I Believe

Loneliness is a four-letter word.

And I'd been lonely far too long.

June—the time of year for summer, picnics, baseball. And weddings. My cousins, my sister, and I had gathered in Bitsy's living room for the monthly meeting of the Single-teeners Club, the one we'd begun when we were fancy-free, out-on-the-town gals. Cheerfulness radiated from the girls like moonbeams in a sickening, sticky-sweet way.

I knew why: Everyone had found her beloved, her mate. Her happily ever after.

But not me.

As if reading my thoughts, my sister Paige frowned my way, then at her knitting project. "Allie Palmer, it's time you found a man."

"A man?" I snorted. "The good ones are hiding. You three got the only decent guys in the whole universe, and I'm stuck with alien, delivery man Jeffrey Carpenter, who persists in making goo-goo eyes at me while I'm working hard on Sweet Style's new wedding campaign. His "aw-shucks" manner is so corny. The fashion police should arrest him for those plaid shirts."

"Here we go again. He can't be that bad." With a click-click of her knitting needles, Martha, Bitsy's sister, said, "You need to get royally screwed."

"Martha! If our mothers heard you, you'd be dead. Served up like Sunday fried chicken."

Martha shrugged. "They aren't here—"

Bitsy looped yarn around a needle. "Praise the Lord."

I frowned. Since when did the Single-teeners become the Knitty Witties? I was without a knitting project, leaving me feeling left out of this club, too. "Where did you get the idea I needed a man? For sex?" I huffed. "Men aren't necessarily a requirement. Just ask my best friend, Alex, my vibrator."

"You don't have a vibrator. If anyone would know, I would," Paige said. "You're too picky."

"Yeah, picky," Bitsy said. "Men fall at your feet, even when you treat them like slime balls. And still they come back for more. Go figure."

"I. Am. Not. Picky." My eyes rolled ceiling-ward. "I followed Single-teeners's rules. Remember our standards? Doctors. Lawyers. Accountants. Not delivery men-slash-box company owners."

"Those standards go beyond club requirements." Paige clicked a stitch counter. "Picking boogers from noses . . . ." She snapped her finger in the universal flipped-off gesture. "Gone."

Bitsy perked up. "Moustache and/or beard?"

Snap went Martha. "Gone."

"Zip-up dress shoes—"

"Okay!" I flashed my palms their way. "Point taken, except for nose picking. Did you ever stop to think maybe nothing jived between those bozos and me? No chemistry? That's what a successful relationship needs, as you well know."

Paige resumed knitting. A small, white bootie dangled from the needles. "The only chemistry you're familiar with is the one you almost flunked in high school."

"So chemistry wasn't my favorite subject, Miss I-do-everything-perfectly. You're talking about the wrong kind, anyway. And I have more dating under my belt than you ever had." I tossed my hands skyward. "I don't know what else to do. Post a want ad on Facebook or Craigslist? Wave a magic wand?"

A hush cloaked the room. Paige's project fell to her lap. "Did Allie say magic?"

"She did." Bitsy nodded. "I heard her."

Pausing her knitting, Martha bobbed her head vigorously. "Me, too."

This conversation was going nowhere except down the Port-A-Potty. But as I sat there and thoughts passed through what little brains my dad teased I had, I noticed the girls shared a distinct look, like they knew something I didn't. Each lifted one brow, a shoulder raised in a bare shrug, as if they were communicating through . . . telepathy.

How weird. Definitely suspicious. I asked, "What?"

"Nothing," Martha said.

My head went no-no-no. "Not buying it. You have some secret in our club. We'd agreed to be the four Single-teeners, like the fabulous Musketeers. 'All for one and one for all'—remember?"

"We remember." With one final shared look, Paige said, "Okay, fine. But don't get mad."

"I won't get mad. I will if you don't tell me ASAP."

"You might after . . . ." Bitsy's gaze darted to her sister's and then mine.

"Get on with it, will ya." I checked my watch. "I have a date—"

"A date? How exciting," they chorused.

"You've been holding out," Martha said. "Tell all."

Smiling smugly on the inside, and with a knowing grin on the outside, I let them stew over my nugget for a bit. They were way off mark and needed a lesson on how not to mess with the master.

When I didn't volunteer anything, Bitsy said, "I give up. Allie?"

Guesstimating they'd suffered long enough, I pointed their way. "Gotcha."

"I don't get it." Paige's brow V-ed. "You don't have a date, after all?"

I laughed. "Not the kind you're thinking. I have a rendezvous with Miss Moxie."

