The Class Menagerie

action. The kids had been complaining lately about having the same stuff over and over again for dinners. Maybe she could freshen up her repertoire.
    She lined up several loads of laundry, fielded a couple of phone calls wanting her to contribute to charities, buy siding, and take out a new credit card, and then she went down to her office in the basement to work on her book. Some months earlier her mother had come to visit and had wanted to take a course in writing an autobiography. Jane, not wanting to write her own, had made up a fictional person to write about and the teacher had encouraged her to continue. Jane wasn’t sure it was even a real novel, or if it would ever leave her basement, but she was enjoying the experience enormously. Most of the time.
    But today she found it hard to concentrate. Her mind kept going back to Shelley’s classmates. She had dreaded this because she thought it would be so dull. But they hadn’t proved dull at all. Scary, rather. All those emotions, presumably tucked away for years, boiling to the surface. But that wasn’t fair. Some of them had seemed truly glad to see one another. When she left, Pooky and Avalon were deep in an animated discussion on the front porch. At least those two would enjoy catching up on the missing years. And perhaps others of them would have fun, too. Jane realized she was putting too much of her own spin on this reunion.
    She plowed on with writing and laundry and three o’clock finally came. She’d put a casserole in the fridge with instructions to the children as to when to put it in the oven. There were chips out on the table and a saucepan with green beans (the only vegetable they all liked) sitting on top of the casserole, where it couldn’t be missed. They’d probably have sodas with their meal instead of the milk she kept forcing on them, but it wouldn’t kill them.
    When she returned to the bed and breakfast, the other two members of the group had apparently just arrived. There was luggage in the front hallway and greetings were going on all over again.
    She was introduced to Beth Vaughn and Shelley’s précis came back to her. “She’s a judge. Our class’s most successful graduate. She’s expected to be a Supreme Court nominee next time they decide it’s trendy to put another woman on the court,“ Shelley had said. Beth Vaughn certainly looked the part. She had crisply curling, no-nonsense graying hair, cut very short. Her blue suit and white blouse were neat and sensible, as were her low-heeled shoes. She might have had a good figure, but the suit de-emphasized it, giving her a square, sexless look. Her manner was pleasant, but reserved. She had very pretty eyes, which was the only thing that kept her looking feminine. “It’s very generous of you to give up your time to help Shelley and us,“ she said graciously. “I hope you don’t find it too boring to be marooned in among strangers.“
    “I’m quite used to it,“ Jane said, inadvertently adopting Beth’s formal tone. “I was a State Department brat.“
    “How very interesting that must have been,“ Beth said warmly. “I’ve always regretted that I didn’t have more opportunities to travel. Perhaps you can tell me more later about the places you’ve lived.“
    “And who’s this? I don’t recognize you at all?“
    Another woman had joined them and Beth Vaughn drifted away.
    “I’m not one of you,“ Jane said to the strange woman. “I’m Shelley’s friend Jane. I’m just helping Edgar. This place isn’t supposed to be open for business yet and he hasn’t hired help—so I’m the help,“ Jane said.
    “God! What a dreary thing for you! I’m Kathy Herrmannson, what was Emerson back in the old days.“
    This one was a mess, too. But unlike poor Pooky, who got that way trying too hard to preserve her looks, Kathy apparently never gave her appearance a thought. She was overweight in a particularly sloppy, hippy way, which was made worse by her bulgy jeans and unflattering T-shirt. Jane was reminded of one of the advice maven’s words: if you can put a pencil under you breast and it stays there, you shouldn’t go braless. Kathy could have tucked away a wrench. The unpleasantly distorted T-shirt was emblazoned with a faded peace symbol. Her face was pasty and free of any makeup, which was unfortunate.
    “I’m glad to meet you, Kathy,“ Jane said. “Does the cook know I don’t eat meat?“ Kathy asked.
    “I have no idea. I’ll go ask,“ Jane