With each passing day, Elizabeth felt a little more confident. She could sleep alone now; that didn’t sound like much. Certainly millions of women did it every night, but to her, a woman who’d slept with the same man for all of her adult life, it was something.
She was no longer afraid to eat out alone. Yesterday, she’d had breakfast at the Wild Rose, all by herself. She even tried tofu.
Today, she was determined to try painting again.
She grabbed her down coat off the hook by the front door and reached for the black canvas bag that held her painting supplies. She kept it filled with charcoal and paper, paint and brushes, and hope.
Outside, the air was crisp and cold. She crossed the porch and paused at the top of the stairs. The ocean was a smear of pastel gray and lavender. The grass in her yard looked like a patch of Christmas felt, tacked down here and there by the snow-white mushrooms that had sprouted overnight. A pair of cormorants flew overhead, circling lazily.
She flipped her hood up and walked across the squishy carpet of lawn, trying to avoid the pretty mushrooms. At the top of the beach stairs, she stopped and looked down.
It was high tide.
Disappointed, she sat down on the damp top step. White breakers bashed themselves against the rocky outcropping at the base of the cliff, spraying foam. Every now and again, she felt a sprinkle of spindrift on her face.
It reminded her of a time, years ago, when Daddy had taken her boating in the Florida Keys. Mr. Potter had offered Daddy the use of a speedboat to pay off a debt, and Daddy had thought, why not? how hard could it be to drive on water?—and off they’d gone.
It had been a disaster, of course. Every time they came into port, Elizabeth had had to lie on the bow and push them away from other boats. Bumper boating, he’d called it.
Elizabeth smiled at the memory.
“Birdie?”
Elizabeth twisted around.
Meghann was standing beside her mud-coated black Porsche Boxster. Her designer jeans and black cashmere sweater were streaked by rain, and her hair was so frizzy it looked as if she’d had shock treatments. “Are you aware that it’s raining?”
“Meg!” Elizabeth stood up, grabbed her bag, and ran. When Meg pulled her into a bear hug, it was almost impossible to let go.
“Don’t you dare start crying. Now, get me under a roof somewhere, preferably with a drink in my hand.”
Elizabeth clutched Meg’s hand and led her through the gray yard.
“On the way here, I think I saw a fish swimming across the road.”
Laughing, Elizabeth led her into the house, then built a fire and got out her only alcohol. A box of wine.
Meghann looked at the box. “This is worse than I thought. You have clearly confused me with a local. Wait here.” She marched out of the house and returned a minute later with a suitcase, which she flopped onto the coffee table and opened. “Shoes come in boxes; wine comes in bottles.” She burrowed through her clothes and pulled out a bottle of tequila. “After that poor-me letter you sent, I figured we might need this.”
“You’re the best friend a girl could have.”
They each drank two straight shots before another word was spoken. Finally, Meghann scooted back and leaned against the sofa. “So, kiddo, how the hell are you?”
Elizabeth sighed. “It’s pathetic, Meg. For years, I dreamed of starting my life over, but now I’m too alone. I’m scared to death. What if I’ve done the wrong thing? What if—”
“Everything you’re going through is normal, believe me. It’ll get better.”
“Tell me you can do better than fortune-cookie scribblings.”
“You don’t normally want my advice. I’m too harsh.”
“I know, but I’m desperate now. What would you tell me if I were a client?”
“Get out your checkbook.”
“Very funny. Come on, help me.”
Meghann leaned toward her. “I’d tell you that sometimes decisions are made too quickly. You’ve loved Jack for a long time.”
“You mean go back to him.” Elizabeth had thought that herself, mostly at night when loneliness and fear crept into bed with her. She knew it would be easier to go back. But she was tired of taking the easy road. “It was like living in quicksand, Meg. I was getting pulled under; more and more of me was disappearing. I can’t go back to that.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“In Tennessee I wrote him a letter. It just said I didn’t want to move to New York, that I was going back to Oregon.”
“Just?”
Elizabeth ignored that. “When he got here, I told him I needed some time alone. That’s actually as far as I thought it through.”
“I take it Jack saw the big picture.”
“He used the word ‘divorce.’ I hadn’t even thought it.”
“Jesus, Birdie, what did you expect? He’s a man, for God’s sake. You abandoned him, refused to follow him. It’s like ripping their balls off.”