Chapter 17
After a scrumptious dinner, Riva insisted on cleaning up. She told the ladies she wanted to do it alone, but Windy remained behind. “I want to do some prep work for Saturday’s dinner,” she told them.
“That reminds me”—Fiona pulled a folded flyer from her pocket—“don’t plan on me for dinner tomorrow night. And Riva too. Right, Riva?”
“Uh-huh.” Riva set a stack of plates in the sink.
“The Brewery?” Laurel’s tone sounded skeptical. “Isn’t that a pretty wild place on a Friday night?”
“I’ve been there a few times on Fridays when they have live music. It’s usually a bunch of twentysomethings acting like high school kids,” Kitty added. “I don’t mind going out with a younger man, but those boys are too young for me. Count me out.”
“That’s why I was trying to get some older folks to come,” Fiona said. “In case the youngsters don’t care for our music. We don’t want to flop on our first night there.”
“Well, I’ll go,” Windy offered. “I’ll be your date, Riva.”
“Great.” Fiona set a platter by the sink. “I’ve already reserved a table for her and Marcus. You can sit with them.”
“Riva and Marcus are going?” Laurel’s brows shot up. “When did this happen?”
“We ran into Fiona today,” Riva said nervously. “Marcus and I happened to meet up at the grief group today and then, well, we saw Fiona and she told us about the show. It’s no big deal.” She looked at Laurel. “And trust me, it’s not a date.”
“Then you won’t care if I join you,” Kitty chirped.
“No, not at all.” Riva felt like a phony but didn’t know what else to say.
“Then I’ll go too,” Laurel declared. “That way we’ll all be there.”
“Fabulous.” Fiona clapped her hands. “And I’ll go practice my fiddle for a bit. Don’t want to keep anyone up late tonight.”
“Want to bring it down here?” Riva asked. “It’d be fun to clean up to your music.”
“Really?” Fiona beamed. “I’d love to serenade you. Music is meant to be enjoyed. Anyone else?”
“I’m beat,” Laurel told her. “I plan to take a relaxing bath in Epsom salts to soak off my aches and pains from all that yard work today.”
“It must be such a drag to get old,” Kitty said glibly.
Laurel humphed as she left the kitchen, and Riva held back the urge to scold Kitty.
Good grief, Laurel wasn’t that much older than her.
Based on Kitty’s story, she couldn’t be more than ten years younger than Laurel.
She might do Botox and face lifts and whatever people did these days to preserve their youth, but the clock would eventually catch up.
By the time Riva finished cleaning the kitchen and Windy was done food prepping, Fiona had stopped playing her fiddle and switched over to her phone for an online music provider that was tuned into other Celtic Irish folk bands.
“For inspiration,” she told them. “This is what we want to sound like someday.”
“Based on what I’ve heard from just you playing alone, your group probably already sounds like them.” Riva hung up her dish towel.
“Yeah, I can’t wait to hear you all together.” Windy closed the fridge. “This music makes me want to dance.”
“Then let’s dance!” Fiona grabbed both their hands and before long she had them jigging and clogging and step-dancing around the kitchen.
After dancing to several lively numbers, Riva sat down on a stool. “This is too much fun, but I need a break.”
“Me too. I’m knackered.” Fiona turned off the music and gathered her things. “But after that practice, I expect you both to cut loose on the dance floor tomorrow night.”
“I can’t wait.” Windy got herself a glass of water. “That’s good exercise.”
“Well, I’ll warn you guys,” Riva said, “dancing in my kitchen is one thing. Dancing out in public is something else.”
“We’ll just see about that.” Fiona grinned. “Good night, ladies.”
After Fiona left, Windy turned to Riva. “I understand about your inhibitions.”
“My inhibitions?” Riva frowned. “I thought I was being rather uninhibited just now.”
“Yeah, in your kitchen. But beyond this house? Don’t get me wrong, I get it. I felt totally shut down and closed-up after Bill died. But then, after I lost my house and everything, and I started to embrace my hippie roots, I learned to let my inhibitions go.”
“That’s admirable, Windy. For you, anyway. But I honestly doubt I’ll ever get to that place . . . I mean, letting all my inhibitions go.” To be honest, she wasn’t even comfortable with the idea of being that uninhibited. It frightened her.
“Which is exactly the reason you must come to my drumming circle with me,” Windy told her.
“What’s a drumming circle?”
“It’s a group of women who gather once a month to play drums.”
“I don’t even know how to play a drum.”
“No one really knows how. It’s more like an instinct.
