BUT HE WAS WRONG. KAREN was thinking of another man she’d loved, a man who’d pledged to love her forever—her ex-husband.
In the early years, they’d loved each other with the passion of youth. They saved enough money for their first house and joyfully made love in every room. They celebrated their advancements at work and took vacations together. Sex with Steve was hot and frequent, and she’d quickly gotten pregnant, and they’d celebrated, delirious with happiness, until the first miscarriage. The cycle repeated itself, and after each tragedy, they experienced shock, heartbreak, recovery, and a tentative reaching out for each other—but with each death, the scar tissue thickened over her heart. Eventually their relationship became platonic, neither willing to risk the heartbreak. They drifted away from each other, and he found solace elsewhere.
She no longer felt anger over his infidelity; the grief had receded. At this age, Karen was more adept at navigating life’s deadly shoals. Her challenge now was to begin again, to renew herself. She thought that with Curt, she might have a chance, but it would require her to trust him, to give herself over to him completely, and for him to accept that at this point in her life, she needed to be her own person. If he was secure in himself, they could grow alongside each other. She thought he was. She hoped he was, but time would tell.
Karen sighed.
“I feel the same way,” Curt said. “Making love with you is unbelievable. You’re amazing. We’re so good together.”
She hugged him, glad he wasn’t a mind reader.
Curt pulled her close, and they fell back asleep, skin to skin but a million miles apart.
Hours later, they awakened in each other’s arms. He leaned up on one elbow, his other arm flung across her rib cage.
“Hmm?”
“It’s almost ten. Assuming we get vertical sometime today, what do you want to do?”
Karen laced her fingers across her waist, thinking. “There’s a historic district, bike rentals, beaches—whatever you want.”
“Golf?”
“Three full eighteens. But I haven’t played yet.”
“We’ll have to remedy that.” He moved his arm and kissed her belly, his whiskers making her laugh. Then he moved lower, and she stopped laughing.
CHAPTER 31
IT WAS TIME. LENNY was supposed to call at ten.
Candace and Margo had promised to watch Sunshine for a couple of hours. Now Jessie headed for the gazebo at the beach, glad to see it was deserted. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and climbed atop the picnic table. The capricious wind rippled across the bay, appearing and disappearing, leaving the water as it was before. On the surface, anyway.
Over the past couple weeks, Lenny had left dozens of messages each day. In spite of the fact she never responded, he continued with a barrage of entreaties. His wording was the same each time: some variation on how much he loved her and wanted her to come home. He never apologized for giving her the black eye or scaring the hell out of her on New Year’s, and he never mentioned Sunshine. But still, she knew he was suffering. It was apparent in every syllable of his statements. He said he had hope for their future together. That they were each other’s best friends, that they knew each other better than anyone else, deep in their hearts. They’d had fun before, he said, reminding her of fishing along the Chattahoochee and camping in lake country. They could have fun again. He’d buy her a regular house. He begged her to have faith in him.
After a while, she’d relented a little, agreeing to speak with him.
Car doors slammed, and a couple of families approached, hauling towels and coolers and fishing poles. Laughing and chattering, they headed toward a patio boat tied to the dock. Kids bounded around wearing bright orange life vests, while the mommies, in chic cover-ups, shouted directions. The dads, wearing tank tops and reflective sunglasses, struggled like pack mules, hauling beach paraphernalia to the boat. The two groups stowed their gear as the boat rocked against its ties. Somebody turned on the music, loud.
Jessie felt a twinge in her heart, wishing she and Sunshine and Lenny, and maybe a couple of friends and their kids, could get together and have a simple, fun day at a lake. She couldn’t see it, at least not for a long time. In her current reality, it would be Kegger, Lenny, and their dog, Booger, on some beat-up skiff where the wearing of a life jacket would be mandatory, and Sunshine would have been left with a sitter. If they could afford a boat. Which they couldn’t, even to rent.
Jessie wasn’t sure what she would say when he called. Naturally, he’d beg her to return to Atlanta. She desperately needed a home for herself and Sunshine, and all their things were back at the trailer. It would be so simple to decide to return, but it could also be a hideous mistake, endangering them both.
She didn’t know what to do. If they were older, Lenny would have more of a track history. Was his behavior established, or would it change—and if so, for better or worse? She had to decide whether to risk going back, and hope it would work out for the better, or stay away, which meant possibly leaving a good man behind. If he was a good man.
She closed her eyes. She didn’t even know that. Was one incident of domestic violence enough to condemn a person? Could she excuse him for any reason? The stakes were too high for her to be wrong.
Jessie knew from her sociology classes that one important factor would be whether or not Lenny was willing to go to counseling, preferably in her absence. Because if he were motivated enough to meet with a therapist even while she wasn’t there threatening and haranguing him, that would truly show intent to improve.
She would insist on that. And maybe if she could avoid going home for a little while longer, she could see whether or not he followed through.
The boat motor fired up, and she opened her eyes. A couple of adults threw off the lines, and the boat puttered at wake speed out of the marina and into the bay. Jessie watched until they disappeared into the sparkling, blinding distance.
