Grief was sudden and inescapable, a wave that engulfed her so thoroughly she felt like she was drowning in it. Where had she gone so wrong? What had she done to alienate her children so thoroughly? Liz had a granddaughter. She couldn’t get her mind around it even as her hands trembled at the thought. The child was her own flesh and blood. The earth should have moved when Lucy was born, Liz should have felt the universe shift. Instead, she had lived all these years never knowing, never even suspecting. What was she supposed to do with that?
Liz took a shuddering breath and reached to tuck her hair behind her ears. She was surprised to find her cheeks were damp with tears, the little wisps of face-framing bangs tangled instead of smooth. What a mess. She was a wreck in every way and that only added to her heartbreak.
Wiping the dampness from her cheeks, Liz straightened her spine and looked at her shopping list. There would be time to deal with the secrets and lies, the little girl who shared Nora’s stone-gray eyes. But weeping in the garden section at Walmart would accomplish nothing. Liz did the only thing she knew how to do: she powered through.
Her cart was stocked with party fare and she was just about to check out when it struck her that she wouldn’t have time for a cut and color before the soiree tomorrow night. No, tonight, she realized. Soon there would be the sound of laughter over the water, lights twinkling in the trees as the sun set, long toothpicks layered with cherry tomatoes, fresh mozzarella, and basil from her garden. Determinedly focusing on the things she could control, Liz decided she would wear that cobalt sundress she loved and the strappy sandals with the kitten heels. When she pictured her hair pulled back, her roots showed. How long had it been since she had colored her hair?
Scolding herself roundly for her oversight, Liz steered in the direction of the personal care and cosmetics section. She would never color from a box, but her stylist had once told her that she could refresh the bubbles in her champagne blond with a hair gloss. And yes, Maureen had actually said that: refresh the bubbles in your champagne blond. It had taken all Liz’s self-control not to gape. She was not a mean person, but some people should come with warning labels.
Outrageous claims notwithstanding, a gloss sounded doable.
Liz found the aisle marked Hair Color and was so busy scanning the displays for a box marked gloss that she almost bumped right into the first person, besides a half-asleep cashier, that she had seen on her midnight Walmart excursion.
“Oh!” she cried, surprised, worrying that her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. “I’m sorry! I almost ran you over.”
The girl barely flinched. Nodding slightly, she continued to study the packages of permanent color.
Well, that was rude. Not even a proper hello. They were in Walmart, but it was the Walmart Supercenter in Key Lake, Minnesota, a place where the one-finger wave reigned supreme and everyone was friendly—even out-of-towners. Often, especially out-of-towners. Vacations had a soporific effect on people. Out came the Hawaiian shirts, the laid-back attitude, the expansive friendliness that made them yak for fifteen minutes with a perfect stranger in a shopping store aisle. Apparently, the girl hadn’t read the unofficial handbook.
“You have lovely hair,” Liz told her, trying to see past the curtain of chestnut-colored waves that obscured the stranger’s face. She was determined to eke at least a smile out of her. “I hope the dye isn’t for you.”
She made a noncommittal grunt.
“I’ve always wanted to be a brunette.” Not true. But whatever. Liz was making friends here. Drowning the girl in a little Midwestern nice. Maybe she was the one with the motor home from Florida. Liz had been expecting a couple with gray hair and matching jogging suits. “So, what do you think?” she fished shamelessly. “Could I pull off Dark Golden Mahogany Number 4?”
The girl had no choice but to glance at the box that Liz held in her outstretched hand. Her eyes flicked to Liz’s and she nodded once, a small, curt movement that seemed more like a tic than an expression of her approval. In that moment, Liz realized two things: the girl was older than she had imagined and she was no stranger.
The coltish lines of her body and the length of her thick, dark hair were reminiscent of a teenager, but the woman before Liz was fast approaching thirty. She knew that for a fact.
“Tiffany Barnes,” Liz said slowly. “It has been a very long time, honey.”
Tiffany’s head whipped around and she stared at Liz—for real this time. It was obvious she hadn’t recognized her teenage best friend’s mother. Or, at least, she hadn’t looked closely enough to peg her. And what was that emotion bubbling just below the surface? Fear? Well, that didn’t make sense at all. Liz and Jack Sr. hadn’t exactly embraced the wild child Nora attached herself to like a sister, but she had always been welcome in their home. Even if the welcome was tepid and Tiffany rarely accepted it.
“Well, now, you’re about the last person I expected to bump into tonight,” Liz said. She marched over to where Tiffany stood, cowering, it seemed, and gave her a stiff Sanford hug. The younger woman didn’t return the embrace. Her arms were pinned to her sides, hands still clutching the boxes of permanent hair dye. “How have you been, honey? I don’t think I’ve seen you in . . .” Liz tried to do the math and failed. “Well, it’s been a long time.”
“It has.” Tiffany seemed to have found her voice, finally.
“What have you been up to since high school?”
“Waitressing,” she said without conviction.
“That sounds nice.” It didn’t. Not at all, but then Liz couldn’t exactly cast stones. Nora was a barista, after all. And, apparently, a single mom who thought little of abandoning her child in the care of her somewhat-estranged sister. (A stranger?) Good God in heaven, how long did these girls plan to drag out their adolescence? To make bad choices and force other people to deal with them? By their age Liz had been a married mother of three. And if she hadn’t been mixing bottles of formula and potty training toddlers she would have been an administrative assistant in some respectable office. She had a two-year degree and a long list of excellent referrals to recommend her. Of course, she had never needed them. Mothering and housekeeping and husband-keeping had kept her more than busy. Liz barely had time for her garden and her fabrics and her designs.
“Do you keep in touch with Nora at all?” Liz asked, wondering if maybe there was some private pact these days between women of a certain age to underachieve.
Tiffany just shrugged. “I really should go,” she muttered, shoving the boxes back onto the shelf all helter-skelter. One fell to the ground and she didn’t bother to pick it up.