Last night, Elizabeth and Anita had stayed up late into the night, talking. They didn’t venture again into intimate territory. They simply talked, two women who’d known each other all their lives and yet had never really known each other at all. To their mutual surprise, they’d found a lot of common ground.
In the morning, after a breakfast of poached eggs and toast, they walked along the beach, talking some more. It was a glorious spring day, bursting with sunlight.
Later, while Anita napped, Elizabeth went to town and stocked up on groceries. It was late afternoon by the time she returned home. She picked up her mail, then turned onto Stormwatch Lane.
Out to sea, the first pink and lavender lights of evening were beginning to tint the sky. She parked in the gravel.
Anita was on the porch, staring out at the ocean. She wore a long, flowing white dress and a beautifully knit coral sweater. Her white hair was twisted into a single braid that fell down the middle of her back.
The light was stunning. Perfect. It drizzled over the house like sweet melted butter, softening all the edges. Anita’s face was full of light and shadow right now: sad eyes, smiling mouth, furrowed brow. Her dress seemed to be spun from crushed pearls.
Elizabeth felt a flash of inspiration. “Could I paint you?”
Anita pressed a pale, veiny hand to her chest. “You want to paint my picture?”
“I don’t promise that it’ll be any good. I’ve only just started again. But if you’d be willing—”
“I could sit on that log over there by the cliff.”
Elizabeth turned. Sure enough, there was a perfect log slanted along the edge of the property. In the newly setting sun, it shone with silvery light. Behind it, the gilded ocean stretched to the horizon. It was the exact place she would have chosen, although it might have taken her an hour to make up her mind. And Anita had chosen it in five seconds.
She looked at Anita. “Are you an artist?”
Anita laughed. “No, but I read that book, Girl With a Pearl Earring. The one everyone was talkin’ about.”
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.” Elizabeth raced into the house, seasoned a whole chicken and popped it into the oven alongside a few potatoes and carrots, then put the groceries away and got her painting supplies. She was outside again in less than fifteen minutes.
She set up the easel and got everything ready, then looked around for Anita.
Her stepmother was standing by the log instead of sitting on it. Her back was to Elizabeth. Her arms were crossed—that female self-protective stance Elizabeth knew so well.
The twilight sky was pure magic. Pink, purple, gold, and orange lay in layers above the sparkling silver ocean. In the distance, the gnarled trees were already black.
Anita seemed to be fading before Elizabeth’s eyes, as if the colors in the sky were drawing their strength from her. She was becoming paler and paler; her hair and dress looked almost opalescent.
“Don’t move!”
Elizabeth let pure instinct overtake her. She’d never moved with such speed, such purpose. Mixing colors, slashing lines, trying desperately to capture the lonely beauty of the scene in front of her. Layer upon layer of color, everything taking on a hue that was completely unique.
She painted furiously, desperately, wordlessly, until the last bits of light seeped into the waterline at the edge of the world and disappeared.
It was almost completely dark when she said, “That’s it, Anita. No more for tonight.”
Anita’s body seemed to melt downward and become smaller. Suddenly Elizabeth realized how much she’d asked of the woman. “I’m sorry. Did it hurt to stand so still for so long?”
“I loved every moment of it.”
“You must be starving. I know I am. Come on inside.”
Anita glanced eagerly at the easel. “Can I see it?”
“No.” Elizabeth heard the hard edge to her voice and was instantly contrite. “Sorry. I mean not yet. Is that okay?”
Anita waved her hand in the air. “Of course, honey.”
Elizabeth carried the painting into the house and put it in the walk-in pantry to dry. “Dinner’ll be ready in a while,” she said to Anita; “go on upstairs. Take a hot bath.”
“Darlin’, you read my mind.”
Elizabeth set the table and made the salad, then called for Anita. When there was no answer, she went upstairs and found her stepmother sitting on the end of the bed, holding a small lace-trimmed pillow. Her head was bowed forward. She was so still that for a moment Elizabeth thought she’d nodded off.
“Anita?”
Anita looked up. Her face was pale; in the dull light, her cheekbones created dark hollows in her cheeks. There were tears in her eyes.
Elizabeth sat down on the edge of the bed. “You okay?”
“I guess.”