She had choices. Just not good ones.
The phone rang.
CHAPTER 32
KAREN SLID INTO THE seat of the Corvette, excited at the prospect of exploring the island in such a beautiful ride with such a handsome driver. They stopped first at the Jekyll Island Club for lunch. On the way through the lobby, she snagged a couple of brochures, determined to finally do the tourist thing.
They started at the museum, opting for a tour in a horse-drawn carriage. Their guide, a natty gentleman with a broad-brimmed hat, explained that Jekyll had been developed in the late eighteen hundreds by people who collectively owned one-sixth of the world’s wealth and who protected their private island with armed guards. “That’s the Rockefeller cottage over there.” The guide clucked at the horse. “Twelve thousand square feet. Next door were the DuPonts, and the Carnegies were across the way.”
“This was where the workaholics came to relax.” Curt elbowed her gently.
She elbowed him back. “If I had that kind of money, I’d have no problem relaxing.”
After the tour, they got back in the car and drove north, winding around the periphery. She rested her head against the seat back, the Corvette’s power rumbling beneath her.
Curt pressed her arm. “What’s this?”
They parked in front of a crumbling building, its paint faded to a dull terra-cotta. Nothing remained except the walls, with doors and windows open to the sky. A mighty oak leaned over the roofless structure, shading the inside. “Horton House. It was built in the eighteenth century,” Karen said, running her fingers over a wood-framed windowsill. A family had lived here, a family with no idea that far in the future, people would be poking around what was left of their home. The thought of life being so transitory caught her by surprise, and she turned away.
“What’s the matter?” Curt asked.
“Everything’s great.” She kissed him. “Let’s go see Driftwood Beach.”
At the northernmost point of the island, whole trees had washed up on the sand, lying on their sides, roots
pointing skyward. The tropical sun had bleached the wood white, and the effect was of nature’s art gallery, fantastical shapes brought in by the tides.
Back at the trailer, they arranged beach chairs at the top of the slope and watched the light change over the water. Karen felt more peaceful than she had in years—and also more confused. If all it took to be happy was a good man and plenty of sex, why was she killing herself for work?
Of course, the answer was that she needed more than that.
In the morning, she opened the refrigerator, looking for something from which to make a meal. She hadn’t fixed breakfast for a man in a long time. With yogurt, blueberries, honey, and granola, she conjured a couple of tasty parfaits while humming along to her iPod. She had slept like a baby and was brimming with energy.
The shower turned off. She folded napkins, laid cutlery on the table, and arranged a sprig of flowers in the center. Curt came in, pulling a polo shirt down over his wet head. He eyed the breakfast and then reached around her into the fridge and pulled out a pound of bacon. “Do you have any eggs?”
“What’s wrong with what I fixed?” She put her hands on her hips.
“Woman, after last night, I need sustenance.” He wiggled his eyebrows and went looking for a skillet.
“You’ve been living in North Dakota too long.”
“Probably right.” He peeled off a few strips of bacon. “Want some?”
Without the slightest hesitation, she nodded.
AT THE PRO SHOP, THEY rented golf clubs, checked in with the starter, and drove up to the first hole on the Pine Lakes nine.
Curt strode to the tee box, his posture confident. His shoulders were as straight as those of a much younger man, and his waist was slender. He lofted the ball into the air, and it soared through the sky.
Karen took her turn, and her shot was precise, though not as long. They returned to the cart, excited to be together, and at the sheer joy of being outdoors doing something they both loved. Oak trees, draped in gray Spanish moss, lined the fairway. Tall, skinny pine trees leaned with the breeze. Somewhere off in the distance, a woodpecker drilled into a tree and a club struck a ball with a metallic clank.
While Curt strategized his next shot, Karen snapped photos of elegant white egrets nesting in the trees at the edge of a pond. A marshal drove up in a golf cart, gesturing at her. “I wondered if you missed the signs. There’s gators in that water.”
“Yikes. Thank you.” Karen moved back.
“You folks enjoy your round.”
Although Karen had plenty on her mind—Jessie, Ursula, Ben, the app, and work—she put it aside to focus on her game. Over the next four hours, they competed fiercely; he took the lead at first, and then Karen caught up. The day was gorgeous, with occasional cool breezes stirring the palms.
Karen played for enjoyment, whereas Curt was more competitive. At times, he offered suggestions, recommending a particular angle or strategy. At first, she was amused, but after the fourth or fifth time, she said, “You know, Curt, I’m a fifteen handicap.”
He was sticking a club back into his bag, but he stopped and looked at her, his brows knitted.
She smiled. “So I’m pretty sure I can figure out what to do.”
He pushed the club in and sat next to her, one hand on the wheel, the other arm behind her on the back of the seat. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. Forgive me?” When she nodded, he pecked her on the lips and drove off. “But just FYI, I’m a six.”
She whacked him on the arm, and he laughed. Six or not, they were pretty evenly matched. Whereas his drives and fairway shots were longer, her short game was more precise, and by the sixteenth hole, a three par, they were even. At the tee box, she pulled the rental driver out of the bag.
“It’s only a hundred and forty—oops. Never mind,” said Curt.
