The tea kettle began to whistle, it’s high-pitched steamy hiss making Lucy wince.  She was in charge tonight.  She was the one to hold forth, to represent all young women everywhere, as the Widows’ Book Club met again.  She wondered if they would find it amusing or impertinent, maybe even juvenile, calling their book club The Widows’ Book Club.  But they were all widows, she argued with herself.  Well, three of them. (more…)