Loving Again: The Broken Hearts Club

by Michele Barlow

  One night she saw a group of women walking out of one of the other classrooms and stopped short when she saw a woman crying. The other women were huddled around her, patting her shoulders, talking quietly. It looked achingly familiar.

  She flattened herself against the wall to wait until they had left down the other way. As she walked by, she saw a sign taped to the door.

  Loss and Support for Women – Any kind of loss, any stage, we are here for you.

  There were two meetings a week and it took a few more weeks for Evie to work up the nerve to go. It was the end of January, and she had begun to notice that Hailey, even at three, was starting to change the way she acted. She was being careful around her momma; she’d stopped mentioning daddy so much. It was as if she was protecting Evie from the pain.

  That was something she couldn’t allow. Her baby wasn’t going to feel like she couldn’t express herself because her mom wasn’t coping.

  So, she went. She sat, listened, and found people that she didn’t have to put a mask on for. They knew how she felt, they knew how she hid, and they knew how to get her out of her shell.

  August – one year later

  “To our own badass Evie, for being brave and building a new life for her and her baby girl.”

  Her friend Cambry was raising her coffee cup and the other dozen women had raised their glasses with her. Cambry had come so far from where she had been when Evie had first met her. All of the women had made huge strides when they started being friends more than just anonymous support group attendees.

  She looked around the group and knew that she was going to miss them all equally. She might make new friends in Washington, but it wasn’t going to be with the same sense of camaraderie that her Broken Hearts Club had. Cambry, Waverly, Elena, Luna, and the rest of the girls all brought something that made the group not only fun, but therapeutic too.

  Evie grabbed her iced tea and stood up. “Thank you, to my awesome bitches. You have brought me back to life and if you hadn’t been nice enough to buy my crappy pottery, I’d never have the false sense of accomplishment to inspire me to open up my own shop.”

  “Oh boo, you are talented and fantastic,” Elena gushed. “And we promised to always be honest with each other. We wouldn’t buy your stuff if we didn’t think it was fabulous. But why do you have to move so far away, I don’t understand. You know that you can’t even wear flip flops there? Your feet will web.” Elena saw the good in everyone and was the perfect cheerleader.

  The girls started laughing, a few through tears. Luna stood up next, and she was wiping away a tear while she was smiling. Luna was quiet, her story complicated, and she was also one of the sweetest people Evie had ever met.

  “My friend. I love saying that. You have shown some of us that have been here a lot longer, that sometimes you just have to make a leap of faith. I don’t want you to leave, but if I ever decide to leave this place, Friday Harbor, Washington will be my first stop. Here’s to you and Hailey, we wish you all the best!”

  “Thank you all. I love you guys and don’t think because I’ll be on an island floating off the coast of Washington State that I won’t be checking in with all of you all the time. I need constant updates and full reports on every meeting.”

  “Oh, you won’t have to worry about that,” Gianna said from across the table. “Distance doesn’t dictate the strength of a friendship. Besides, I’m already thinking we need to plan a retreat to your little town next summer.” She was toasting with a syrup jug, but that was actually pretty accurate for her opinion of sentimental sharing. Gianna was all sass.

  “You are welcome any time and you know I’ll be popping back every so often because my parents don’t travel. The Hailey guilt should start about twenty minutes after we arrive in Washington.”

  “Girl, I do not blame you for moving so far away from your family.” This was Paisely, the intellectual muscle of the group. “They are the most annoyingly helpful people I’ve ever met.”

  Evie’s mom had tried to show up to one of her meetings to be supportive. Unfortunately, it wasn’t supportive, and luckily for Evie, Paisley had pulled her mother out of the room and explained things to her in a way that only Paisley could do.

  “They love Hailey and me, but they don’t see how stuck I am here. Whenever I start to doubt myself, I read Isaac’s letter and it’s like he’s telling me to get the hell out of Dodge.”

  “And he’s right,” Paisley said, nodding her head emphatically.

  “So, here’s to my girls, may my tale of woe turn into a tale of ‘whoa, she’s amazing!’”

  “That should be our new motto!” Adalyn piped up from the end of the table. She was the youngest of the group and had become like the adopted baby sister of each member of the club.

  “No mottos, then we’ll have to get shirts and bumper stickers. It will be a whole thing,” Cambry said with a shake of her head.

  “I will miss you guys, but know you will forever be in my heart. Even if it is still a little broken.”

  Chapter 3

  September

  The move wasn’t as hard as she thought it would be. The finances that her husband had left for them made Evie’s transition to Washington smooth and worry free. As an added bonus, she had found a small shop near the main part of town in Friday Harbor. It was a bustling place in the summer but had a quiet local vibe in the winter. It was a community of people that loved art, loved being local, and were incredibly friendly.

