A Case for Forgiveness. Carol Ross
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almost-bingo. She glared.
Jonah reached across the table and stamped Gramps’s card as he was too busy flirting with Mary Beth to pay attention to much else. He noticed the B-4 spot still blank on Mary Beth’s card—that sequence had been called a while ago. And so had N-32... Apparently Gramps’s moves were working, he thought with amusement, continuing to eye Mary Beth’s incomplete card.
He couldn’t stand it. Stamp, stamp and...stamp. There, all caught up.
“What did she say?” Bernice Threck whisper-shouted the words across Jonah toward Erma Neville.
“N-42,” Erma yelled back. “Bernice, why didn’t you wear your hearing aids?”
“Because I’m trying to get Teddy to notice me and how attractive do you think I would be with those things hanging out of my ears?” Bernice looked to Jonah for confirmation. “Right, Jonah?”
Jonah presumed that by “Teddy” Bernice was referring to Doc, who was seated on the other side of her and at least appeared to be keeping up with his card.
Jonah realized that both women were waiting for his response. He opened his mouth to say he knew not what; thankfully he was interrupted by Erma.
“A sight more attractive than those fishing lures you’ve got hanging from your ears right now,” Erma muttered.
Jonah took a drink of his blue-raspberry punch, relieved not to be drawn into the exchange after all.
“What?” Bernice shouted.
“I love to fish,” Doc chimed in loudly. No hearing devices from that quarter either, Jonah hypothesized.
Erma hollered again, “A lot more attractive than having to shout, I’d say.”
Bernice shook her head with disgust. Her long, dangly earrings made such a loud tinkling sound that Jonah had no idea how she could hear anything but that, hearing aids or no.
She yelled into Jonah’s ear again, “Well, that’s ridiculous, Erma. There’s not a lot that isn’t more attractive than having gout.”
“B-6,” Shay called loud and clear. Jonah looked up and caught her watching him. Her lips were tugging upwards in that way they did when she was fighting a laugh. So, she thought his predicament was funny, huh? He responded with a look of desperation. She turned and coughed into her hand and Jonah thought it a fairly believable attempt at covering a laugh.
He chuckled. Okay, so yes, he had to admit that he was kind of having fun. He glanced over to where Gramps was now officially canoodling with Mary Beth and decided that sight alone would make a little suffering worthwhile.
“B-6,” Shay repeated, but not quite as forcefully. Jonah wanted to believe it had something to do with his nonverbal teasing.
“Beef stick?” Bernice yelled. “Are they selling beef, too? I love those things—especially the caribou ones. Don’t you, Teddy?” She batted her fake lashes like a 1940s film star. “Erma, will you run and get one for me and Teddy to share?”
“Beef stick,” Erma muttered with a huff. Then she shouted at Bernice, “She said B-6 not beef stick, Bernice. And no, I will not.”
Then she glanced at Jonah. “That’s it—I’m outta here. This is embarrassing and I’m not talking to her anymore, unless she goes and gets her hearing aids. She’s out of control. And you can tell her I said so.”
Someone yelled “bingo” from a table behind them as Erma testily gathered up her cards and moved to a neighboring table. Bernice didn’t notice, her entire body tuned in to Teddy at this point.
Jonah thought this whole spectacle was a little out of control. It was bad enough that Shay had guilted him into being here, but she could have warned him that it doubled as some kind of geriatric singles event.
“I-17,” Shay began calling a new game. Someone must have fixed the vintage mic because the sound was much better—and even louder.
The crowded room seemed to hum with a current of excitement. Apparently, there was nothing like a rousing game of “blue light bingo” to raise community spirits. Jonah had no idea what the “blue light” signified, but he was now playing four cards because Bernice had pretty much ditched hers too, to listen to Doc recite a list of fun facts about gout that was way more information, in Jonah’s opinion, than anyone not currently suffering from the disease needed to know.
“Excuse me, sir, but you’re clearly in violation of the house rules.”
Jonah looked up to see Shay’s sister, Hannah, toss a stack of cards on the table.
“What?”
She settled next to Jonah. “I believe there’s a three-card limit. And the way you’re stamping away over here—I may have to report you to the bingo police.”
Jonah smiled. “That might be a blessing at this point.” Jonah inked up his dauber then held his ink-stained hands aloft.
Hannah laughed and began stamping her card in an attempt to catch up with the current game.
“What in the world are you doing here?” Jonah asked.
“Uh, playing bingo,” Hannah drawled, pointing out the obvious. “Is the smell of all that ink getting to you there, counselor?”
“No. I mean why?”
Hannah raised her brows in a way that spoke clearly of her disapproval—and reminded him of Shay.
“Because it’s a great cause and because I can—I’d never played bingo in my entire life until a few months ago. Can you imagine that? I’ve been missing out and besides, did you not hear that the blue-diamond pot tonight is one-hundred and twelve dollars?”
“Why is everything blue?” Jonah asked waving one hand across the tablescape and holding up his cup of blue raspberry punch with the other. The plastic table cloths were blue, the centerpieces on the table held little vases of blue carnations and baby’s breath, and strings of blue lights were twinkling here and there around the room. Even the ink was blue.
Hannah looked puzzled. “I have absolutely no idea. Maybe it’s Mrs. Wizencroft’s favorite color. She can be a real dragon lady, runs the Seniors’ Circle like it’s the Marine Corps.”
Jonah laughed. “It’s great to see you, Hannah. Gramps told me you were back home. How are you holding up, not being able to ski?”
Hannah reacted with a look like he’d poked her in the ribs with a stick.
“I’m sorry—was that not okay to ask?” Stamp, stamp.
She grinned. “No, actually, it is. It’s just that no one ever asks me that—except Shay. They ask me how I’m doing or how I am, but no one ever asks me about skiing. I think people are afraid that I’m going to break down and start bawling all over them or something.” She tipped her head, looking thoughtful for a second. Then she added, “Which I might. And it feels...how much time have you got?”
Jonah pulled his brows up and made a tsk-ing sound. “No time, actually, I’m super...” He stamped Bernice’s card. “Duper.” He reached over to stamp Doc’s card, who had apparently exhausted the subject of gout, but was now whispering loudly in Erma’s ear about lupus. “Busy,” he added as he then reached over and stamped her card.
Hannah made a big show of protesting. “Well, skipping over the accident and the ensuing realization that my career—my life—was over?” She nodded as if giving herself permission to continue. “Okay, so, skipping over all that and in addition to trying to forgive the drunk driver who almost killed me, I’m learning to enjoy life in a different, more content-based way—as my expensive sports psychologist terms it. Not that I wouldn’t ski competitively again if I could—without risking messing up my body forever, because I would. But the cool thing is that I’m learning and trying to accept, that skiing doesn’t define me as a person.”