"Oh." They drooped in their respective chairs like deflated balloons.

"Your new cat," Bitsy said with a snort. "How's that workin' for you?"

"Enough!" Paige grabbed her over-sized tote bag and stuffed her handiwork inside. Cradling her enormous tummy with one hand, she leveraged herself up. Any day now, she'd be popping her baby out, and I'd be a proud Auntie Allie.

"Me, too," my cousins said.. Their hands reached around to support their bellies as they stood. Three happy, pregnant, married relatives, all living the large life, just like they'd—we'd—envisioned when we were youngsters.

Except for me. Somehow, my dream man had never materialized, and as a result, I'd learned fairytales don't always come true.

"I'm taking this . . . ." Bending over, Martha took the cake remains decorated with chocolate-dipped strawberries. "Dougie's back from a three-day audit trip. We can have a romantic evening and indulge in front of the fire."

Evidently, expectant women eat seconds when they get home.

Twisting in a coquettish way, Bitsy sent her black, naturally curly hair swaying. Her mouth shaped a girly smile. "Mark is off-duty from the ER tonight. Maybe I can try out my new see-thru nightie and play doctor for real."

A basketball belly rounding out a transparent, white negligee—who could remove that picture from one's mind? God!

Yet . . . . I bit my finger. Did they know something I didn't?

Truth clocked me sideways, then a pea-green sickness filled my gut. For as the nighttime sky was stupendous and as the ocean deemed fathomless, I wanted what my family had: A man of my own to love. The whole marriage and pregnancy package—and soon.

Screw the fabulous job. Screw Single-teeners. I'm the only single one, anyway.

My shoulders rounded over as my old companion, Dejection, the one I'd silently repressed lately, encompassed my heart and soul. "Wait." I leapt to my feet. "Don't go. I-I . . . ."

The women set their belongings on the whitewashed coffee table. Martha perched on the arm of the blue-and-tan checked chair. "Allie, what's wrong?"

Lifting a hand to shove back the hair from my face, I said, "I'm lonely, and I hate it. Hate it. Hate it. Most of the time, being single isn't all so wonderful. People are meant to have a mate."

Their lips flattened firmly.

"Oh, Allie," Paige said. "It's okay. Come here."

We shifted to the sofa. Paige sat on my left, Bitsy on my right, and Martha perched on the coffee table.

"We're here for you," Paige said.

A tear leaked down my cheek. "I-I know."

Paige sponged the drop away with her thumb, then squeezed my hand. "We've been thinking and decided to tell you—"

I sniffed into the tissue Martha had pressed into my hand. I said in a nasally tone, sounding sorta similar to Elmer Fudd, "Tell me what."

Bitsy glanced from her sister to her cousin. "Don't get mad."

I blew my nose. "Would you just tell me!"

"You know, sweetie," Paige said slowly, "you could always try Grandma Bebe's spell to meet your dream man."

Bitsy and Martha nodded. Bitsy said, "Spell."

"It worked for us," Martha added.

Spell? Grandma Bebe had a spell? This revelation stunned me to the toes of my new high heels. They'd tried Bebe's white magic to conjure up their hubbies? No way in hell.

"You've got to be kidding. Bebe had some stupid trickery to find a dream man?" I snorted. "That's a bunch of horse dookey."

Shaking their heads, one-by-one they extended their left hands in my direction. One-carat solitaires of different cuts and hues blinked and twinkled in the lamplight.

I pushed their hands aside and jumped to my feet. I strode to the kitchen counter and grabbed the closest drink available—sparkling cider. I bolted down a huge swallow and grimaced. Definitely not as good as Moet. Whirling around, I swiped the back of my hand across my lips. "I'm quite familiar with your rings. I was maid of honor for each of you."

They looked surprised at my rudeness. Their mouths formed a silent O, making them resemble a trio of beached fish, er, whales.

Once, they'd sculled the same boat I was currently rowing. However, now they'd confessed they'd done something about it, they'd used Bebe's ancient mumbo jumbo and . . . .

"No." I shook my head, still not believing what they'd told me. "Since we were small, we swore we'd have nothing to do with her silly stuff. We'd never—"

"I wasn't totally honest." Paige smoothed her hands over her thighs. "I did."

"Me, too," Martha and Bitsy said.

"After what our families have gone through? How could you? We grew up with the hocus pocus crap hanging over our heads. It never worked out right, and sometimes, it had disastrous results. We always promised—"

"Would you stop?" Paige stuck her hand out like a traffic attendant. She looked to one side for a beat then turned back. "I know what we said. The truth is I was sick and tired of being alone. And the Single-teener club wasn't all that fun, except for eating cake. I love cake."