  Having grown up in Colorado, Evie couldn’t believe that she could wake up every day and see the ocean. Boats floating in the harbor, seals and whales making appearances regularly. It was a whole new world for her and Hailey.

  Taking her time, Evie got their home set up first. The building she bought had a small apartment above the storefront with just enough room for her and Hailey. The space was open with a large living area and kitchen connected by a small dining space. She even gave Hailey the larger bedroom. She had more stuff anyway.

  The store downstairs was already roughed out for a retail shop and the back stockroom could be easily converted into a serviceable pottery studio and Evie excitedly ordered a kiln that was big enough for all her projects. In the months before the move, she had been working on creating pottery sets. Mugs, platters, and pitchers that she could sell together. It was good busy work for her and the ease at which she got back into working the clay made her wonder why she had ever given it up in the first place.

  Then she remembered. School, work, Isaac, Hailey. Life was what kept you from doing the things that nurtured your soul. Except life would be so much better if you took that time for yourself, and she wasn’t going to let that go again.

  Evie enrolled Hailey in a local preschool. Although Kaleidoscope Farms Co-op wasn’t so much of a school as free-range learning. The kids were allowed to play freely, and there were chickens and pygmy goats playing in the yard. The kids had some craft time with their teacher and then they might go play in the school mud pit, or take a nature walk.

  Most evenings Hailey came home covered in dirt and grinning ear to ear. It was just what her baby needed. To be free to express herself and find outlets for her own feelings. Her teacher, Honeybee, yes it was Honeybee, told her that Hailey was very concerned about animals and whether they were okay, hungry, or sad. Evie felt like it was a good place for her to play through those thoughts and feelings.

  At night, they’d talk about the animals while they worked on their projects in the shop. Evie encouraged her daughter to make whatever her heart wanted. So lining a wall above the kiln was all of Hailey’s eclectic art pieces that were part animal and part something that looked like it would live under your bed. Creatures with long arms and spikes. Maybe these were the manifestations of her inner demons or more likely the creative outlet of a four year old.

  The shop was coming along slowly, and a few of the local business owners around her had stopped in and introduced themselves. They told her about all the people she needed to kno
w. Electricians, plumbers, and painters.

  She found a local woodworker that made reclaimed wooden shelving, and now her shop had long low shelves to display her wares. She found farm tables at a resale shop that were battered and had faded paint. They were perfect and she would use them to lay out the new line of whale figurines she’d been inspired to make.

  Her shop was going to be rustic, simple, and very Pacific Northwest. It was a hard style to describe, but it was wood, it was green, and it was fresh. That wasn’t to say anything bad about her and Isaac’s style, but when they bought their house in a middle class suburb of Denver, they had empty rooms to fill. So, they went into furniture stores and bought whole rooms. Whatever the display looked like, they bought it. Couches, tables, lamps, even the rug. It wasn’t a style per se, it was just practical.

  With both of them working, decorating hadn’t been at the top of their list of priorities. Now that everything had changed, Evie was determined to only have things she loved in her home. Before their home was all about efficiency and making sure everything matched for appearance sake. Her new apartment now had a long overstuffed white couch that was completely impractical for anyone with a young child. But it was bright and light and Hailey loved jumping on it and sleeping on the giant pillows.

  She found a coffee table with a top that was an old farm window over a shadow box. She and Hailey had filled it with things they loved. Pictures of daddy, shells they had found on the beach when they moved, even some of Hailey’s drawings. They changed things out as they wanted, an ever-morphing collage of their lives.

  Decorating like that was something that she had never done and it was a newfound way to be flexible in choosing how she wanted to embellish her new life. And that was her new word of the day, every day. Flexible.

  One day in November, she was setting up a row of vases on a shelf when there was a knock on the paper covered shop door. She wasn’t open yet, the banner out front still proclaiming COMING SOON. She was planning for a December first opening, and she wanted everything to be perfect.

  Simple Things – Pottery for Life, was not only going to be their source of income, but their way back into some kind of real life.

  Peeking through the paper that was covering the windows she saw Mabe, the woman that ran the used book store.

  Opening the door, she smiled widely. “Mabe! You should have let me know you were coming, I would have put on a pot of tea.”

  Mabe was at least ninety-five years old. She was a little hunched over and her hands were curled slightly with arthritis. Evie reached for those hands and was amazed at how soft they were.

  “Oh, don’t you go worrying about tea. Although if you have any whiskey, I wouldn’t mind a little nip. It’s cold out there today.”

