/girlfriends/friend friends. As our children grew up, so did we. We got part time jobs, changed careers, and stopped working altogether. We lost husbands unexpectedly or not quick enough. We talked about hot flashes, tummy tucks and secret lovers. We complained about high prices in the stores, angry drivers on the roads and homeless camps along the boulevards.

Lately however, we’ve gotten a little off track. Instead of talking about the new soup and salad bar opening in our neighborhood, Annie Monroe, DWBH book club member, mother of three and wife to one, is discussing a murder.

“He’s old. It’s time. I wish he’d finally die. In his sleep would be ideal. But that’s not happening. I can push him out the door and maybe he’d get hit by a car, but that would be brutal for everyone,” she said. We all squirm and then laugh, but also are shocked. What is Annie talking about? Is she serious?

She is. “I’ve dealt with him for many, many years. It’s enough. He’s become quite a problem. Neighbors have complained about the noise coming from our house and his medical bills are off the charts. I can’t afford to keep doling out money when I know he really isn’t going to get better. I love him, but it’s time.”

Our group has read a lot of mysteries and thrillers, so we all have something to add to this plot.  But Annie brought up the murder last September and we still haven’t come up with any reasonable and gentle options for Stevie. Deb suggested poisoning his food, but no one wanted to watch him suffer through that. Rat poison isn’t a quick death, and it always left a trace.

Janine liked the idea of driving him far away into the hills and just leaving him there. “He’s frail and his mind isn’t all there. He’d probably starve or freeze to death.”

“No that sounds terrible,” Annie said. “Most likely someone would find him before his end and bring him back home. He does have ID on him. Or he’d fall down the side of a hill and just lay there in pain making that terrible high-pitched wail he makes when he’s trying to communicate but isn’t understood.”

Annie can’t hurt him. She adores him too much to cause him any pain but also is resentful about how much energy and money he is costing her. She knows he’s had a good life—high end food, a nice warm bed, expensive toys to keep him busy. She knows he’s also had a few friends through the years, but they don’t come around anymore. Annie’s not sure if they moved away or died.

In April when the group was discussing the latest Lisa Jewell thriller about the young woman who isn’t who she appears to be, Deb interrupted the lively discussion to ask Annie for an update.

“Nothing has changed. I looked at him again today, and thought how much I love him but really, it’s time to say goodbye. He’s not doing this on his own. I’m still working on options,” she said with a sad smile.

Summer arrived with a heat wave just in time for the annual DWBH soiree in Lori’s backyard. Lori came up with the idea when the DWBH book club was first formed and hosts a party every July. She goes all out with food and drinks themed to the books the group read during the year. The DWBH gals had a great discussion last month about Ann Patchett’s book Tom Lake, so Lori made two dishes tonight that use cherries as the main ingredient. Lori thinks her book club will get a kick out of this since the setting of Tom Lake is a cherry farm in Michigan. Lori also puts together little goody bags for everyone to take home. She’s proud of her output.

Lori lives next door to Annie and knows about Stevie. He’s hard to ignore, always creeping around the neighborhood late at night. Lori’s even seen him taking a dip in her pool in the early morning when he must think everyone is asleep, but Lori isn’t. The fact that Stevie gets into her pool at all is weird, but that’s Stevie.

Around 9am, Lori looks out her kitchen window and sees Stevie floating on a pool raft. She’s never seen him do that before! So carefree! So bold! Lori wonders how long Stevie has been there.

 Lori is about to go back to her cooking when she sees one of those mangy, cunning coyotes scale her backyard fence and jump into the pool. The wild animal dog paddles (or is it called coyote paddles?) to the pink and purple raft, grabs Stevie by the neck and drags him out of the pool. Then that skinny wild dog hops back over the fence. Lori is shocked. “It was like that coyote was trying to save Stevie’s life,” she thought.

Lori then watches Stevie shakily stand up, turn around and around, and collapse onto the concrete decking two feet from the shallow end. He’s stiff as a board.

Lori texts Annie:

SOS! Come quick! It’s Stevie!  Hurry!

Annie:

What?! I’ll be right there.

By the time Annie slips on her Nikes, grabs her house keys and walks through Lori’s side gate, it’s too late.

Stevie, Lori’s 19-year-old black and white cat with the bright blue eyes, has finally died.

Lori and Annie stare at each other. “Wow, I couldn’t have written a better ending myself,” Annie said.