by Laura Wolfe
“Well, if it isn’t Gloria Flass. I haven’t seen you in ages!”
My head jerked up, my body startled by the familiar, screechy voice. Even before I saw her sculpted hair and bejeweled sandals, I knew Mary Ellen Calloway had encroached upon my space. She flashed her mechanical grin and gave me a hollow hug, the kind reserved for people you don’t really know or like. My fingers squeezed the handle of my shopping cart as my mouth forced a smile.
Mary Ellen leaned back, gawking at Ethan. “And is this… No, it can’t be! Ethan?”
Ethan nodded his head and smiled. “Hi.”
I noticed the boyish way he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor. The fake tone of Mary Ellen’s voice made him uncomfortable, too.
“I can’t wait to tell Lacey I ran into you.” Mary Ellen’s fingers fidgeted with the giant beads on her necklace. “We have a mother-daughter brunch together every Sunday after church. She’s pregnant again, you know. It will be grandbaby number eight.”
“Wow.” Ethan raised his eyebrows. “Congratulations.”
“And where are you living again? Was it San Francisco?” Mary Ellen asked.
I sucked in my breath, gritting my teeth at the smug tone of her voice, and the way she was digging for dirt she could later use against us.
“Yeah,” Ethan said.
“How is that?”
“It’s great,” Ethan said. “I love it.”
While Mary Ellen tolerated a don’t ask, don’t tell policy, I no longer did. That archaic way of thinking was hurtful to Ethan. When given the choice between love and hate, choose love. I’d chosen love for my son. While I’d never accused her, I suspected Mary Ellen was the one who’d left the pamphlet under my coat. She was nothing more than a schoolyard bully. Someone who took verses from the Bible and twisted them to fit her personal agenda. Someone who left a lonely widow’s name off the decorating committee list just because she could. Someone who enjoyed excluding anyone different from herself. Bullies never stopped tormenting others until they were confronted. I’d read that in The Thirty-Day Life Coach, but I’d known it all along. I stepped closer to Ethan, my instinct to protect taking over.
“He’s very happy in California. He has a terrific job and a wonderful boyfriend named Sean. I’ve heard so much about him. I’m hoping to meet him in person soon.”
Mary Ellen’s complexion lost its rosy glow. “Oh, well…”
She was at a loss for words for what I guessed was the first time in her life.
Ethan glanced at me with his mouth ajar, as if I’d just performed a double backflip off the side of the grocery cart. He placed his hand on top of mine and squeezed, acknowledging my feat. My chest swelled with pride for my son. He had more character, compassion, and grace in his little finger than possessed by Mary Ellen Calloway’s entire extended family.
I saw so much of Charlie in him. And me. I was in him, too. I couldn’t fathom what had taken me so long to come around to Ethan’s side. So slow to admit I’d been wrong? I’d been so insecure that I’d lived my life trying to please other people, people who I didn’t even care about. I was a different person now. A strong woman who did right by the ones she loved. A mother whose son could be proud of her.
“See you at church.” I collected the bag of shrimp and pushed my cart past Mary Ellen’s gaping mouth. I planned to sit in the front pew next Sunday, “taking back my power” as Beth had put it. Ethan strode next to me, pinching his lips together, trying not to smile.
“You should have seen the look on her face.” Ethan heaped another spoonful of paella onto his plate.
Our two dinner guests, Joe and Beth, sat across the table. Ethan’s eyes crinkled in the corners as they met mine and I thought again of how handsome he was.
I couldn’t mask my grin. “I finally figured out how to get Mary Ellen Calloway to shut up: talk to her about my gay son.” The others chuckled and nodded.
Beth recounted the details of her police interview, which had gone even better than I’d imagined. They’d decided not to charge her for any crimes related to Jason’s Ponzi scheme, convinced by her successful efforts to repay all those who’d been swindled. Her actions matched her story of trying to stay one step ahead of Vic’s threats. After describing the end of the meeting with the detective, Beth’s demeanor suddenly changed.
“I kept a few things to myself.”
“Not every detail needs to be revealed,” Joe said, winking at Beth. “That’s a little something I learned in art school.”
