An attractive African-American woman in an electric blue business suit stood slightly apart from the others. Her eyes were swollen as if she’d been crying. I imagined she was grieving about the doctor, but she could just as easily have had a fight with her husband. Or suffered from allergies.
Lionel coughed discreetly and the chattering stopped. “Ladies!”
All seven heads swiveled in our direction. Lionel cleared his throat. “Ladies, this is Hannah Ives. She’s interested in joining your group.”
A tall woman with long, thick salt-and-pepper hair set against dark olive skin, heavily made up to mask old acne scars, rose to greet me. “Welcome, Hannah. I’m Joy Emerson and this is Toni, Claudia, Suzanne, Mindy, JoAnne, and Gwen,” she said, pointing at each of the women in turn.
I wondered if
