Kindred Spirits (11 page)

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Authors: Sarah Strohmeyer

BOOK: Kindred Spirits
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So, they made an arrangement to meet in the parking lot and here she was, dressed to the hilt, proving she was as fine as frog’s hair. Never better.
Twenty years.
Jeff’s black BMW pulled up to the station. The passenger window lowered and he leaned over. “Hello,” he said.
“Hey.” She smiled.
He got out and opened the door. “
Entrez-vous
. There’s a triple venti latte waiting for you, light soy. I figure while you’re waiting for Beth and Mary Kay, you might as well get coffeed up.”
Coffeed up
. Their term for their morning ritual of getting up before the kids and welcoming the day with French roast and
The New York Times
in the sunroom overlooking the lake.
Jeff took the bag from her hands and laid it in the trunk and then got back behind the wheel, parking so they’d have an unobstructed view of the station.
“Your shoes are in the back.” He gestured to a white plastic bag from which protruded two black stilettos. “I had no idea you’d be a pallbearer. It was a touching choice on Lynne’s part.” He sipped his own coffee and fiddled with the heater.
“You didn’t show up at the graveyard. How come?”
“Amanda.” He seemed slightly embarrassed by this. “She insisted on making the noon train, so we had to hightail it out of there. Midterms.”
This was a white lie and they both knew it. The truth was Amanda couldn’t stand to be around her mother. Carol glanced out the window, resolving not to let this latest rejection get to her. If only there were a way to reach her daughter.
Jeff touched her coat lightly. “Don’t give it another thought. You know how kids are.”
Changing the subject, he said, “You look good, Carol. Healthy.” If he noticed the earrings, his fifteenth wedding anniversary present, he chose to keep that to himself. “How’ve you been?”
“OK. Considering.”
“It was a nice funeral.”
“Yes. Lynne gave it a lot of thought.”
“Nice flowers. Were they from her garden?”
“I think so.”
God, this was awful
. She didn’t know how to hold a decent conversation with her own ex. Why must they always be so stiff and formal? She wished they could talk, really talk.
But all she could say was, “I’m glad it stopped raining.”
Jeff checked out the window. “Me too, except it’s been a pretty dry fall. Lots of fire warnings.”
“Jeff. . .”
“Carol . . .”
Carol blushed. “Sorry. You go.”
He breathed in and out deeply. “Look, I know this is probably not the best time, coming on the heels of Lynne’s death.”
She gripped her latte so tightly the thin cardboard began to buckle.
“But ever since the divorce, I’ve been thinking.”
“Yes?”
“There are so many memories I have, so many great memories of our family.”
She felt her stomach stir and chalked it up to the fact that she hadn’t eaten yet.
“I hate to leave, but. . .”
She blinked in confusion.
Leave?
“How do I say this? I thought you should know that I’ve taken steps to sell the house. Already we have two offers and I haven’t officially put it on the market.”
The coffee nearly slipped from her hand. Sell the house?
That house represented their entire family history, from the gardens where Amanda and Jon had hunted for Easter eggs in their adorable spring outfits to the backyard where they threw the annual neighborhood Fourth of July party with greased watermelon races in the lake and fireworks over the waters of Kindlewah.
Together, they’d stripped the wallpaper and repainted the kids’ rooms and knocked down a wall to build a nursery for Jon. They’d added a balcony for Amanda and repainted every inch of that molding. That house had been their labor of love. Their
home
.
She replaced the coffee in the cup holder, afraid her unsteadiness would lead to a spill that might ruin the camel coat. “Why now?”
“The judge wanted us to do it a year ago. The only reason we held off was because of the kids.”
“And now they’re OK?”
“I’m sure they will be. They’ve already moved out. Jonathan’s clear across the country in Portland and Amanda keeps talking about going back to France after that incredible junior year she had.” He ran a hand through his straight blond hair. “As hard as it is to believe, they’re adults now.”
“But it’s our house, Jeff.” Carol searched for concrete arguments as to why he shouldn’t sell it and, much to her distress, couldn’t think of one. “Where will everyone go for Christmas?”
He shrugged. “How about your place? Carol, think about it. With your half of the money from the sale, you’ll be able to put down a sizable deposit on a pretty decent Upper East Side co-op.”