I leaned back in my chair.
Beth gave us a sad smile. “Caroline reached out to Ella’s parents yesterday. She said it was something she had to do.”
I nodded, unable to imagine the guilt Beth and her sister must be feeling. “You and Caroline are lucky to have each other.”
“She’s a good person. The best sister. After hearing what she did, I drove to Amanda’s parents’ house to talk to them,” Beth said.
Everyone ceased chewing and peered at her. I shouldn’t have been surprised by Beth’s gesture, yet her unannounced visit so soon after Amanda’s death seemed ill-advised.
“They live about forty minutes from here,” Beth said. “I felt like I owed it to them to stop by in person and offer my condolences.”
I swallowed, nervous to hear how she’d been received.
“I expected them to yell at me, but they didn’t.” Beth’s eyes became glassy. “They hugged me and cried. Said it wasn’t my fault, and that Jason and Vic were responsible for Amanda’s death, not me. Amanda had told them we were becoming good friends.” Beth’s voice cracked.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said.
The memory of the two murdered women weighed so heavily in the room I almost pulled two extra chairs up to the table, one for each of their ghosts. Their faces would be etched in my mind until my final breath.
Beth dabbed her mouth with her napkin and looked away. “I’m going to help Amanda’s parents with the memorial service.” She looked at me. “That is, if you don’t mind me parking my house here for a while longer?”
Pinching my lips together and tipping my chair back slightly, I tried to conceal my delight amid the heavy atmosphere. With Ethan leaving in the morning, it would be especially nice to have Beth around. Judging by her puffy eyes and her fragile emotional state, she could also use a friend. “Of course not, dear. You can stay as long as you like.”
A smile flickered across Beth’s face and she slouched down in her chair. “Thank you, Gloria.”
“What about me, Gloria?” Joe asked in a teasing voice. “Can I stay as long as I like?”
The glint in his eyes and the crazy trajectory of his hair made me chuckle. “You can stay, Joe, but you’ll need to pay upfront.”
“In cash,” Ethan added.
“I decided I’ll let you fix those windows for me, too.” I winked at Joe.
Everyone laughed, finally breaking the morbid spell cast around us. It was nice to see Beth smiling, despite what she’d been through. She was even tougher than I’d realized.
At last, Joe cleared his throat. “Seriously, Gloria, I guess I missed a lot of what’s been going on around here lately, but it seems like this has been a rough week for everyone. I wanted to thank you for sharing your beautiful land with me this summer. I have something for you.” Joe held up his finger. “Just one minute while I go get it.” He backed up his chair and scooted out the door, leaving Rascal whining in his crate and the rest of us making confused faces at each other.
As promised, Joe returned a minute later carrying a large canvas, which he’d flipped backward. “I’ve been working on this during my off-hours. I hope you like it.”
Joe turned the canvas around and handed it to me. I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth. It was the most breathtaking painting I’d ever laid eyes on. Bright hues of red, orange, green, blue, and brown combined to form a sunset over the trees. I recognized the landscape as my own backyard, and the large tree in the foreground could
not be mistaken. It was the oak tree that guarded over Charlie’s ashes, the tree whose shade provided a refuge for me to sit and spend time with Charlie’s memory. Charlie’s spirit still lived in that tree, just as much as it lived in me and in Ethan. Joe had even included the stone bench.
I stared at Joe. How could he have known about the tree? I’d never mentioned it to him. A swell of emotion rose in my throat.
“Thank you,” I said at last, as Beth and Ethan oohed and ahhed in the background. “I truly love it.”
“You’re welcome.” Joe winked at me. “And if you don’t like it, you can give it away as soon as I leave. I won’t know the difference.”
“I’ll never get rid of it.” I pointed to a bare wall above the fireplace. “I’m going to hang it right here in the living room.”
“I used the oak tree as my focal point,” Joe said. “I saw you sitting under it a number of times. Figured it meant something to you.”
Tears stung the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away. “Yes. You’re right about that. It does.”
