Finally, the meeting broke up. Elizabeth stood around for a few minutes, talking to the women; then she went back to her car.
She was almost to the parking lot when she noticed Kim, standing off by herself, smoking a cigarette.
Elizabeth hesitated for a moment. In her previous life, she would never have ventured into another person’s pain. She would have kept her distance, been respectful.
Across the darkness, in the blue-white glare of a streetlamp, she looked at Kim. Their gazes met.
Elizabeth went to her. When she was closer, she saw tear tracks on Kim’s pale face. “You want a cigarette?”
“No, thanks.”
They stood there, silent, each one staring out toward the parking lot. Smoke scented the cool air.
“You ever go to the sand castle competition on Cannon Beach?” Kim asked, exhaling smoke.
“Sure.” She knew the competition well; every local did. People came from miles around to build exquisite, intricate sculptures. Everything from castles to mermaids. Each entry looked beautiful and permanent, but by morning, the sea had taken them all back.
She understood. Kim had thought, as Elizabeth once had, that marriage was solid ground. But it was all sand. Here one minute, shaped into magical forms, and gone the next.
Kim looked at her. “Sarah thinks I’m scared. That I’m afraid to hope.”
“We’re all afraid.”
“I guess.” Kim tossed her cigarette down and stomped it out with her boot heel. “Well. See you next week.”
“I’ll be here.”
Kim walked away, got in a pretty blue Miata, and drove away.
Elizabeth followed her. Out on the highway, their paths diverged.
Elizabeth drove down the highway. On Stormwatch Lane, she stopped, pulled her mail out of the box, and then continued down the road for home.
By the time she parked, it was raining again.
Inside the house, she tossed her shawl on the kitchen table and flipped through the mail. There was a big manila envelope from Meghann.
She ripped it open. College catalogs fell out onto the table. Columbia. NYU. SUNY. Three of the graduate programs that had accepted Elizabeth all those years ago.
A Post-it note read: you can’t say you don’t have time now.
Elizabeth avoided talking to her daughters. She carefully called during school hours or when swim practice was going on, and left cheerful messages that sounded as if everything were unfolding as it always had. Dad was doing great in New York, lighting up the airwaves; Mom was working hard to get the place ready for renters. Lies that stacked like a house of cards.
She glanced at the mantel clock. It was one-forty-five.
Four-forty-five in Washington, D.C.
They’d be in swim practice right now. Saturday was the big meet against UVa.
Coward, Elizabeth thought as she punched in the number. She was so busy devising her pert, upbeat message that it took her a moment to realize Stephanie had answered.
“Hello?”
Elizabeth laughed nervously. “Hey, honey, it’s good to hear your voice. I’ve been thinking about you guys a lot lately.”
“Hey, Mom.” Stephanie sounded tired. “Your uterine-radar must be working. I’m sick.”
“What’s wrong?”
A pause slid through the line, and in that split second, Elizabeth imagined the worst. Motherhood was like that; it pushed you out on a ledge and then said, Be careful. Don’t look down.
“Don’t call nine-one-one or anything. I just have the stomach flu. Everything that goes down comes right back up.”
“Is Jamie taking care of you?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s her specialty. This morning she said, ‘If you think you’re going to puke, aim away from my new shoes.’ ”
Elizabeth laughed. It was so Jamie. “I’m sure you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”
“I hope so. Hey, Mom, I’m glad you called. I need to talk to you about something. Tim’s parents invited Jamie and me to go skiing over spring break. They have a place in Vermont. It’s the second week in March.”
Thank God.
Elizabeth had been worrying about how she and Jack would handle the separation with the girls at home. It was one thing to avoid the truth by phone. It was quite another to lie to your children in person. “That sounds great.”
“It’s kind of expensive. Lift tickets—”
“Your dad can afford it.” Elizabeth winced. She should have said We can afford it.
“It’d be the first spring break we haven’t come home. Are you okay with that?”
Sweet Stephie, always worried about hurting people’s feelings. Elizabeth had a sudden urge to say, Break a few eggs, honey, be courageous, but instead she said, “I’ll miss you, of course, but you should go. Have fun.”
“Thanks, Mom. So, how’s it going with the house? You must be going crazy. Every time I call Dad, he sounds so amped about Manhattan. You must really miss him.”
“I do,” Elizabeth said, flinching at her word choice.