She didn’t want a “pretty decent” co-op on the Upper East Side. “What will you do? It makes no sense selling a house here and then buying a smaller one. And it’s not like Marshfield’s overrun with apartments.”
“Well, that’s the thing.” He studied his gloved hands. “Like I said, I’m ready to leave.”
This took a second or so to comprehend. Oh my God, she thought, quelling a wave of alarm, those weren’t euphemisms. He was actually talking about going away. Away from the kids and their home—away from
her
.
“You mean, you want to leave Marshfield.”
“Yes. That’s the idea.”
She thought back to that sultry summer afternoon when they stumbled upon the village that would soon become their home, the glow of the setting sun on Jeff’s handsome face as he talked about Marshfield being a place where they could grow old together, where their grandchildren could run through fields and catch butterflies.
“I might come back. Someday. But look, I’m only fifty, Carol, and there’s so much I want to do. Murray Schwartz has been working with Doctors Without Borders in Africa, and this winter he’s going to Haiti. He’s asked me to come along, and. . . you know, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
Carol’s mind suddenly went black. All she heard was that Jeff was selling their house and leaving her alone in New York. Their family truly was shattered, as Amanda said.
And it was Carol’s fault.
There was a beep and they both startled. Beth and Mary Kay were a mere few feet away, waving at them from the Highlander. “I better go,” she said, grabbing her shoes from the back.
“So I have your OK to take the best offer?” He hustled out to fetch her bag from the trunk.
“I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure? I don’t mean to be pushy, but you’ve been grousing for months about not having enough money to start your new life. Now’s your chance.”
“I know, but. . .”
“But what, Carol?” He wasn’t mad as much as mildly annoyed, which was about as agitated as Jeff ever got. “This is the final part of the divorce agreement you requested. I didn’t want to get divorced. I was perfectly satisfied with how we were.” Though increasingly upset, he kept his voice appropriately low. “You were the one who felt trapped, remember?”
Carol winced. Had she said that. . .
really?
What had she been, a 1970s housewife?
“Do you know how hard it’s been adjusting to life after you split for no reason? How depressed I’ve been? Now, when I finally find something that’ll let me put my talents to productive use and go forward, you’re holding me back.” He gave the trunk a hard slam. “That’s rich.”
She hadn’t realized the suffering she’d caused Jeff, her entire family, by simply pursuing her own dreams. And she couldn’t help but resent him, slightly, for making her feel guilty.
Even if he was right.
It was so confusing. She missed their life together. She loved her work. She loved her children. She longed for the peace and quiet of Marshfield, and yet she relished her independence in the city, too.
And then there was Scott, so fantastic in his own right.
It was too much at once. She couldn’t think straight.
“I apologize,” she said, racking her brain to come up with a stall tactic. “Let’s talk to the kids before we make any rash decisions. Even if we overrule them, at least they’ll have a chance to register their opinions.”
Jeff mulled this over. “Good idea. I’ll get in touch with Jonathan. Should I call Amanda, too?”
She wasn’t certain he was aware that Amanda refused to take her phone calls. But this would be a legitimate reason for them to talk. “I’ll handle Amanda. I’ll call her this evening and get back to you.”
“How about six p.m. Sunday night?”
Carol pulled out her iPhone and made a note. “Six p.m. it is.”
“And then?. . .” He cocked his head gently.
“If Amanda agrees, you can sell the house. If that’s what you want.”
“Thank you.” He held out his hand and they shook. “Have a safe trip.”
They said good-bye and she watched him get into the car and pull away, feeling as if a coffin were closing once and for all on the life she’d left behind.
Chapter Seven
“W
ow! Can you believe we’re actually doing this?” Mary
Kay riding shotgun gave Beth behind the wheel a little pinch.
Beth rubbed her arm, feigning pain. “Ow!”
“Sorry, it’s just that I’m so excited to get away. Think about it. No men or bosses. Only the open road and the three of us.” Mary Kay spun around, her black curls bouncing to keep up. “Aren’t you excited, Carol? Two years we’ve been apart and now we’re together again like nothing’s changed.”
Carol was staring out the window in a daze, her laptop open before her.
