IN THE LATE MORNING, they trailed down to the gazebo on the beach. More women joined them, and the story unfolded. Candace had been with Eleanor, watching a movie, when the old woman slumped sideways. Candace called 911, but the paramedics couldn’t do anything.
Margo and Candace had looked through Eleanor’s address book and found a nephew. He contacted the office, and the campground manager shooed them away and locked the place up. When Candace objected, the manager said the nephew had directed her to secure the property.
Karen sat atop the picnic table, her feet on the bench, head hunched between her shoulders. It had been only six months since something similar had happened with Frieda.
“We should have a memorial, at least.” Belle’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Goddamn it.” Fern stormed around the table, hands jammed in her front pockets. “We’re her family, but they act like we’re a bunch of vagrants wanting to loot the place.”
The sun rose, and Jessie showed up holding Sunshine, oatmeal crusted on the baby’s mouth. Belle reached for the child and hugged her close. Jessie climbed up next to Karen. “What’s going on?”
“Eleanor died.”
“Oh, no.” Tears welled in her eyes.
The kid’s new at this, Karen thought. She patted Jessie on the back.
“I loved that old lady. I’m going to really miss her.”
“We all will, honey,” said Belle.
“What fries my bacon is they just hauled her body away, and we’ll never even get to be part of a service or anything.” Fern dropped onto the beach.
“We could have one ourselves,” said Patti.
“We’re all here now,” said Doc. Karen looked around. More of the CRS ladies had gathered silently.
When Margo stepped forward, even Gina bowed her head. “Oh Lord, we thank you for this day...” Karen and Jessie slipped off the table and stood together, heads bowed. The rest of the women followed suit. As they prayed, Sunshine began to fuss, and Belle handed her to Fern. The baby laid her head against Fern’s shoulder and fell silent. A light breeze rocked the sailboat masts, and their riggings rang like church bells.
AFTERWARD, KAREN FOLDED up her bed and straightened the screen porch. She showered, ate breakfast, and went to the library. Ben was expecting an update this morning, and she wanted to check in with Peggy in California. She opened a file and turned on her laptop. The computer hadn’t been shut down the last time she used it, and a web page about Barcelona reloaded onto the screen.
She didn’t want to think about Curt right now. She didn’t want to miss him or wonder if he was already in Spain and if so, who he was with. It would be early evening there. Soon he’d have dinner—alone? Doubtful.
She tried to return to work, but Eleanor’s death had knocked her off-balance. Thoughts of illness and mortality interrupted her concentration. In a couple weeks, she’d be in Savannah starting a new life, at fifty. Knowing only a handful of people, loving no one. If she had a stroke in her apartment, who would come to her aid besides a couple of hired EMTs? Karen had admired Eleanor’s self-sufficiency, but now she wondered if it was enough.
After another half-hour of dithering, she couldn’t fight it anymore and dialed Curt’s work number. His autoresponder said he’d be gone for two weeks and if the caller needed help before that, to please contact the main office. Karen hung up, packed her briefcase, and climbed on her scooter, raising the kickstand with a vicious kick. She drove all the way down to Duck Key and Marathon, and then she turned around and came back.
That evening, Eleanor’s death cast a pall over the trailer. Karen and Jessie were both morose. Over a dinner of fried chicken, biscuits, and gravy, Jessie told Karen more about contacting Lenny. He’d been so happy to hear from her, and he’d begged and pleaded with her to come home. Swore he’d stopped drinking, picked up the trailer, and watered her flowers a lot. Jessie was wary but felt it had been a good conversation, and that fact both reassured and confused her.
“Well, you’re twenty-two.” Karen helped herself to another drumstick.
“That’s condescending,” said Jessie.
“You’re right. Sorry.”
They ate in awkward silence.
“What about you?” asked Jessie. “You and that professor.”
“What about him?”
“Belle says you’re in love, but Fern says you’ll never let a man stand in the way of your ambition.”
“I guess that about sums it up. They think I’m a fool,” said Karen.
“Are you?” Jessie refilled Karen’s wineglass.
“I don’t know.”
“The ladies talk about you.”
“I’m sure they do.”
“They admire you. They just don’t understand you.”
Karen was in the middle of a sip of wine, and she started laughing and choking all at once. Her eyes teared, and her nose ran as she coughed. When she calmed down, she said, “Me, neither.”
Jessie folded her arms on the table. “I’m not going anywhere.”
So Karen told her about Curt and their long crush and her dreams and his visit to Georgia and her new office and his offer for her to come to Spain.
And Jessie told Karen about Lenny and how she didn’t know how to decide what to do, but even if he wasn’t exactly right for her, she would tough it out for a couple more years with him because she had no other choice, and by the way, he wasn’t the father. She elaborated in full detail, while Karen tried to keep her eyes from bugging out. When Jessie finished, they both sat there for a minute, not knowing what to say.
Karen sighed. “Kind of a relief, though, right?”
“I guess. But it’s so sad. What am I going to tell her when she gets older?” Jessie held out her glass, and Karen refilled it.
“You’re the psychology major. You’ll figure it out.”
