Karen spread the map on the table. Aspen lay less than an hour to the southeast. When she asked for a recommendation, the waitress tore a page from her order pad. “The best place is the Hotel Jerome. It’s pricey, but you’re in the off season. Call and ask. You might even see a movie star. I heard George Clooney was in town last week.”
“Sounds like our kind of place.” Frieda’s eyebrows wiggled.
Karen folded the map. “Aspen it is.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
THEY FOLLOWED THE ROARING Fork River through meadows of blue columbine and yellow paintbrush until the highway curved against a backdrop of white-tipped mountains. In the town of Aspen they drove past clapboard homes and buckled sidewalks to the Hotel Jerome. When they stopped in front of the hotel, a bellman opened Frieda’s door.
“Oh, my.” She accepted his hand, her cheeks pink.
Karen gave her keys to the valet and followed Frieda through the bronze-clad entryway. Built during the silver boom of the late eighteen-hundreds, the hotel had recently been remodeled to within an inch of its life. The foyer opened to a high-ceilinged lobby where leather armchairs and chintz sofas surrounded a crackling fire. A formal dining room and bar stood adjacent to the lobby, where a uniformed clerk greeted them from behind a burnished wood desk. “I think you’ll like the rooms, Ms. Grace. Both are south-facing, with a nice view.”
“Two rooms?” Frieda asked. “Can we afford that?”
“It’s my treat, remember?”
After making dinner reservations with the concierge, they followed the bellman upstairs. When he opened the door to Frieda’s room, she stepped back. “Heaven forbid.”
Two upholstered chairs and a Queen Anne table sat in front of the windows for a breathtaking view of Aspen Mountain. A fireplace glowed nearby, and brocade covered the antique four-poster.
“Karen, come look at this.” Frieda stood in the bathroom, which featured a whirlpool tub and a separate shower, marble floors and high-end bath products. Billowy terry robes hung on the back of the door. “I feel like royalty.”
“That’s our goal, ma’am.” The bellman accepted Karen’s tip and disappeared.
“I’m going to stretch out,” said Frieda. “Call me in a couple hours.”
Karen headed for her own room, where she found a mini-bar stocked with goodies. She mixed a scotch and soda, sank into a plush wingback, and took a sip. The scotch hit bottom, and her stomach warmed agreeably. Alone at last, she felt free. She admired the mountain and let her mind ramble.
Option One was to head back to California as fast as possible and find a new job.
She sipped her Scotch. Jazz wafted up from the street below through the open window, and she leaned back and put her feet up on a fat ottoman. A big sigh escaped from her chest. Life was beginning to feel normal again. Racing back to California was the practical solution, but it did involve a certain amount of discipline, which the liquor was eroding.
Besides, who knew how much time Frieda had left?
Option One began to lose ground to Option Two, which was to show Frieda the time of her life and find a job once the two of them were settled.
Karen took another sip. At the ripe old age of fifty, she had earned the right to find balance in her life, and there was so much she wanted to do. Her termination was a blessing, in a way, because it broke her out of her rut and allowed her to think differently. This would be a part of the Option Two playbook. Relaxation, the arts, creativity, long walks on the beach, showing Frieda whatever delights her fading stamina allowed–that was how Karen planned to live her new life. Even her marriage breaking up didn’t seem so bad at the moment. By following his own dreams, Steve had done her a favor. She was now free to create a new life according to her own standards. The thought made her incredibly happy.
After a while she freshened her drink and filled the tub, similar to the one in her house in Newport. As she sank into the deep cloud of lavender suds, the sheer luxury of the hot water and fragrance surprised her. Karen rarely took the time for a bath, tending to hurry through showers on her way to whatever urgent business called her. How stupid to never indulge in such a treat when it had been right at her fingertips for years. She leaned her head back against the porcelain and closed her eyes.
A memory flickered in her mind, and she gasped at the pain knifing through her mid-section. She envisioned the honeymoon cottage where she and Steve had mapped out their dreams, and later, nursery furniture, disassembled along with her hopes, the materials carted off quietly by kind neighbors.