Beth flashed Mary Kay a knowing glance. Carol had been lost in thought all morning, ever since she said good-bye to Jeff at the train station. Supposedly, he’d stopped by to drop off her shoes, but Beth wondered if there was more to the story.
Switching lanes, Beth said, “You know what happened to me this morning? I woke up and realized this would be my first day without doing something for Lynne. I didn’t even want to get out of bed.”
Carol closed her laptop and put it aside. “They say that’s the hardest phase of grief, when everyone goes home and life gets back to normal.”
“Except, then I remembered our trip.” Beth held up her finger. “And I thought, aha! Today won’t be so bad after all.”
“Because we’re anything but normal, right?” Mary Kay said.
“Exactly.” Beth smiled. “Leave it to Lynne to know exactly what we’d need. Could you imagine what it’d be like if you went back to New York, Carol, and Mary Kay and I got on with our same routines? It just wouldn’t feel right.”
“And this way,” Mary Kay said, “we can toast Lynne every night.” She patted the red Igloo cooler.
Carol leaned forward. “You didn’t.”
“Sure, I did. Lynne told us to. Didn’t she, Beth?”
Beth agreed. “Right there in the letter. Martinis are a must.”
Carol opened the cooler and examined the extensive collection of oddly shaped bottles, a copy of DeeDee Patterson’s cookbook, and Mary Kay’s hand-painted martini glasses. “It’s an entire bar.”
“Only the essentials,” she said matter-of-factly. “Gin. Vodka. Vermouth. Though where would we be without Domaine de Canton and limoncello, not to mention good old Cointreau? And Framboise, of course.”
“Of course.” Carol removed a dark bottle of Godiva chocolate liqueur. “And this?”
“For chocolate-raspberry martinis. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”
“I
love
those,” Beth gushed. “Marc and I make them every Valentine’s Day.”
Personally, Carol thought they were way too sweet, even if it was hard to resist the hard dark chocolate coating around the rim of the martini glass—a technique that set the professionals apart from the amateurs. “Maybe I should try one on Scott.”
“Yes, do tell us about this Scott,” Mary Kay said, replacing the chocolate liqueur and closing the Igloo securely, as if it were carrying precious cargo.
“There’s not much to say.” Except there was. “We’ve known each other since forever, before I met Jeff even.” This, in Carol’s mind, exempted him from the status of home wrecker. “He’s about five years older than I am, and he’s a widower. His wife died long ago from a brain aneurysm.”
“His résumé is fascinating, I’m sure,” Mary Kay said, resting her chin on the back of her seat. “But what about the guy himself? Does he have a good sense of humor? Is he cheap? Extravagant? Eats crackers in bed?”
Carol’s lips twitched. “Gee, Mary Kay, why don’t you come right out and ask if the sex is good.”
“All right. Is the sex good?” Her gray eyes twinkled.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You wouldn’t?” Mary Kay frowned. “That’s no fun. You know, I’m only on this trip for the sex. Isn’t that true, Beth?”
Beth, trying her best to pass a hog of a tractor trailer, said, “I’m here for Lynne.”
“Granted. But if Lynne were here, you’d have to admit, she’d have come for the sex too.”
“Knowing Lynne, sure.” Beth passed the tractor trailer at last and slowed, her heart thumping in her chest.
“Well, I hate to be a party pooper, but we haven’t slept together,” Carol said. “We were supposed to the night of the funeral—Scott had a whole evening planned with a home-cooked dinner and a bubble bath—but it didn’t quite work out. Kind of wasn’t in the mood after . . . you know.”
“Seeing Jeff?” Mary Kay raised an eyebrow.
“No! I wasn’t in the mood after burying Lynne.”
“Oh.”
Beth said, “Pay no attention to the woman behind the car seat, Carol. She’s just stirring up trouble ’cause she’s bored.”
“Mom?” Mary Kay whined. “How much longer until we get there?” She slipped off her leather gloves to get a Diet Coke out of the cooler and all of a sudden Carol’s relationship with Scott was jettisoned to the back burner.
“Mary Kay!” Beth exclaimed. “You didn’t!”
Mary Kay checked her seat. “Uh-oh. What did I do wrong now?”

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