She wrote a quick gone-to-the-beach note, then went outside.
Hugging her canvas supply bag, she climbed down the steps to the beach. The ocean was energetic today, surging forward and back. Thousands of shorebirds circled the distant rocks, cawing loudly.
She left the bag by her rock and kept walking, faster and faster, until it seemed completely natural to break into an easy jog. She took energy from the surf; it made her feel powerful and free. Off in the distance, she could see a pair of box kites sparring with each other in the wind. An osprey flapped down onto its nest in a dead conifer tree.
For a few glorious minutes, she forgot that Anita had shown up last night, dragging a suitcase big enough for a two-month stay.
Finally, she turned around and came back to her spot. Collapsing, breathing hard, she sat down on her flat rock and tucked up her knees, stared out at the endless blue sea. A few diaphanous silver clouds floated across the sky.
It felt good to push herself. After years of ignoring her body, she had finally figured out what really mattered. Who cared if she was a size four or a six or a fourteen? She just wanted to be able to run down the beach and climb up the stairs and ride her bike. Size wasn’t the point; health was.
It didn’t sound like much, but to a woman who’d spent almost thirty years counting calories and wearing control-top panty hose, it was freedom, pure and simple.
“Birdie, honey? Is that you?”
Elizabeth turned. Anita was standing a few feet away, wearing a long floral skirt and a heavy cable-knit white sweater.
Elizabeth reluctantly scooted sideways on the flat rock. “Here. There’s plenty of room.”
Anita sat down beside Elizabeth. “Whew! Those stairs are a killer. No wonder you’ve lost weight.”
Elizabeth turned. “I have?”
“At least ten pounds, honey. Your clothes hang on you.” Her mouth tightened in disapproval. “ ’Course the baggy sweats you’ve been wearing would hang on Mama Cass.”
There it was again, the familiar sniping and criticism that had stained their relationship for years. Just smile and go on, she thought, or it’ll be a long visit. “I guess exercising was the key all along.”
“I do yoga myself.”
Elizabeth hadn’t known that. Come to think of it, she didn’t know much about Anita’s life apart from Edward. She jumped on that; it gave them something to talk about. “What else do you do? At home, I mean.”
“Regular things, I guess. I belong to a book club that meets once a month. Last month we read The Hours. I play bridge with the girls every Thursday morning. I volunteer at the women’s shelter on Tuesdays. I knit enough afghans to cover a small country. ’Course your daddy took up most o’ my time.” She stopped, fell silent for a long time. Then, softly, she said, “I don’t dream about him. Every night I go t’ bed, waitin’ to see him … but he doesn’t come.”
Elizabeth knew that feeling. “I’ve waited my whole life to dream about Mama. It’s never happened.”
“It’s like losin’ him a second time,” Anita said. After another long pause, she added, “I always knew I’d outlive him. I thought I was prepared for it. What a fool I was. You can’t prepare for losin’ someone you love.”
Elizabeth knew there was nothing for her to say. Grief was like the ocean in front of them; waves kept rolling toward you, and sometimes, the tide swelled high enough to pull you under. Usually, it had to be handled alone, in the dark, when you were most afraid. But maybe Anita had come to Echo Beach because the dark was too quiet. Maybe she needed to talk about Daddy. “How did you and Daddy meet?” Elizabeth asked.
Anita gave her a grateful smile. “I was working in the beauty salon. Lordy, I still remember the first time I saw him. He looked like a Saturday-matinee hero, with his shaggy black hair and dark eyes. He had a mustache in those days, and his eyes were dark as night. I turned to my friend, Mabel, and said, ‘Oh, baby, will you look at that.’ ” She sighed. “I reckon I fell in love with him right then. ’Course, he barely noticed me at all.”
Elizabeth frowned. Daddy had shaved off that mustache the year after Mama died. He’d never worn one since. “When was that?”
Anita didn’t look at her. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You knew my mother,” Elizabeth said suddenly, straightening.
Anita started to speak—to deny it, Elizabeth was certain. But when their eyes met, Anita sighed heavily and slumped forward. “Not really. She was with him that day, though. Mabel cut her hair.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“Me? Naw. I was just out of beauty school. No one paid me much mind.”
“Tell me about her.”