League of Extraordinary Women

This is a slow-starting story. I hope it will reward you you if you stick with it, but if not, thanks for trying.

As always, it's a work of fiction. No persons or events are more than my imagination.

ONE

I stood on the slight rise overlooking the gravesite. The soil was still mounded over the casket, now six feet below the surface. Tomorrow the laborers would put new grass over the grave, making it almost anonymous amidst the hundreds of others already there. There were no tall monuments to mark these graves, just a small brass plaque, each with a name and two yearly dates marking birth and death. Christie's grave would look like all the rest. I had returned three days after the funeral. Everything was quiet here, the tall pine trees marching away in silent rows. Call it morbid, or whatever for what I care, but I was back, not yet ready to face the world without the woman of my life for these eight years. She was too young to die, especially to die in such a horrible manner. Brain cancer had been diagnosed eighteen months before she died and I and the others close to her had had to watch this vibrant, vital person who had such a gift of wit, love and sheer intellect be turned into a living vegetable before her inevitable death, losing every shred of the myriad of things that had made her so unique and loved.

Now I was alone, as I had been before she swept into my life eight ago. I was filled with wonderful memories of that time, punctuated with other memories of times we had struggled and fought. Life had not been a picnic, but it had been worth living. Now I wasn't so sure.

The phone rang, and I glanced to see who it was. It was Evan, of course. My brother had been at the funeral but had had to fly away at the end of the ceremony. I let it go to voicemail. What was there to say at a time like this? I know the drill: the five stages of grief seemed engraved on my forehead. You get a head start with cancer. You know the outcome, just not when it will finally happen. There's no sudden absence, there's just a light burning dimmer with each passing week. I had wanted to be alone for weeks, just isolating and being unwilling to have the comfort of those who had known her. I had already indulged in anger, anger at the world, God, medicine, hospitals, virtually anything and everything associated with this process. I had bargained to no avail. Take me instead of her. She's too valuable, too vital to be gone so soon. Now there was depression, that numbing desire to sit in a corner and let the world pass on by without me.

The phone rang again. This time it was Stephanie, Christie's best friend and co-worker. I started to let this go to voicemail as well but on an impulse hit the answer key and said hello.

"Jeremy, come to see me, now. You cannot sit alone in that house. If you won't come to me I'll come to you. This is not what Christie would have wanted."

"I'm not at home. I'm at the cemetery, listening to the silence that surrounds the dead."

"Get in your car and come here. We'll have a cup of coffee and talk. I've made fresh cinnamon roles and might even give you one, even though it's not on your diet plan."

"OK, I'll come to see you. Will you leave alone after that?"

"No, I'm going to be the burr under your saddle until you move on."

I disconnected and slowly walked back to my car. I was on bereavement leave from work. I had nothing to fill my time except the infinite list of things to do that I wanted to avoid: donate her clothes and other items; throw out the food in the refrigerator that had sat there while we waited for her to die; buy some real food; get a death certificate, file an insurance claim with her life insurance and with her HR department at work to collect her insurance money; sell her car, and on and on.

Stephanie lived close by our house, now my house. Another thing to get used to, singular versus plural. I pulled up in her driveway and parked, walked up the sidewalk and rang the doorbell. She opened the door and motioned me in, closing the door behind me. She gave me a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and led me into the sparkling clean kitchen. Stephanie was a ball of energy, one that needed a constant outlet. It was one of the things that had attracted the two women to each other and brought her into my life as well.

"What are you doing off work, Steph?"

"I took a sick day, a mental health day if you will."

"How's John?"

"You mean the man who works constantly and occasionally sleeps here?"

"Yep, that's the one."

"Still unsuspecting, if you must know."