My cousins shared a look. "Us, too."

Acidic jealousy burned through me. "But you never said . . . . We. . . . We've always believed being a strong, independent woman was desirable."

"Allie, being a woman of today encompasses so many more things—children, husband, and a career. We believed, and look what we got." Paige swept her ring hand down her body.

"If you'd try . . . ." Bitsy said.

"Try," Martha echoed. "You can have everything you want if you just believe."

Sensory overload overwhelmed my sanity. I blinked . . . and blinked . . . and blinked. "Can't do it. If someone found out—"

"Who?" Martha asked. "The only people who would know are in this room—"

"And we'll never tell," Bitsy said.

"I'd be so humiliated if anyone knew. I couldn't endure the taunting my mom and yours had. A spell isn't a home remedy."

"God, no." Bitsy's shoulders shook with laughter, sending her curls bouncing. "Remember the one for leg cramps?"

All three said in unison, "Put a bar of soap under the sheet."

Martha pointed at her sister. "Or how do we treat insect bites?"

Their hands flew in the air. "With bleach."

"Or—"

I interrupted, "That isn't the same. Spells are magical."

Bitsy said, "I don't know why you're so worried. No one would die—"

Paige's lips compressed as she gave a small shake of her head.

"Sorry," Bitsy said, "I didn't mean to bring up, you know . . . ."

And there it was—the truth. A long time ago, someone actually did die.

We knew the story too well. A neighbor had tried a potion Bebe had concocted to remove a fat, hairy mole from her forehead, right above her nose. She'd applied a paste with instructions to leave it undisturbed for two weeks and to chant daily, while tossing bone meal skyward, "Gone, gone, gone away. I'll be beautiful one day."

In the end, but not in the nick of time, the girl had removed the bandage and discovered her skin had dissolved. An infection had burned fast and furious into her brain, and she died.

The word about Bebe had spread like wildfire throughout Somerville, and she and her family had been shunned. "There go Bebe's daughters. One touch and you'll melt away. Stay away from Bebe. You could turn into the devil himself."

Bebe became a recluse. My mom and aunt had endured the cruel remarks until they'd escaped to college and afterward, relocated far, far away. My sister, cousins, and I had returned to Somerville after Bebe had died and taken, we'd hoped, all the bad karma with her.

Martha cleared her throat. "Allie, honey, how do you think our mothers met their husbands?"

"No. They didn't." My eyes grew round, and my hand flew to cover my mouth, "Did they?"

"Think about it."

I reached back to the sweet stories we'd been told about how our mothers had met the men of their dreams, our fathers. To the one-carat diamond rings they wore to this day. "No way. Mom and Aunt Shirley told us they met Dad and Uncle Stan in college when they worked at the local diner. They didn't even live in Somerville."

Bitsy nodded. "They found most guys were shallow, lazy, immature creeps. Exactly like what we'd put up with when we were dating."

"They wanted real men who would respect, affirm, and love them, who would work hard to succeed in this world, who had the qualities and values they admired." Paige paused. "Someone they could raise a family with."

"So they snuck back to Bebe's house, built a fire, and did the spell. Presto-chango"—Martha snapped her fingers—"their dream men walked into their lives."

This so was not the story I'd grown up with. All life and energy drained from my body. I felt myself grow pale. "Why didn't—?"

"Mom tell you?" Paige asked.

I dipped my head. "Why?"

"It's a far-fetched account, but, considering our odd background, true. Mom told me about it a while ago, after she'd heard about my latest dating fiasco and my dissatisfaction with dating in general. She said she had an answer for me if I was willing to believe."

"I'm her daughter, too. She never told me."

"Maybe the timing wasn't right. You weren't ready." Paige shrugged. "I was."

"I thought you knew Brad from a fraternity mixer."

"I told you I met him there."

My mother, my aunt, my sister, and my cousins—all—had concealed the truth about how they'd met their husbands. I walked over to the fireplace, raking my fingers to the ends of my shoulder-length hair. Clearly, there is more to my family than I've ever known.

If they lied about this, what else have they lied about? Wicked seeds of betrayal sprouted. Outrage consumed me, growing so hot and furious, it threatened to spew forth, lava-style.

I whirled around. "Thanks for leaving me in the dark. Now I don't know who to trust."

With tears welling in my eyes and hurt pounding in my chest, I grabbed my handbag before they could respond and ran out the door.