ripping the blues from your throat (in g minor)

the manberg-on-avon elder ladies book club

"Uh," She clears her throat, "How have you been doing?"
Wind whistles through the phone speaker. Techno's outside then.
"Well enough. I'm- ah, I'm back in Manberg." He says. She can hear a coat shifting, the tell-tale sound of nylon rubbing against itself.

Tommy watches a grave and learns about forgiveness.

EVERY THURSDAY AT 6PM SHARP, the Manberg-on-Avon Library's second conference room houses seven ladies and one gentleman for an extended chit-chat about books.

The room had a sort of tense air to it, with the return of their youngest member.

Ruth Finley sits in her simple leather recliner, donated to the library from one of its old patrons. Tonight, like many nights before, Ruth mourns the death of her husband of sixty-three years. He passed peacefully in his sleep weeks ago, but a wound like this would stay fresh for years and never scab over. Ruth thinks of her husband and how he'd carefully prune the rose bushes in their garden and insist on giving Ruth a kiss on the cheek before she went off to book club with the ladies. If she cries a few times during the meeting, no one will comment on it.

Barbara is at the snack table, dutifully watching over the electric kettle. It does not need to be watched but the Jamaican-born lady decides it's an important task, making sure it goes to the right temperature and good enough for the picky ladies. She's diligent like that, only satisfied when the food is perfect in her eyes and everyone is well fed. She glances at Ruth. She sets aside a packet of ginger tea for the widow.

Margaret Erikson sits in her rocking chair, embroidery hoop in her hands, fingers skillfully leading a needle through the cloth. A bouquet of dahlias take shape in the white fabric. Her husband will appreciate the gift. He is as old-fashioned as they come, grumbling about the improper pocket squares the other men wear at business meetings. They're not supposed to match with the ties and all. Margaret is still entertained by her husband's distaste for the colorful handkerchiefs, and she's content to keep sewing the classic white squares for him.

Susan Royce is gossiping with her best friend, Angelica Johnston, who taps away on her phone. She's closer to beating Candy Crush than she thinks, and all the girls (and Techno) will celebrate once she does. The two are lifetime friends, practically born in the same crib. Angelica is the more technologically savvy of the two though her skills leave much to be desired. It's sweet though. Susan's talking about encountering her sworn enemy at the flea market and Angelica nods along, brows furrowed in matching the candies and destroying them.

Joan Davies stands at a proud four feet ten inches, fixing up the biscuit tray she always brings to these meetings. She exchanges a few words with Barbara, who is handing out tea. Her hands shake as she brings one to her mouth, almost imperceptible to Barbara who hands her a mug. No one would want to comment on it. Joan is a proud woman; she won't let any ailments faze her. She adjusts her blazer and the jade brooch on its lapel, straightening up. A proud woman.

Techno sees all this when he enters the room, hair a darker pink and brushing off the remaining water droplets from his coat.

"Oh Daniel's here!" Susan says as soon as she spots Techno at the threshold.

"Please, I insist, call me Techno." He puts on a smile, tight and obviously strained. At first it was endearing that the ladies wanted to stick to his old name, but far too much time has passed and far too much has happened. He could hold onto this once last part of his brother.