The thing that surprised her the most, though, was the seeming lack of bitterness Courtney showed. Her smile seemed genuine. She was friendly. Granted, Rachel knew nothing at all about her relationship with her late partner—for all she knew, they might have been miserable together. But here Courtney was, no older than her mid-thirties, and she was now forced to start life all over again. Most people at that age were looking forward toward the future, toward a second home or a yearly vacation or newer, bigger investments. Courtney McAllister had no choice but to go back to square one and start from the beginning. Again.
I’d be furious, Rachel thought, inexplicably angry for this woman she barely knew. Life could be so unfair. I’d be mad at the entire world and I’d let everybody know it.
“Just like Mom,” she said aloud, shaking her head with a knowing grimace of realization. If you looked up the word “bitter” in the dictionary, there would be a picture of Alice Sullivan, Rachel’s mother. She’d taken the definition and made it her own after Rachel’s father left her. The sweet, gentle, loving woman Rachel remembered from her childhood had vanished, leaving in her place a sour woman full of anger and hostility. Now that Rachel was an adult, she was able to step back and see things a bit more clearly. She was able to understand what her mother had gone through and how she’d felt. But that had been many, many years ago, and not much had changed. Even remarried, nobody did embittered and resentful better than Alice. How Courtney had managed to avoid any semblance of cynicism, Rachel had no idea.
A bead of sweat trickled down the center of her back as the morning sun beat down on her. Rex began to pant as they walked, but he never once pulled on the leash; there was always slack.
“You’re a good boy, Rex. We’re going to find you a new home. Don’t you worry.” She scratched the top of his head and turned them back the way they’d come.
As she led him back inside, her thoughts still fleetingly on Courtney, she remembered that she had the For Sale sign in the trunk of her car. She was planning on swinging by Courtney’s place to pound it into the front lawn on her way back from Happy Acres this morning. She absently wondered how Courtney would handle seeing it.
*
“Hey there, good looking.” Danny was dressed snappily in black chinos and a subtly patterned short-sleeve shirt of black and turquoise. He flopped into his chair and popped open his briefcase, then pulled some files out and set the case on the floor next to his desk. “How’s things?”
“Not bad, Dan,” Rachel replied, her attention turning back to her monitor. “How ’bout you? Business good?”
“It’s slowing down. We’re heading into the quieter season.” The sounds of tapping keys filled the air as he logged into his computer. “And frankly, I could use the break. This summer has been crazy.”
“Tell me about it.”
The housing market had a fluctuation that was largely unpredictable, and Rachel had learned that it was almost always feast or famine. Either everybody was buying and selling or nobody was. She’d been a realtor for over a decade and she still had trouble getting a handle on the changeability.
She scribbled some notes on the paper in front of her. She was looking at recent listings, trying to match up possibilities with her clients who were in the market for new homes. Taking them from house to house was her least favorite part of the job. Most people tended to have a hard time seeing potential. Their first inclination was to pick apart all the negative aspects of a house rather than to see the possibilities. Trying to shift their perspective without sounding like a stereotypical salesperson could be very exhausting.
“So here’s a weird coincidence,” Danny said from across the office. “I’ve got a client who’s looking to buy, right? He gives me his price range and I pick some possibilities out for him. I give him the list and one of the houses on it—which just happens to be two blocks from me and James—is the house he lived in with his first wife more than fifteen years ago. Can you believe that?”
Rachel made a sound of disbelief along with him and then went back to her monitor for several minutes before registering what he’d said. She glanced back at him. “Danny? Did you say a house near yours is for sale?”
“Yeah, it just went up last week. It’s two streets over.”
“Is there a listing on here?” She gestured to her computer.
“Yeah, but it’s quite a bit cheaper than the places you’re used to selling.” He winked at her.
“I’d like to see it anyway.”
“Okay, I’ll link you. It’s a great little place. Small for the neighborhood, but nicely maintained and cute as all hell. It’d be just right for one person or a couple.” He punched some buttons on his keyboard, then hit Enter with a flourish. “There you go.”
Rachel opened her e-mail, clicked on the link he’d sent, and took a look.
It was perfect.
*
Courtney was nervous. She hadn’t expected to be. After all, what was the big deal? She was going to simply sit in, listen, see if this was for her. That’s all. She didn’t even have to open her mouth if she didn’t want to.
She sat in her Jetta in the parking lot and watched the kids on the nearby playground. The heat hadn’t broken much, but it was definitely cooler than it had been. Children shrieked in delight as they ran through the shooting water of the sprinkler area to her left. She smiled, vaguely remembering what it was like to be that carefree, to spend the long, toasty summers howling with glee over something as simple as getting sprayed by cool water. She sighed wistfully.
The community center was a sprawling, one-story building made of neat and tidy brick. It wasn’t large, but it was bigger than she’d assumed after years of driving by and seeing it from the street. Courtney was impressed by the center itself as well as the grounds. Everything was orderly, from the landscaping to the garbage cans. It was hard to believe she was in the city and not a suburb. Whoever managed this area did a nice job.