“I almost wish I were older,” Jessie said. “I hate all the uncertainty about my future.”
“Get used to it.”
“But you—”
Karen looked up at the ceiling, shaking her head. “I’m more than twice your age, Jessie, and I still don’t know what the hell I’m doing. All you can do is decide what your values are, what’s most important to you, and then try to stick to them. Nothing really changes with age. I still have as many dreams now as I did when I was twenty-two.”
Jessie said, “I didn’t realize you could be going through the same thing...”
“At my age?”
“I didn’t want to say it, but yeah. When does a person ever get old enough to have everything figured out?”
“Never, I hope.” Karen wiped her eyes. “Because then where’s the magic?”
CHAPTER 41
THE CAB LET CURT OUT in front of a complex of buildings with Moorish arches and tiled hallways. He stood for a minute, trying to get his bearings.
That morning, after only a couple hours of sleep, he had shuffled downstairs to see what the Barcelona Hilton offered for breakfast. At the café, the voices were a mixture of Spanish, Catalan, English, and German. His waiter had zipped around refilling coffee and conversing in all four, but Curt felt so jet lagged, he had a hard time communicating in his native language.
At the geology building, Curt pulled open the front door and stepped inside. From her perch behind a pristine white desk, the receptionist directed him down a series of long hallways to the office of the department head. There, a woman in a tight skirt and low-cut blouse looked up, delight flashing in her eyes. “Yes?”
“I’m Curtis Hoffman, visiting adjunct from the United States.” He held out his hand.
She came around the desk and took his hand in both of hers. “Ah, yes, Dr. Hoffman. We were expecting you.” She looked up at him. “Would you like me to introduce you to the department chair?”
“Thanks.” Curt held back a smile. It was nice to be welcomed so warmly.
Dr. Lorenzo Fernandez, skeletally thin but with a ready smile, greeted Curt warmly and intro
duced his associates. The woman was Monica. The other colleague, Sergio, was a jocular beach ball with a too-short tie. The three of them showed him around, starting with faculty offices to classrooms to labs to the amphitheater where visiting notables addressed crowds of hundreds. They spoke formal English with an accent.
“We have taught geologic studies since 1910,” said Fernandez. “Our school sets the European benchmark for scientific research.”
“And we’re the biggest,” said Monica with a little smile.
Sergio opened a door. “These are the geochemical-research offices, where you’ll be working.”
“What about this?” Curt reached for an adjacent door.
“Don’t go in there,” said Lorenzo. “That’s the back of the amphitheater, and there’s a program in process.”
“At the north end of the building, you’ll find a cafeteria, which has a dining room for staff. It’s very private,” said Monica.
“We also have a gym,” said Sergio, who looked as if he didn’t use it.
Curt wasn’t interested in the gym. Instead, he planned to swim in the ocean, jog along the beach, or borrow a bike and explore the area.
“Have you decided where you’ll be staying?” asked Monica.
Curt stuck his hands in his pockets. “I was hoping to get some suggestions.”
“We can talk about that at the orientation lunch.” She smiled, her eyes narrowing like a cat eyeing prey. “Sit with me. I’ll tell you everything you need to know to be happy here.”
“Thanks,” Curt said.
“It would be my pleasure.”
After the tour, Curt ducked out for time alone. Lunch wasn’t until two. He would have to get used to the later mealtimes.
After another hour of looking over the grounds and meeting other staff, he felt worn out. He found a quiet nook in the library and checked his phone for messages, but the one he hoped for wasn’t there. He ran through his e-mail, but time dragged.
A couple of young women sashayed past in short shorts and tank tops. Their laughter provided a stark contrast to his bleak mood. Finally, it was time to join the others in the faculty dining room where he was introduced to the expat community, a friendly, talkative group. Along with lunch, they listened to speech after speech. By the time the program ended and he was back at his hotel, Curt was stumbling from fatigue. He pulled the curtains closed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When he awoke, it was dark, and he felt ravenous. He showered and dressed and hailed a cab to Las Ramblas, the world-famous promenade. There, he located a café recommended by one of his new colleagues and sat outside in the balmy night, dining on tapas and watching the crowd flow past. He’d wanted to enjoy himself, but felt a dark mood descend.
When he left the United States, Curt had been excited, with a list of plans for the year abroad. He would make friends at the university and learn to live like a local in this historic city. He would explore the parks and museums, enjoy the beach at the city’s edge, and learn the languages, both Spanish and Catalan.
He would forget the fact that Karen chose to put her work ahead of their relationship.
Couples strolled past, holding hands, laughing, kissing. He pushed his plate away and signaled for another bottle of wine.
It was her choice, and he accepted that, but he wasn’t built for being alone. He was past the age when it would have shamed him to admit it. Her decision stung, but he had to adapt. With a million and a half people in the city, surely he could make a few friends. Someone to share dinner with, tour a museum, or explore a romantic garden. Curt was in Barcelona for the experience. Life as a monk wasn’t in the cards.
