Read Online Small Blessings by Martha Woodroof - Free Book Online

came to Mavis, who was rock-solid and would always be exactly the same. And sitting, bellied up to all those bars, listening to and watching all those strangers, Rose had early on formed the opinion that an awful lot of people had their hearts broken in ways they could have easily avoided. Miss Mavis Callahan (always with a decided emphasis on the Miss, thank you very much) had not raised a dreamer.
    Perhaps the hardest lesson Rose had learned was that change was not only dependable, it was omnivorous. When she was a restless nineteen and poised to drop out of Rice, Rose had been forced to realize she could not even count on Mavis to remain the same. It was then that her mother, who had just turned thirty-eight, abruptly came to rest in Williamstown, Massachusetts, where, three years later, at the age of forty-one, she married a widowed college professor thirteen years her senior and became happily domesticated. She continued, however, to introduce herself emphatically as Miss Mavis Callahan. Her husband—Stu, a kindly professor of ancient history, whom Rose liked very much but had never felt the slightest pressure to love—did not seem to mind this at all.
    *   *   *
    There were a half-dozen cars parked in front of the Putnams’, and another three in the driveway. My goodness, Rose thought, it’s a party, and here I am in a wrinkled dress, holding an old canning jar of backyard roses.
    Her move out of the College Inn and into her cottage that day had happened without warning. Rose had gotten a call late yesterday afternoon at the Book Store saying her cottage was ready. Mr. Pitts had said why not take the next day off, since it was a Friday, and have a long weekend to get settled in? He’d even volunteered his two hulking teenaged sons to help get her things out of storage in the big barn next to the cottage. The boys had worked like stevedores, but even so, the last box of books had not been put down on the living room floor until late afternoon. Miss Mavis Callahan, however, had not raised a daughter who was late to dinner, so here Rose was, at seven on the dot, standing on the Putnams’ front stoop.
    Rose heard footsteps behind her. She turned and looked back down the walk. A man she dimly recognized from the Book Store was walking down the central path between the facing lines of houses on Faculty Row. “Good evening,” he called, just loudly enough to be heard. He paused and shook his head. “So sad.”
    â€œIsn’t it,” Rose said, wondering what news she had missed during the day. Surely there hadn’t been another terrorist attack?
    â€œI’ll be over in a little while,” the man said. “As soon as I change.”
    â€œGood,” Rose answered. What else was she to say?
    The man, still shaking his head, went on his way. Rose inadvertently gave her unruly hair a shove. It immediately sprang back to its starting point, as independent as the rest of her. The man had mentioned changing. Whatever was going on at the Putnams’, it was obvious that she was not adequately turned out. Her blue cotton dress was too casual and too discouraged looking. She had put it on only because lovely Marjory Putnam had worn such a fussy, flowery number when they’d met in the Book Store, and it was difficult to imagine her entertaining casually at home dressed in blue jeans and a tank top. The dress hung unimpeded to well below her knees, and her sandal-clad feet were clearly visible below. Rose sighed again. Growing up, she’d seen the attention her mother’s breasts had attracted. She herself had not particularly liked attention, so one night she’d gone outside and wished upon a star that she would never grow boobs.
    Obviously the star had listened.
    Standing there on the Putnams’ front stoop, Rose had one of her odd moments, blips of time when she felt as though she were waiting for something. What that might be—adventure,