Steeling herself, she palmed her keys and exited her car, locking it, but leaving the windows cracked a bit. The walkway wound past the swing set and jungle gym, and Courtney took a deep breath to steady her nerves as she followed it, finally pulling one of the double doors open.
In the hallway, silence engulfed her immediately, surprising her with how thoroughly the doors and walls sealed out the sound from the playground. The shrieking was gone. The hum of passing traffic had dissipated. The air was so still that for a split second, Courtney wondered if she’d suddenly lost her hearing. She stayed completely motionless, noting the clean smell of the place, like somebody had wiped down the walls with a pine-scented cleanser. Then a door clicked from the hall, the murmur of voices filtered in her direction, and she was released from her seemingly frozen state. She stepped toward the sounds, her sandals slapping loudly on the hard floor.
She hadn’t expected the building to be air-conditioned and she felt goose bumps break out along her bare arms. There’s never a happy medium in western New York, is there? she thought with a grimace, not for the first time. It’s either sweltering or freezing. She was not a fan of air-conditioning and wasn’t looking forward to spending the next hour in a constant shiver. A jacket was the last thing on her mind in the early days of August, but she couldn’t help thinking how much of a help one would be now. Her tank top was almost useless, and she wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to ward off the chill. She scanned the doors down the hall, looking for number 217.
There were four people inside when Courtney peeked around the doorjamb. Three women and one man looked up as she approached and one woman walked toward her, hand outstretched, smile on her face.
“Hi there,” she said cheerfully. “Are you looking for Beyond the Grief?”
Courtney inwardly cringed at the title of the group, just as she had the first time she’d heard it, but nodded and took the offered hand. “Did I find the right room?”
“You did. I’m Constance Mays. I facilitate.” Courtney knew from the informat
ion Peter had given her that the job of the facilitator was simply to get people talking and keep any one person from monopolizing the floor. Constance seemed to have more than enough energy to do so. She was a petite woman in her mid-sixties with salt-and-pepper hair that she wore short and wavy. Her soft eyes were brown and kind. Her handshake was warm and more comforting than firm.
She guided Courtney into the room and introduced her to the others. Joanne was in her late sixties and looked very tired. Lisa was around Courtney’s age, which surprised her, and her smile was friendly. Dave was a big hulk of a man who sealed his fate with Courtney when he scanned her up and down and smirked. She put him in his late fifties and then tried hard not to look at him again.
“We’re just waiting for a couple more members who said they were coming,” Constance informed her as she pulled some plastic chairs from the stacks against the wall. “Is this your first group like this?”
Courtney sat in the empty orange chair next to Lisa, and Dave sat directly across from them in the circle. “Um…well, I tried to attend a bereavement group a year or two ago, but…it wasn’t for me.”
Lisa smiled knowingly. “Me, neither,” she whispered so only Courtney could hear.
“And how long have you been widowed?” Constance asked, completing her arrangement of the circle.
“Three years in January.” She knew she should elaborate, would have to eventually, but couldn’t manage to out herself within five minutes of meeting these people. And she was annoyed at her inability.
Before Constance could inquire further, three more people entered the room in fairly quick succession. A man with snowy white hair and the same tired look on his face that Joanne displayed, a woman in her seventies with the gentlest face Courtney had ever seen, and another man in his late fifties or early sixties with light, thinning hair and pale blue eyes.
Looking around the room, Courtney leaned toward Lisa and whispered, “Are we too young to be here?”
Lisa’s shoulders moved in a silent giggle and she pushed her blond hair back from her face. “You have no idea how relieved I was when you walked in,” she whispered back.
“Richard, Edith, and Ted,” Constance said, stretching her arm in Courtney’s direction. “This is Courtney. She’s going to be joining us tonight.”
They nodded in her direction, but said nothing. Edith smiled at her, as did Ted. Richard found a chair and lowered himself into it carefully.
Once they were all seated in the circle, Constance folded her hands together on her knees and looked at each of them with a gentle expression. “So,” she said. “How is everybody doing?” Her attention stopped on each person for a few seconds. Courtney squirmed when it was her turn. Moving past her, Constance said, “Lisa? How was the date?”
Lisa shifted in her seat and looked down at her hands. They were nice hands, Courtney noticed. Pretty. Nicely taken care of, but not overly fancy. Clear polish. Smooth, unblemished skin. She wore a single solitary diamond on her right hand. Her left was bare. “It was nice.”
“But…” Constance prodded, voicing the unspoken but very loud word that was hanging in the air.
Lisa blew out a breath. Her gaze strayed to Constance, then to Courtney, then back down to her hands. “But I kept comparing him to Stephen. I tried not to. I swear I did. But I just kept thinking, ‘his hair is so different, his hands are too small, he’s not listening to me, I don’t think he gets me like Stephen did.’ It really was unfair to the poor guy.”
Courtney was unconsciously nodding in agreement. Lisa’s description sounded just like every one of the dates she’d had since Theresa had died. It was unfair to her dates. And beyond frustrating for her.
“Try multiplying that feeling by ten or fifteen,” Joanne said into the stillness of the room. “That’s how it feels when you were with your husband for more than forty years. Try to even think about dating after that. Then you’ll know true grief.” Her eyes filled with tears, and Courtney felt a lump of sympathy and solidarity form in her throat.