He strolled Las Ramblas, watching the street performers, artists, and living statues. Barcelona was a cornucopia, spilling out her riches to tempt him. At the foot of a soaring tiled fountain, a classical guitarist played flamenco, his partner twirling and stamping in a blur of red silk. The notes evoked deep emotion as Curt’s thoughts ranged from loss of Karen to his daughter growing up and leaving the nest to the sunset years of his own career. As the guitarist finished with an enthusiastic flourish, the crowd clapped and shouted its appreciation. Curt handed the guitarist a generous tip, but his mood remained bleak as he returned to his hotel room for the long night ahead.
CHAPTER 42
KAREN AND JESSIE FORMED a routine, falling naturally into a process of helping each other. While one did housekeeping or took a shower, the other played with the baby. In things related to childcare, Karen was less rigid than Jessie, although it never became an issue. But Jessie had her ways.
“You don’t have to hold her.” Jessie stood in the bathroom doorway. “Usually I just leave her in the Pack ’n Play.”
“But she wants to get out.”
“You’ll spoil her.”
“She’s just such a cuddle bug,” Karen said. After a while, she couldn’t help it. She was getting attached. She felt like a grandmother.
While Jessie showered, Karen held Sunshine, enjoying the solidness and warmth of the baby. She was growing more attached every day. The two of them played games, like make-a-face and talking-teddy-bear. Sunshine’s four teeth gleamed like adorable corn kernels in her pink gums.
Karen found she could speak Sunshine’s language, baby talking right along with her. She showered Sunshine with kisses on her nose and cheeks while the baby grabbed her hair and pulled it. At times Karen wondered what it would have been like to have a daughter, a baby girl like Sunshine. She held the baby close.
In the shower, Jessie was singing.
When she was dressed, Jessie took the baby back. “I’m making slow-cooker stew tonight, if you want to eat with us.” She began changing Sunshine. “It’s a family recipe.”
Karen hesitated on her way out. “What time?”
“Six?”
“Okay.”
When Karen came home from her day at the library, the aroma of sage and garlic wafted out of the trailer. She poured a glass of wine and read while Jessie put the baby to bed. Then they feasted on Russian chicken on rice, with a salad on the side.
“You’re a good cook,” Karen said.
“It’s a hobby. Trying out new recipes, gathering them in one place—” Jessie took a swig of wine. “Which unfortunately is a shoe box in Atlanta.”
“Is he still texting you?”
“Twenty times a day.”
“He wants you back.”
“Yeah.” Jessie heaved a big sigh, and Karen found it contagious.
“What do you think you’ll do?” she asked.
Jessie shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s pathetic. But then I kind of understand, too, you know?” She explained about his concussions and the football history. “So maybe he’s sick and needs help. And maybe I’m bailing when he needs me most.”
“But you have to think of your future.”
Jessie rolled the stem of her wineglass between her fingers. “I grew up watching my mother, and I never wanted to be like her. It’s why I love psychology so much—trying to figure out why people are the way they are. But here I am, in the same frickin’ situation as her.”
“Your dad was violent?”
“No, he’s a quiet drunk. But it’s the same thing, you know?”
The baby cried out in her sleep, and the women lapsed into silence. Night fell, and the neighbor’s Christmas lights blinked on, flashing diffuse red and green through the kitchen curtains.
“I don’t want to be codependent,” said Jessie. “I don’t know what to do.”
“So going home is a nonstarter.”
“Yeah, but it’s worse than that.” Jessie sucked down another glass of wine and refilled it. “Lenny doesn’t acknowledge Sunshine.”
“What do you mean?”
“He doesn’t touch her or hug her or talk to her or anything. It’s like he doesn’t see her.”
“You know that’s bad, right?”
Jessie picked at her meal. “But it could be for a lot of reasons. I read about
this. Sometimes men don’t bond right away. Or he feels unsure of himself. Or a lot of things. I can’t condemn him for that. She’s barely a year old. It might take more time.”
“Jessie?”
Jessie put her face in one hand. “I’m rationalizing, aren’t I?”
“You might be.” Karen got up and pulled the curtains shut. “Hard to say. The most important thing is safety, for you and the baby.”
“He promised to go to counseling.”
They all did that. Karen had seen it over the span of her career. Sometimes it helped. “Has he gone yet?”
“I don’t think so. I think he’s waiting for me.”
Karen sighed. “What are you going to do?”
Jessie drew a line through the condensation on her wine glass. “I told him he could come here.”
CHAPTER 43
“OH, MAN.” KAREN DRAINED the rest of her glass. “Really?”
“Yep. I did it.”
“What were you thinking?”
“First of all, I don’t know if he’s totally bad. All I know is he got drunk and did it this one time. There are a lot of reasons it could have happened, but it’s out of character for him. If I give him up now, I could be making a big mistake.”
“That’s what you’re telling yourself, right? You asked me about rationalization. Do you hear yourself?”
“I have to try.”
“Why?”
“What else am I going to do? I don’t have any place to live. I don’t have a job—”
“You have your clothing business.”
“It’s not enough. I can’t afford rent and childcare and food if I’m living alone. At least with Lenny, we can live cheaply in the trailer.”
“Another thing, he wants you back, but he doesn’t seem to care about the baby. How can you live like that? And what are you going to do if he goes nuts again?”
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