Stephanie and I had carried on a torrid affair for almost a year before Christie was diagnosed as having brain cancer. Guilt had led to an immediate end of the affair. For the last eighteen months we had returned to being friends, good friends. I had spent untold hours talking with her as we sat with Christie, taking turns holding her hand. I felt I knew her as well as Christie at this point. The guilt over the affair had been excruciating but had diminished as my grief over losing Christie increased. She had been incredibly supportive and had just been there whenever I had needed someone. All of Christie's close friends had been wonderful, but Stephanie stood out, as always. She had always stood out in one way or another. John, her husband, had swept her away in their courtship days, but had regressed into a workaholic following the first two years of their marriage. The man was a fool.

I was surrounded by incredible women, all of them Christie's immediate friends. She had attracted just a dazzling group of accomplished women, all of whom I liked and admired. I would be sorry to see them go as we all moved on with our lives without Christie.

"What's your plan for today?"

"I don't have one."

"Good, I have one for you. I'll get my coat and we'll go to your place. We need to start emptying out the house of Christie's things."

Ten minutes later we were moving through the garage into the kitchen. Unlike her immaculate home, mine had a smell, a combination of neglect and decay.

"We'll start with the kitchen. This is where most of the smell is."

She knew her way around my house as well as her own. She rounded up trash bags, cleaning supplies, mops and brooms. All I did was take off my coat.

"Hey," I said to her."

"What, Jeremy?"

"Come here. Let me take off your coat first."

She came over and turned around, shrugging off the coat into my hands. I put the coat down next to mine and put my arms around her waist.

"Thank you for being an incredible friend."

"It's complicated, but friendship comes before all other thoughts."

She opened the refrigerator, gave a small cry, and starting gathering up items and throwing them into trash bags. She quickly went through the major items, emptying out bottles and jars into the sink, then tossing them into the bags. I watched in admiration as she weaved through the smaller jars, selecting only those that would have expired by now, leaving the ones with longer shelf lives. She glanced back at me.

"Start carrying these bags out to the garbage bins in the garage. We'll get the big stuff now and do the real cleaning another day."

I moved to collect the bags, amazed that there were already four bags filled.

"The vegetable bins are just gross. Everything goes, then the bins have to be washed or we'll never get rid of the smell."

We worked our way through the other cabinets, dumping any open containers of food that would possibly be spoiled or stale. She even did a quick scan of the canned goods and tossed unopened cans that had expired. The last eighteen months had taken their toll. Eating had been reduced to the absolute minimum to sustain life. Christie had been a marvelous cook. I had lived on canned soup and sandwiches.

"Go into the other rooms on this floor and collect anything you don't want to keep. Set those items by the front door."

So much for a slow, studied review of our worldly items, interweaved with memories of the specific times each item brought to mind. I scanned the bookshelves, open shelves, table tops, anything that held pictures or other memorabilia. I pulled out books that were Christie's. All of this was gathered into a growing pile by the front door.

"What about the pictures? Are you going to keep all of these?"

Some were of Christie and her friends, marking their journeys here and there.

"Why don't you go through them and keep the ones that seem memorable."

"Don't worry about the upstairs today. A group of us are coming over Saturday to gather her clothing and other items. We'll take those to donate. Start a pile in one of the spare bedrooms of other items you don't want to keep."

It was fast and furious. We sat at the kitchen table for a few minutes. "I'll start with the dishes, get a load in the dishwasher and then sweep and mop the floor. You should go through her car and take out anything personal. I'd have it detailed, then sell it somewhere. If you price it fair it'll go pretty quickly."

I moved to the car. I had driven it back and forth to the hospital many times, much of the stuff in the car was now my material to sort through. I cleaned out the glovebox and the trunk. It was dirty. Stephanie was right, it would need a thorough cleaning before being sold. Other than the car, the garage was pretty well my domain. There might be a few things in storage that would eventually go but otherwise it was just the stuff you slowly gathered as the years go by. I'd have to go through the Christmas stuff someday but certainly not today. I moved back to the kitchen. It already had been Stephanied, it now had a certain sheen to it. The floor, counters and sinks were gleaming clean. If I gave her another hour the windows would be as well. The dishwasher was churning away. The fridge was running again after being turned off to facilitate the mass cleansing. I heard noises from another room. Stephanie had already moved on to the downstairs bathroom and had gone through it, tossing whatever was appropriate.

