The Red Hat Society's Queens of Woodlawn Avenue by Regina Hale Sutherland

weed because it’s hardy, tenacious, and outgrows other kinds of plants.” She paused for a moment. “Not much of a reward for
     thriving where others can’t, huh?”
    Were my conversations with Grace always going to have this many levels? Between that and the hot sun, my head swam.
    “So that’s why the only way to tell them apart is to have someone show you the difference?”
    “Yes. But you also have to remember that what makes a weed is only a matter of opinion.”
    “Point taken, Grace.”
    Because of course that’s how I’d been feeling since the separation. Like a hothouse flower that had suddenly been declared
     a nuisance. I bent over next to Grace again and wrapped my gloved fingers around several long, green stalks. “Weed or plant?”
    Grace looked over. “Weed. Definitely.”
    “All right, then.” I yanked it up with a newfound ruth-lessness. “Just keep an eye on me so I don’t kill the real thing.”
    “I plan to.” Grace smiled again, and we spent the next hour pulling up the unwanted plants in companionable silence.

CHAPTER FIVE
The Power of the Trump Suit
    B y that evening, every muscle in my body ached from bending over flower beds all day. My joints screamed in protest when I
     pulled off my grimy T-shirt and faded khakis and stepped into the shower. The ancient plumbing ran as hot and cold as my life
     at the moment. Relief and hope morphed with breathless rapidity into stretches of panic and fear. Maybe this house was the
     right one for me after all.
    I had just stepped out of the shower when the phone rang. Wrapping a threadbare towel that had seen better days around me
     as far as it would go, I padded down the hall to the kitchen where the phone was. Thankfully, all the curtains were closed.
     Jane and Grace, as helpful as they’d been, probably didn’t want to see their new neighbor in the buff.
I
didn’t even want to see me in the altogether; gravity had more than taken its toll in the years since my virginal wedding
     night with Jim.
    I caught the phone between slippery fingers and fumbled with the receiver until I wrestled it to my ear. “Hello?”
    “Ellie? It’s Linda. Sorry for the short notice, but it’s an emergency chapter meeting. The Queens are going to play bridge
     tonight.”
    “Tonight?” My gaze flew to the clock on the counter. It was already after six.
    “We’re celebrating your terrific start on your new life.”
    Terrific start?
    I hadn’t accomplished much except to swindle my husband out of a suit, make phone calls to my son about the website and to
     my friend who owned the print shop, and give myself the beginnings of carpal tunnel syndrome with all the weed pulling. Hardly
     a day’s worth of revolutionary activities.
    “You don’t have to bring anything,” Linda said, not waiting for a response from me. “Be at my house at seven.”
    “I still don’t have a red hat.” I don’t know why I said that, but Linda just laughed.
    “Well, I may not have as many of them as Jane, but I bet we can find one here that will suit you. Oh, and wear something purple.
     That’s one of our requirements, too.”
    Purple? Oy. I’d planned to spend the evening doing my nails in preparation for the big luncheon tomorrow, but I decided I
     could wait and do that the next morning. Truthfully, I was tired of spending evenings alone on my decrepit couch clutching
     a pint container of Häagen Daaz and a spoon. Even wearing purple clothes and a red hat seemed a preferable alternative if
     it got me away from overdosing on butter pecan.
    “Okay, I guess. I can be there.”
    “Great. We’ll see you at seven.”
    We said good-bye, and I returned the receiver to its cradle. Then I made a beeline for my room and began to pull clothes out
     of my closet, searching for something purple. The towel slipped and I let it go, but I was careful to avoid my reflection
     in the full length mirror on the back of the bedroom door.
    T onight, we’re going to teach you about