I wondered if Charlie was watching us right now. Was he floating above us, peering over my shoulder? Or maybe he was waving from the branches of the oak tree outside. I wondered what he’d think about this haphazard crew assembled inside our old farmhouse: a quirky, starving artist who wandered through the woods at night; a drifting writer recently suspected of murder; our kind and strong-willed son who’d taught me the true meaning of love; an adorable, but untrained mutt who dug up my lilies; and me, his wife, who had finally discovered how to stand confidently on her own two feet.
I didn’t have to ponder too long because I already knew the answer. It pulsed through my bones and embraced me with the warmth of the room. It played in my ears with the ease of Ethan’s laughter. It appeared in the brushstrokes of the painting propped in front of me, and in the bright futures rolled out like place mats before every person sitting at my table. Charlie was here, and he was smiling. And perhaps more importantly, I was smiling, too.
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Books by Laura Wolfe
Two Widows
A Letter from Laura
Dear reader,
I want to say a huge thank you for choosing to read Two Widows. If you’d like to keep up to date with all my latest releases, just sign up at the following link. Your email address will never be shared, and you can unsubscribe at any time.
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I wrote Two Widows with the intent of keeping the reader guessing until the final pages. I wanted to see what would happen if two women of different ages and from divergent backgrounds and life experiences were thrown together in a remote location with plenty of secrets. Ultimately, Two Widows became a story about standing in one’s truth. It was important to me that each character’s truth prevailed in the end.
Over the last few years, I’ve become slightly obsessed with tiny houses and the idea of minimalist living. Beth’s character provided a perfect opportunity to incorporate a tiny house into the setting. While tiny houses aren’t inherently creepy, they have a claustrophobic quality, are transient by nature, and contain nooks and crannies that make great hiding places. The tiny house contributed to Beth’s mysterious past and allowed for a quick getaway when her secrets caught up with her.
In Gloria, I hoped to portray a woman transforming into the best version of herself. She was meant to be someone readers could easily relate to and root for, despite her faults. Gloria’s changing relationships and circumstances unleashed the powerful inner strength that had been waiting inside her all along. (Credit to Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz!)
I hope you loved Two Widows, and if you did, I would be very grateful if you could write a review. I’d love to hear what you think, and it makes such a difference in helping new readers to discover one of my books for the first time.
I love hearing from my readers – you can get in touch on my Facebook page, through Goodreads, Instagram, or my website.
Thanks,
Laura Wolfe
www.laurawolfebooks.com
Acknowledgments
So many people supported and assisted me in various ways along the journey of writing and publishing this book. First, I’d like to thank the entire Bookouture team, especially my editor, Hannah Bond, for taking a chance on me. Her insights into my story’s structure, pacing, and characters made the final version so much better. Thank you to those who read the early versions, or portions thereof, and provided valuable feedback and/or other inspiration and encouragement: Karina Board, Stephanie Bucklin, Torrey Lewis, Alexia Andoni, David Peterson, Lisa Richey, Nancy Richey, and Helen Zimmermann. Thank you to my “writing partner,” Milo, for forcing me to take at least one frisbee break per day. Thank you to my parents for instilling a love of books in me from a young age. I’d like to thank my kids, Brian and Kate, for always cheering for me. Most of all, I am grateful for my husband, JP, for supporting my writing. He read every version of this novel over the years, and I wouldn’t have made it to the end without his encouragement.
We – both author and publisher – hope you enjoyed this book. We believe that you can become a reader at any time in your life, but we’d love your help to give the next generation a head start.
Did you know that 9% of children don’t have a book of their own in their home, rising to 13% in disadvantaged families*? We’d like to try to change that by asking you to consider the role you could play in helping to build readers of the future.
We’d love you to get involved by sharing, borrowing, reading, buying or talking about a book with a child in your life and spreading the love of reading. We want to make sure the next generation continues to have access to books, wherever they come from.
Click HERE for a list of brilliant books to share with a child – as voted by Goodreads readers.
Thank you.
*As reported by the National Literacy Trust
Published by Bookouture in 2020
An imprint of Storyfire Ltd.
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
www.bookouture.com
Copyright © Laura Wolfe, 2020
Laura Wolfe has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-80019-004-7
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.