"Jeremy, would you go through the hall closet?"

That was the least I could do. It pained me to see Christie's coats, boots, gloves and other cold weather gear. I got a bag from the kitchen and placed those items in it, adding it to the growing pile. Stephanie had opened all the curtains and blinds, letting in more light than there had been for months and months. I slowly looked around, noting what was still there and what was now gone forever. The whirling dervish I sometimes called Hurricane Stephanie emerged from the bathroom.

"That's a good start. You should go upstairs and gather some things for yourself. I'm not letting you sleep here alone with all of this surrounding you. You're staying at our house for a couple of nights. The girls and I will get the donated stuff out of here on Saturday. I'm inviting you to go to dinner with us Saturday night."

My immediate reaction was to say no. But as I thought about it, it seemed like the right thing to do. I needed to thank all of them for constant support through all of this. I turned to Stephanie and said, "Yes, I'd be happy to go."

"That's great, I thought for sure you would turn me down. Now get your stuff, you're taking me to lunch."

Lunch was Italian and it was good to eat something besides soup, sandwiches and hospital cafeteria food. I thanked her for her help this morning.

"Feeling better?"

"Yes, I am. I dreaded going through the house. Now it doesn't seem so overwhelming."

"Forget selling the car yourself. Let's take it to one of those consignment car lots and let them sell it. You don't need to deal with all of those memories tied up in that car."

Christie's car had been her pride and joy. Unlike many women, she preferred a manual transmission and had bought a new Camaro three years ago. Given what transpired, it had almost no miles on it. It was bright red and suited her personality. Another jolt of pain coursed through me as I thought about it. After lunch we drove home and used the internet to find consignment dealers in town. We chose one, and she drove the Camaro to a nearby carwash where we first cleaned and vacuumed it, then drove to the lot with me trailing her in my car. The paperwork done, we got in my car and drove to her home. She showed me to their guest room, pointed out the bathroom, and said think of it as your home away from home.

John called me on my cellphone. "I hear you're my guest."

"It's very difficult to tell your wife no. She's very persuasive."

"I gave up telling her no a long time ago. It just saves a lot of conversation and aggravation. She'll hammer on something from a million different ways until she gets what she wants."

I understood those words all too well. Stephanie had set her sights on an affair with me and eventually I had said yes. Given what had transpired, I still felt massively guilty. To John I said, "Women seem born with that ability. It's not just Stephanie."

"Amen to that!"

We said our goodbyes and I went to find Steph. I found her in the kitchen, baking bread. "Don't you ever do enough? Can't you ever just relax?" She had a dab of flour on the end of her nose. She looked absolutely adorable.

"Let me finish this. The dough will have to rise, so I'll sit down with you in a couple of minutes."

True to her word, she finished up, washed her hands and found me on the family room couch. She joined me on the couch, surprising me by laying on the couch and putting her head on my lap. "You told me to relax! Don't get bent out of shape by this. You're hands off for a long time."

I looked down at her, thinking that she already had a plan for the future that included me but let it go. That was the future, I'd deal with that when it came. In the meantime, there was getting through today. I thanked her for working on the house. She shrugged it off, saying it had to be done. Better to do it with someone than doing it alone.

That night we had dinner. The fresh baked bread was delicious. John came home about two hours later, pleading last minute deadlines. I had the feeling that those deadlines were the same ones from the day before and the day before that. They were going through the motions of him making excuses and having them accepted at face value. At least they weren't bitter and fighting about it, though I thought that was the inevitable conclusion. I spent time telling John about we had done and telling him what a good friend Steph had been. He again told me how sorry he was about what had happened. John had somehow managed to fit the funeral into his busy schedule. I should be grateful.