“Thank you.” She addressed the ball, took her shot, and landed it on the green.
“Good job.”
She gave him a flirty little smile, and he put his hand behind her neck and kissed her hard.
On the eighteenth hole, her shot flew into a bunker, but she almost didn’t mind because the sand was beautiful, a sparkling ivory color, well-raked and pristine, and if she hit the ball just right, it would land on the manicured green with a clever spin and a light spray of sand. Which it did—and then it rolled neatly into the cup. She gave a shriek of delight and a fist pump.
Curt tapped in, retrieved his golf ball, and walked toward her. “Where next?”
“Picnic.”
They stopped at a deli for sandwiches and drove to Wanderer’s Beach, where they found a park and picnic tables. In the distance, a gentle surf lapped against the shore, and the wind rustled in the trees.
“Weird how quiet it is,” said Curt. “You’d think a place this beautiful would have more tourists.”
“It’s the off-season. Too cold for swimming, and it still rains a bit. So it’s quiet, but I like it.”
They ate their lunch and spoke of home, which for him was North Dakota and for her was California, at least for now. Afterward, they paid for a Segway tour and rode around the island with a guide and six other visitors. Karen loved the feeling of gliding effortlessly along coastal bike paths and through the jungle-like interior. It almost felt like flying.
After the tour, they picked up a few staples from the grocery store. At the Airstream, Curt held out his hand for the key. His old-fashioned gesture caught her off guard, but she liked it.
Inside, they showered and kicked back on the sofa, checking their phones for messages. A text from Ben reminded her of a few loose ends she needed to address, but Curt’s hands were traveling up under her blouse. She laughed and let him kiss her, Ben and work forgotten as her body warmed to his touch. He slowly undressed her, leading her to the bedroom in incremental degrees of nakedness. When she was completely bare, he laid her on the bed and pleasured her, and she marveled that he could reawaken her like this, again and again; in her youth, she’d assumed older people never had sex. Instead, sex at this age was more intense than at any earlier time.
While Curt napped, Karen booted her laptop and began working. She answered Ben’s questions and then checked her e-mail, looking for a response from the app-building website, but there was nothing. She logged off and sat back, chewing on a fingernail. Maybe they didn’t see the value either, but she knew it was feasible. More than that, it was critical. If she couldn’t increase productivity, she had two choices: status quo or hire staff. Neither one appealed. She looked up at the ceiling, frustrated, wondering if she could invent a Plan C.
CHAPTER 33
FOR THE FIRST THREE days of his visit, Curt and Karen indulged every whim. They made love, played tourist, dined on the waterfront, and took long, romantic walks on the beach. In the evenings, she sat at the kitchen table catching up on her e-mail and a bit of work while he stretched out on the sofa, already halfway through her John Sandford novel. One night, she looked over to see a new recliner in her living room. Curt had found a button that released a footrest from a section of the sofa. She hadn’t even known it was there. That made her laugh, having forgotten what it was like to live with a man.
The Airstream was small for two people, but they managed to find their way around each other, employing patience and humor. They learned that the kitchen could only support one cook at a time, and they had to take turns getting dressed, because the bedroom and bathroom were tight. What could have been stressful was relieved by their good natures and a mutual desire to please.
But on the fourth day, Karen was on edge, waiting for the results of the app. Picking up on her mood, Curt escaped to the fishing pier to see who was catching what.
In the late morning, she received an e-mail from the DIY site. The app was ready for testing. She typed in typical requirements for a nurse recruitment in a major metropolitan area and was stunned by the results. Not only did she receive dozens and dozens of names, the results included contact information and a brief bio
about each person, all culled from information made public by the candidates. She’d been right. The app was brilliant. Karen danced around the kitchen, thinking about the implications. There was one person she had to tell right away.
“Ben, it works!” She couldn’t hide her enthusiasm as she explained what the new tool would mean.
“So now you can stay in Florida indefinitely.”
“Hmm.” Karen sat back down. Ben still didn’t realize Grace and Associates was based in a travel trailer. She glanced around the Airstream, full of her belongings and, now, Curt’s. “I’m not sure that’s the plan,” she said.
“If you’re going to move, there’s no better place to combine business and pleasure than here.”
“You sound like a chamber of commerce guy,” she teased.
“But it’s true. Yolie and I have never been happier, and you’d love it, too. In fact, every day on the way to work, I drive past this office/apartment combo that’s for lease. It’s beautiful, in the historic district. Centrally located, close to downtown. Want me to check it out?”
“That’s a pricey area,” Karen said.
“I’ll find out what they’re asking. And congratulations again. It looks like everything’s coming together.”
She hung up, grinning so much her face hurt. Ben texted her back a short time later. The combo unit was a bit out of her range at the moment, but her business could easily double or triple now that she had the capacity. She contacted the leasing agent and, after a lengthy and detailed discussion of the property, started the process.
When Curt came in the door at noon, she wrapped him in a hug and made him sit at the kitchen table. “It works! My app is live,” she said, angling her computer toward him and demonstrating. “This is what I needed to grow my business. Isn’t it fantastic?”
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