Something you do. We just let go and go with the flow.
It’s more than just drumming though. It’s a whole spiritual experience.
Cultures for thousands of years have drummed and made music together.
For women to gather like that, well, it’s surprisingly empowering—and such a cool release. ”
Riva considered her next words carefully. “That all sounds interesting, but I really don’t think it’s for me.”
“How can you possibly know that if you won’t even try it?”
Riva thought about it.
“Come on, Riva, live dangerously for once.” Windy laughed. “Not that a bunch of women with drums are dangerous. But go ahead and take a risk. It might feel good.”
Riva really didn’t enjoy feeling inhibited, but playing drums with a bunch of strange women? Seriously? “Would I need to dress, well, like you do?”
Windy looked down at her tie-dye T-shirt and embroidered bellbottom jeans. “No, of course not. You dress in whatever’s comfortable to you. All you need to do is come with me and be open to the possibilities.”
“When is it?”
“Saturday morning at ten.”
Riva took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “Well, okay, I’ll try it. But only if you promise not to be offended if I don’t like it. Okay?”
“I promise.” Windy slapped her on the back. “But I’m pretty sure you’ll like it.”
Riva turned off the kitchen lights and followed Windy out. She picked up the novel she’d set on a table by the stairway. “Have you started A Gentleman in Moscow for our book group yet?”
“I reserved a copy at the library, but it won’t be in until next week.”
“I barely started it, but I’m already pulled in.”
Windy smiled. “I’m not surprised. The synopsis I read of the book reminded me of you.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, it’s about a guy who’s kind of trapped, right?”
Riva frowned at the book cover. “Trapped?”
“Isn’t he sort of imprisoned in a Moscow hotel?”
“Well, yes . . . I suppose he is trapped. And that reminds you of me?”
Windy shrugged. “No offense, but when I first met you, I thought you seemed kind of trapped here in your beautiful old home.”
“Oh?” Riva barely nodded.
“Anyway, I think it’ll make for an interesting book group discussion.” Windy started up the stairs. Then, cupping her mouth, she lowered her voice. “Do you think Kitty will participate?”
“I don’t know. I suppose if she finds the TV show . . .”
“And if Marcus comes.” Windy gave her a sly wink. “That’d get her here.”
They said good night and Windy continued up.
But as Riva carried the book to her room, she wondered.
Perhaps Windy wasn’t too far from the truth about Riva being somewhat trapped in her home.
Did others really see her like that? Trapped and inhibited?
She’d never thought of herself like that when she was younger, and she really wasn’t ready to be seen that way now.
Hadn’t she been making a lot of changes recently?
Hadn’t she invited strange women to share her home?
She’d gone to grief group twice. For Pete’s sake, she’d just danced in the kitchen!
And, although it wasn’t a date, she’d had lunch with Marcus today and had even agreed to go The Brewery tomorrow.
Not to mention she’d just agreed to go beat on a drum with Windy.
Really, that didn’t sound too trapped and inhibited to her.
Compared to that stormy dark night when she’d felt so frightened and alone, well, she’d come a long way, baby!
By Friday afternoon, Riva was nervous. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but the whole house felt charged with a strange kind of energy.
At first she thought it was coming from Fiona, who’d been in the library practicing some lively tunes on her mandolin, but even after Fiona left to meet up with her bandmates for dinner, the energy remained.
It reminded Riva of a buzzing beehive. She could hear movement upstairs and occasional exchanges between her housemates, and then someone was calling her name.
“I’m in the kitchen,” she yelled back.
“Riva,” Laurel said as she came in with an armload of clothes. “I need help.”
“Help?” Riva put the tea pitcher back in the fridge. “If you want the laundry room, I’m sure no one is using it right now.”
“Not that kind of help, darling.” Laurel tossed her pile onto a stool. “Wardrobe help.”
“Oh?” Riva frowned. “I’m not exactly a fashion diva, Laurel.”
“I like your taste. And you’re far more fashionable than I am.
” Laurel held up a bright red blouse. “I usually wear this at Christmastime, but Kitty always makes fun of how drab I dress, so I thought maybe this would punch it up.” She pulled a heavy silver necklace from her tunic pocket. “With this?”
Riva slowly nodded. It really did look like holiday wear. “Uh-huh. What else do you have there?”
Laurel went through several options that screamed “I’m a retired school secretary.” Riva grimaced.
“I think maybe you’re trying too hard,” she told Laurel.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, The Brewery is more of a hipster place. I bet most everyone will be in jeans and T-shirts.”