Page 43 of The Lonely Hearts Book Club

Sloane rolled her eyes. “He’s the well-dressed Filipino guy you send into hiding every time you walk in the door. I think he’ll enjoy a chance to participate in our club. He’s always saying he wants to expand his literary horizons.”

Something about the way Sloane said this last bit, with the air of a speech that had been rehearsed inside her head, made me avoid saying what was on my lips:Yes! Of course! The more of us there are, the harder the group will be to disband!

“But we already have four people,” Arthur protested. “And you all take up too much space as it is. All you ever seem to do is breathe and eat.”

Since there was a backup oxygen tank behind the hospital bed in the corner, and I was the one supplying most of the food, I didn’t see how this was a fair complaint, but Greg spoke up before I could say anything.

“I’m not here as part of the book club.”

“You still breathe and eat,” Arthur pointed out.

Greg grunted. “So do you.”

“Not as much as you,” Arthur retorted. “Anyone who lumbers and hulks around the way you do is using up more than his fair share.”

As this was a singularly needless—and needlessly cruel—argument, Sloane held up her phone. “It doesn’t matter because I already sent Mateo a text to invite him. He’s so excited that I doubt we could keep him away now.”

“Ha!” Arthur’s laugh contained no mirth. “That shows what you know. We can make Greg kick him out. Otherwise, what’s the point of having a lumbering, hulking—”

It was my turn to interrupt.

“Have we picked a book out for next time?” Mimicking Sloane’s movements, I held up my copy ofThe Remains of the Day. “I only have about fifty pages left, so I’m hoping to get a jump start on the next one. Or at least to hunt down some SparkNotes before we get in too deep.”

Sloane shook her head. “Not yet. I think we should let Mateo pick since he’ll be new to the group.”

“Oh my God.” Arthur heaved an audible groan. “I’ve seen what he puts out on the shelves. Coffee-table books written by the ghostwriters of D-list celebrities. You might as well have us read cookbooks and be done with it.”

Sloane sat back with a whoosh, unable to keep a triumphant smile from touching her lips.

“What?” Arthur demanded. “Why are you grinning at me like the Cheshire cat?”

“Because I was right. Youdoknow who Mateo is.”

***

“What’s going on with your friend Mateo?” I asked as soon as I got Sloane alone. Cornering her in the bathroom was a risky move, since we’d left Arthur and Greg to square off over a coffee cake, but I was dying to know what she was up to. “Does he really want to join our book club?”

“I don’t know,” Sloane said, careful to avoid both my eyes and her own reflection in the mirror. “I haven’t asked him yet. That bit about the text was a lie.”

“Do you want me to do it? I can be very persuasive when I want to be. The trick is to ask at inconvenient times. You’re much more likely to get a ‘yes’ out of people when they’re late for work in the morning or waiting for their turn in line at the DMV.”

Sloane laughed in that special way of hers, even though I wasn’ttechnicallymaking a joke. “Maisey, you’re a treasure and a delight, but no. I should handle this one on my own. Mateo is terrified of Arthur. It’s going to take every amount of bribery and charm I have to get him to agree.”

“Um…are you sure we really want him, then?”

“Oh, we want him.” She leaned forward confidentially. “Before becoming a librarian, Mateo worked as a nurse. Aregisterednurse.”

“No way.” I grabbed both of Sloane’s hands and squeezed them much harder than the situation warranted, but what else could I do? I’d never felt so relieved in all my life. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“Because I only just remembered.” She winced. “To be honest, I try to avoid thinking too much about the library.”

I clucked my tongue with ready sympathy. “You miss it?”

“So much it’s a physical ache.”

She sounded so forlorn that I was tempted to lock the bathroom door and demand more information. Even if we had the time, however, I didn’t think I’d get much out of her. Greg might have been willing to sit next to me and tell his life story for no reason other than because I asked, but Sloane was a lot more closed off than that.

It was funny, when you thought about it. From the outside, Sloane looked about twenty times more approachable than Greg. She was a soft, sweet doll of a human being who seemed to be folded up in bubble wrap. But the more time I spent under this roof, the more I realized how much she and Arthur had in common.