And now, a career had been vaporized, and a family was disappearing into time.
She grimaced. This was not Option Two living. Torturing herself with regret was not the new way. The new way involved more hot water, an appreciation of the fragrance of lavender, and the sight of the suds billowing anew. In the second half of her life, Karen would slow down and be mindful. She tilted her glass for the last swallow of Scotch, but it went down wrong and she sat up, coughing. Her throat burned and her eyes filled with tears.
So much for relaxation. She set the glass on the edge of the tub and stood. As the water and suds coursed off her body she saw that her belly and butt seemed more rounded and substantial. She ran her hands over the warm and slippery curves, feeling almost voluptuous, and her image in the gilt mirror on the opposite wall flattered her. This being the case, why the hell had she worked so hard for so many years to remain thin?
She unzipped her suitcase and dug around for something suitable to wear to dinner, but all she had was her funeral suit and a collection of throw-ons from Walmart. Ah, well. This was Aspen. The funeral jacket over a tank top would go a long way toward dressing up a cheap pair of jeans and sneakers.
At Karen’s knock, Frieda opened her door wearing a polyester top with a butterfly brooch at the shoulder. “Don’t we look pretty,” she said, taking Karen’s arm.
They walked several blocks to LuLu Wilson’s, arriving as the mountain turned to gold in the sunset. New grass carpeted the ski slopes and aspens shimmered at the mountain’s base. Karen found a small table on the bustling patio and ordered a plate of coconut shrimp for a snack. Nearby, a young man flirted with a tight-faced old woman whose tiny dog snarled and fretted. Two handsome cowboys strolled in, wearing chaps and spurs, and a sulky foreigner pulled up out front in a growling Maserati.
Frieda leaned toward Karen. “We’re not in Dickinson anymore.”
Three women sauntered onto the patio. One wore a slash of red lipstick and a pillbox hat over thinning white curls. Her friend was well-packed into a pair of seersucker Capris, and the two of them laughed like they were sharing a marvelous truth. Karen wondered if you could get to an age where you look good just because you still tried. The third woman was fifteen years younger than the other two, and with her bright yellow hair and frozen eyebrows shooting skyward, she almost looked older.
The hostess waved for Karen, and they followed her inside across scuffed wooden floors. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, and the tables were covered with linen and silver. Frieda opened the menu. “You paid for my room. I’m buying you dinner.”
Karen gaped at the prices. “You don’t have to.”
“Shut up and enjoy yourself.” Frieda signaled the waitress. “Please bring us a bottle of your most popular champagne.” The sommelier returned with an ice bucket and bottle, popping the cork with finesse. Frieda watched him pour two glasses. Then she raised hers. “To our roadtrip, with all the ups and downs and in-betweens. It’s been glorious.”
Karen’s hand stopped in mid-reach.
Frieda noticed. “Don’t think about it,” she said. “Listen. We survived. Now let’s celebrate the future. Raise your glass.” The old woman’s eyes sparkled as she took a delicate sip of bubbly.
“Braised short ribs?” The server placed the platter in front of Karen, and a rack of lamb in front of Frieda. A pianist in a long white skirt and cowboy boots struck the opening notes of a jazz standard as the women picked up t
heir forks. The ribs, dripping with sauce, fell from the bones at the slightest touch. Karen thought again about her new curves, the appearance of which pleased her. Soon she would probably have to embark on a diet to regain her angular frame, but not tonight.
The room filled, and Frieda and Karen fell quiet, intent on the feast. When they finished, they ordered pineapple cheesecake and chocolate mousse, with a glass of cognac for Karen.
“Man, this is the life.” Frieda swirled cream into a cup of decaf. “When I’m gone–”
“Frieda, please.”
“No, hear me out. We discussed this in Denver. Nobody’s immortal, and I’m at peace with my life. But you have thirty, forty years ahead of you. So I have to ask. What are you going to do?”