Next to her, Lisa poked the inside of her cheek with her tongue and said nothing.
“I understand, Lisa.” A surprising gentleness emanated from Ted. “I have the same problem comparing my dates to my late wife. I think it happens to all of us.”
“It certainly does,” Constance stated.
After a few beats of silence, the snowy-haired man named Richard spoke up. “Well.” His voice was soft, kind. He reminded Courtney of her grandfather. “I took a lady friend to dinner last week. And I thoroughly enjoyed myself, though I, too, understand what Lisa is saying.”
Constance’s face bloomed into a grin. “Richard, that’s wonderful. Tell us about it, would you?”
“Well.” The tired look he’d sported on his way in was suddenly gone, as if his face was a chalkboard and somebody had simply come along with an eraser. “I’ve known her for quite some time. She lives one floor down at my complex. She lost her husband several years ago.” He went on to talk about how the woman had asked Richard if he’d be interested at all in dining with her, how nervous he’d been, and what a terrific time they’d had just laughing and talking. He’d even managed to kiss her good night without dissolving into a quivering puddle of nervousness. Courtney found herself smiling as he told the story, inexplicably happy for this man she’d only met fifteen minutes earlier and about whom she knew nothing at all. She realized suddenly that the purpose of such a group was to offer hope. She realized it because it had been given to her simply by listening to a widower’s story of a date. When the hour was over and she was helping to stack the chairs, Courtney felt better than she had in a long time. She silently thanked Peter for the gentle nudge to attend.
Bidding her thanks and good-byes to Constance, and promising to attend again, Courtney headed down the hall, strolling at an easy pace with Lisa.
“What did you think?” Lisa asked. “You didn’t say much. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I am. Actually, I think this is good for me. I’ve been feeling kind of…stagnant lately, you know?”
“And you lost your husband how long ago? Three years?”
Courtney wet her lips. “Three years in January. My partner. I lost my partner. My wife.”
Lisa didn’t miss a beat. “Then you and I really are kindred spirits as far as this group goes.”
“What do you mean?” Courtney asked as she pushed the double doors open and they were smacked by the difference in temperature.
“Stephen was my fiancé, not my husband. Some of the older members of the group like to remind me of that every chance they get. That my grief isn’t as strong or as devastating as theirs.” Courtney gave a sympathetic smile to her new friend. “You may get a similar vibe, at least from the women.”
“Seeing as Theresa wasn’t my husband.”
“Exactly. They usually segregate the members by age group, but this batch was so small, it didn’t make sense. So here we are.”
They laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation, but were content to shrug it off. When they reached their cars, Lisa asked, “Hey, Courtney? Do you think we could, I don’t know, get some coffee sometime or something? It’d be nice to be able to talk to somebody about things who’s not older than my mom, you know?”
Courtney was touched. “I’d like that.”
They exchanged numbers and parted.
Chapter Four
It seemed like every year, Rachel was shocked at how fast the summer had gone. It felt like the flowers had just begun to bloom last week and now Labor Day weekend was on the horizon. She steered her slate blue BMW down the road, absorbing the sunny and pleasant absolutely beautiful day. The heat wave had finally broken and, aside from a few days of rain, the past two weeks had been blissfully moderate.
She felt good. She was pleased with the way this particular client transaction had gone. Courtney McAllister had immediately fallen in love with the small house Danny had recommended and put in an offer the same day she viewed it. Rachel had kn
own the second she saw it online that it would be just the right fit for her client, and she hadn’t been wrong. Selling Courtney’s larger house had also been a nonissue. Once she’d made the changes Rachel had suggested, it had shown like an immaculate dollhouse and two potential buyers had entered into a bidding war within a week of it going up for sale. Courtney had ended up getting eight thousand dollars more than her asking price, something very pleasing to both her and her realtor.
Rachel was taking a bit of a detour, having just come from an appointment with another potential client referred to her by Danny. It was the Friday before the long weekend and it was going on two o’clock. Courtney’s move was happening quicker than most cases, the new listing, the sale, the closing, and the move all happening within a month. Once she was in the right mindset, Courtney seemed to want to get into her new house as soon as possible. Or did she just want to get out of her old one? Since she was in the neighborhood, Rachel thought she’d swing by and see if she was able to catch Courtney before she was done moving out. They’d taken care of the closing that morning, but Courtney had some final things to take care of before she relinquished the keys; the buyers were understanding. Rachel needed to collect the keys and thought she might possibly be able to save Courtney a trip to her office by swinging by and grabbing them in person.
As she turned onto Courtney’s street, she passed a moving truck. It was followed by two other cars, neither of which was Courtney’s VW. Rachel kept going, wondering if she’d missed her.
At the end of the cul-de-sac, Courtney’s gunmetal-colored Jetta sat like a lone boulder in the driveway. Rachel pulled in and parked next to it. The neighborhood was quiet, the sun shining down on the trees whose leaves showed tints of fall coloring along their edges. She inhaled deeply, the fresh air carrying the vague scent of the impending autumn, her favorite season.
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