On Saturday morning, Stephanie came into my bedroom, plunked herself on the side of the bed and told me she was leaving to join the other women of their immediate group at my house for a cleaning and donating party. John was already gone to work, something that seemed to be a common occurrence and one that she seemed to think was the better alternative. At least Christie and I had never acted in this way. She leaned over and kissed me.

"God, I love you. Christie was a lucky woman. I am so profoundly sorry to see you in such pain. It's because you cared so much for her that you have such pain. I think that if I died in similar circumstances John would miss the home cooked meals and the occasional tender moment but would be back at the office the day after the funeral." With that, she got up and left.

Five hours later she returned. She told me of what they had accomplished. She also said they were all looking forward to having dinner with me.

Dinner was at Charlie's Bar & Grill, the unofficial watering hole and eating place for the group. They put us in a private room, probably because they knew how loud this group could be. Christie had told me about some of their raucous get togethers. Stephanie, Sheila, Amber, Faith and Claudette were five of a kind: accomplished, intelligent women. I made a short speech thanking each and every one of them for being so supportive during the long, losing battle. There were tears in their eyes. I also said dinner was on me. That said, I settled back to watch and observe. They moved to other topics of information with lots of give and take. Faith caught me watching them, a bemused look on my face.

" OK, Jeremy, spill it. What's so interesting?"

"I'm just thinking how lucky Christie was to have such incredible friends. You guys are the League of Extraordinary Women."

By acclimation, I was inducted as an associate member of the League for having suggested the name. The League would meet monthly to discuss business, eat and drink, not necessarily in that order.

On Sunday I moved back into my house. I say house because it no longer was my home with Christie. Almost all indicators that Christie had ever been in that house were erased. There were still photographs of the two of us together but otherwise she was gone. The sheets were changed, her clothes, shoes, makeup, shampoo, anything and everything that indicated a female presence were gone. The house had probably not been this clean since we had moved in. We had been good but not great at house cleaning, often finding other things to do of greater priority. I was again in debt to the League. I guess I would be paying for the next meeting, too.

Monday found me back at the office. I went through the rounds of condolences, hoping this would end soon. It felt strange to be back. I had taken a leave of absence to be with Christie through the last few months. Everything looked familiar yet strange. Paul, my boss, was one of the last to offer his condolences, then he gave me a new assignment to work on. It felt good to have something to do.

That night I opened the refrigerator to find something to eat and found five days worth of pre-made dinners, just having to be heated to be ready to eat. I found myself again in debt to the League.

The days crept by. Stephanie called daily to see how I was doing. I joined a support group for widows and widowers. I was probably the youngest member.

The next monthly meeting of the League of Extraordinary Women came quickly. I joined the five at Charlie's, getting a great hug from each of them. I told them dinner was on me, to thank them for their work at the house. The offer was accepted unanimously. We ate, drank and laughed. Being around a group of women is completely different than being around an equal number of men. I am constantly amazed at the brutal honesty among them. Nothing was off limits. They all talked about their husbands and families with incredible openness. I was seeing these men from a completely different perspective, some of those perspectives completely unflattering. We heard the DJ in the main room start up. They all turned to me and said it was time to dance. My dance card filled up quickly. They danced with other men, with each other and with me. At moments it was five women and me on the dance floor. I finally begged that it was time to go. We filed out and I got a hug and kiss from each of them. I was sated. Stephanie was last in line to say good night.

"Come sit in my car for a moment. I've got something to talk to you about."

I joined her in her car. She leaned over and kissed me on the lips. "Everyone else got to kiss you, so do I." I didn't mention that most of them had been on the cheek, or lightly on the lips, not a firm kiss such as hers. "You are doing great. I'm really proud of you. Everyone is equally proud of you and glad that you've come to two of our get togethers. We all look forward to this so much, to be able to put down the everyday world and spend time together. Everyone is looking forward to you continuing to come."

"I hate to think what was said about me in that group. Every other husband and boyfriend was thoroughly dissected."