“Head back to California and get back to work.”
“Still?”
Karen nodded. “But I’m determined that it will be different from now on.”
“Do you ever think about coming back to North Dakota?”
“I did, seriously. For about a week.”
“When you were with the professor.”
Karen took a sip of cognac. The man inhabited her dreams nightly, not that she would admit that to Frieda.
“Where do you stand with him?”
“We’ll always be friends. I talk to him every few days, but there’s no future.”
“Here’s what matters.” Frieda clipped off another bite of cheese-cake. “You’re too young to go without a man in your life.”
“I still have a man in my life. Wish I didn’t.”
“That’s temporary. What comes next?”
Karen scooped up the last spoonful of mousse. She rolled the flavor around on her tongue, formulating her thoughts. “I don’t know. But I liked him a lot and I’ll miss him.”
“You could be making a big mistake. I’m not going to tell you what to do. But don’t throw away a chance at love.”
“Love is the last thing on my list.”
“Work isn’t everything.”
Karen laid down her spoon. The light had faded outside, but a couple hours west, the sun still lingered over the Pacific. Suddenly, she felt dizzy with homesickness. The Midwest had its own allure, but it seemed like months since she’d inhaled the salt air, watched a crimson sunset or the retreat of the morning fog, or the pelicans skimming the waves like threads of smoke. She remembered the church-bell clang of masts from sailboats bobbing in the marina. “When was the last time you were in California?”
“Never,” said Frieda.
“You’ll love it. The variety, the energy. Did you know if California were a country, it would be the eighth largest economy in the world?”
“Just because a factory makes a lot of widgets doesn’t mean you should live in it.”
“California’s like a kaleidoscope. You have the liberal big cities like L.A. and San Francisco, but you’ve also got the Central Valley. It’s a conservative farming area, a lot like the Dakotas. Then you’ve got sandy beaches down south, but up north, it’s rocky, and the water’s so rough the surf can break your neck. We’ve got barren deserts and the glitz of Palm Springs. We’ve got alpine lakes–I mean, think of the pictures you’ve seen of Yosemite.”
“So visit once in a while. You’ve got family in North Dakota. You just got reacquainted. Lorraine and all of them. Don’t give them up.”
“I’ll visit. I promise.”
“Long as you’re clear about things.”
“I’m clear.”
“Because there’s nothing worse than waking up at ninety and realizing it’s gone.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
THE NEXT MORNING, KAREN zipped up her suitcase and took one more look around the room, but she couldn’t drag herself to the door. The room was too beautiful, and the solitude too rich. Sheer curtains billowed from the windows, framing the waving grass slopes of Aspen Mountain. She sank into the plush chair and tried to memorize the contours of the mountain and the color of the sky, a special shade of heartbreak blue dotted with cottony-white clouds. Perhaps she would come back some day, maybe even in winter with her skis.
No, not perhaps. Work was fine, work was essential, but idyllic escapes had their place, too. A person couldn’t be just one thing. She had been too narrowly focused. In the future she would remember this place, and this feeling. The days ahead would challenge her as she worked to carve out a new groove, and she would need meditation and silence. Her mental health would depend on it.
Before leaving the room, she checked her voicemail one last time. Phone reception could be spotty on the road ahead as they crossed the desert southwest. She clicked through the menu and waited for the first message to play.
Stacey had left several. “Thank God,” she said when Karen called back. “Are you home?”
“I’m still in Colorado. What’s wrong?”
“We’re being sued. We, as in the company, for allegedly not protecting the confidentiality of our medical files. There is no flippin’ way I’m going to jail for this company.”
“They can’t come after you personally.”
“It won’t matter because when they do, I’ll be dead. They are working me to death. The lawyers keep demanding all these documents and I already have my own job and now I’m doing your work, too.” Stacey took a breath. “Wes keeps asking me for stuff from your files and I keep dodging him, but he’s getting pissed and I don’t care. I’m not going to let him screw things up.”
“Kid, you’re going to have a heart attack if you don’t slow down.”
“I’m not going to have a heart attack. I do my job and then go home and get drunk with Larry. In my spare time I send out resumés. So how’s your vacation?”
Karen winced. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Yes. Do you remember that time when the manager at the Citrus Family Clinic–”
Karen listened until Stacey finished, and then suggested actions Stacey hadn’t thought of. Her assistant was grateful.
“You’re welcome. Now, how’s Peggy? Have you heard from her?”
“Just a couple days ago. She sounds depressed.”
“Isn’t she on a cruise?”
“Yes, and she keeps sending me emails about how bored she is and how the food is crap and the ports are too busy. Some people are never happy.”
“You know Peggy. She likes to bitch.”
“Yeah, well, send me on a cruise. I wouldn’t complain,” Stacey said. “Can I call you again if I get stuck?”
“Absolutely.” After deleting several more messages, Karen got to Steve’s. “Please call me back right away,” he said. “I know you’re checking your messages.” His voice stopped and she almost pressed delete, but then he continued.
She replayed the message. This couldn’t be happening. She played it again.
She was losing her mind. It couldn’t be true.
And then she hung up, turned off the phone, and went to meet Frieda for breakfast.
Chapter Thirty-Four
SHE DROVE WITHOUT SPEAKING for an hour, trying to puzzle out Steve’s news. Frieda seemed to get the hint and busied herself with her travel guide and the passing scenery. The highway cut through the twisting curves and terraced cliffs of Glenwood Canyon. Tough little trees clustered at the base of the canyon walls, and sage and scrub oak clung to outcroppings farther up.
When the mighty Colorado River appeared alongside, Karen was jarred from her cocoon. On impulse, she turned off the highway and found a rest stop at the river’s edge.
“You need the bathroom?”
“No, I just want a closer look.”
Karen parked the van, got a loaf of bread out of the pantry, and helped Frieda to a bench on the river bank. They threw pieces of bread to the ducks while shore birds darted on stick legs before them. As Karen tore the bread into bits, she could feel her hands shaking. Before long, the bread was gone and the ducks went to forage further afield.
A couple of women approached, one old and one not. Between
them they swung a giggling toddler. Their men followed behind, hands jammed in pockets, ball caps on heads. One wore a camera around his neck. The group called out a greeting and moved on.
Karen watched them go, mindlessly fiddling with her wedding ring. It was a modest band with a small chip, all that Steve could afford when they got engaged. Later, when they had more money, he wanted to buy her a lavish replacement but she had declined. It had been with her at the wedding, and she had never wanted more. Now she studied the small, dull stone. If a diamond’s theoretical power to bind life partners turned out to be false, then what was a wedding ring but an overhyped bit of jewelry? She pulled it off and rolled it between her fingers, steeling herself to flick it into the river.
“There’s a million pawn shops between here and California.” Frieda looked away, as if she weren’t the one who had just spoken.
Karen stuck the ring back on. “I’ve never lived alone in my life.”
“I didn’t either until Russell died.”
“How long were you married?”
“Sixty years, and I loved him every day of it. Even now, I start to say something to him and then I remember he’s gone and I feel sad all over again.”
Karen threw a rock at the water. Instead of skipping, it dove straight in.
“Did you ever think about it?” asked Frieda. “Make any plans? At your age, women start to lose their husbands. You knew that was a possibility.”
“I figured it would happen way down the road, not when I turned fifty. I thought we’d get old together and then he’d die and a couple years later, I would. Beyond that, I didn’t think about it. I never expected to get divorced.”
“Death, divorce, no matter what, you have to keep moving forward,” Frieda said. “It helps if you stay busy, most of the time anyway. But sometimes you just have to wallow around in the pain a while. When you get sick of yourself, you get up and go back to your normal life.”
The river rippled by, carrying bits of brush and branches, and occasionally something more interesting, like a wooden door with the knob still attached. A great blue heron took flight, its wingtips touching the water as it lifted off.
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