  Evie laughed. She’d started keeping a bottle behind the counter. It was a wide space of plank boards that she could use to package her fragile pottery into sturdy cardboard boxes. When she was researching cash registers her sister reminded her all she needed was a smart phone and card reader. One less thing to worry about was always welcome.

  Grabbing a mug that she kept for guests, she poured out a generous amount of the amber liquid. Mabe was not a light drinker when she wanted a tipple.

  In the corner of the shop was a wood stove she had put in that burned pellets. It gave the shop a homey feel and Evie like watching the flames. Beside the stove were two mismatched rocking chairs she had found at a garage sale. Mabe was already sitting in one, rocking contentedly.

  “Who’s watching the bookstore?”

  “Pish, I closed it. Put up a sign that says I will return when I’m damn good and ready.”

  “Was that handwritten or did you have that printed up?” Evie joked.

  “Oh, it’s printed. There is no book emergency that could ever require my shop to be staffed at all times. I sell used books for Pete’s sake. Did I tell you that a young man came in the other day and had a list of books he wanted to know if I had.”

  “Well, that must be nice.” Evie had to figure anyone wanting a stack of books would be good for a shop owner.

  “Please, like I know what books I have. If you wanted a specific book then just pop onto that internet thing and buy it. My store is for browsing and finding something you didn’t know you wanted. They’re lucky I at least have it sorted between fiction and non.”

  “Maybe I could try that here. If it’s not on the shelf, I don’t have it, don’t ask.”

  “Oh sweetie, your store is going to do so well. Did you start making those little frogs you can put sponges in? Tourists love those things. You have to think about the tourists. They are the bread and butter and if you don’t get them to buy, there aren’t enough of us on the island to keep you in tea and biscuits.”

  “I wasn’t feeling the frogs, but I have some cute whales, and a soap dish that looks like an otter on its back. They’re in the kiln right now, baking away.”

  “Good, that’s why I sell rolling papers and lighters now. Stoners love to wander through bookstores. Might as well help them get high enough to spend money,” Mabe said with a sneaky smile.

  “You are the smartest woman I’ve ever met, Miss Mabe.”

  “Not smart, crafty. Too many years of playing nice and never getting anywhere. Those days are through. If someone comes in and wants you to make a bong out of clay, honey, just make it.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Evie promised.

  “I think you’re going to do good here, honey. Your little one seems happy, and I see that you haven’t gotten sucked into the local community business cult.”

  Mabe didn’t like the local business association. They were less business minded than they were concerned about other people’s gossip.

  “Oh, a cult. That’ sounds fun,” Evie said, going to a table by the stove. She’d set up a coffeepot, the industrial kind that had only hot water in it. There was basket full of tea, all different kinds, for everyone’s taste. There was a crock of fresh local honey too. When she opened, she would add lemons and pretty mugs. For now there was only one mug, hers.

  Making herself a cup, she took the chair next to Mabe. They sat and rocked in quiet.

  “You know, there are some single men in this town, I’m just saying,” Mabe said quietly.

  “I’m not ready. I just can’t. Maybe I’ll never be ready,” Evie said quietly. Mabe was the only person in Friday Harbor that knew about her past. The rest of the community had made their own conclusions about her. Single mom, divorced, whatever. She was fine with that. For a while after Isaac died, Hailey would tell people, random people in stores, that her daddy died. It was the most gut-wrenching thing to watch. She was just sharing part of her life and in her wake, she would leave devastated strangers, stuttering to say something comforting to a little girl they didn’t know.

  Hailey didn’t say things like that anymore. Her world was changing so rapidly that her memories were already fading. She knew more about her dad by what Evie told her than what she remembered for herself. It actually helped Evie focus on keeping Hailey’s world on a level that maintained order.

  Evie loved her family, but there was a point that you could be too helpful. Too involved in fixing someone. Evie wasn’t broken beyond repair. She was just fractured. Some big, some small, just cracks running through her. Isaac had loved her so whole-heartedly that it cemented that feeling of rightness in her world. Now the bond was gone and her cracks were showing.

  No, not fractured beyond repair, just in need of healing.

  Chapter 4

  “Shit, shit, shit! Oh come on!”

  It was November 30th and Evie had planned to give her store a final dusting before her grand opening. There were fresh flowers on the tables. All the colors of Christmas, reds and whites surrounded by evergreen boughs that Hailey and she had collected on a recent walk. As a sort of ritual, Hailey and Evie took long walks every day. It was also a way for them to get to know their new town of Friday Harbor. Hailey loved watching the boats
come in, especially when the bigger ones would toot their horns. She would clap and wave as if they were doing it just for her.

  That was where Evie met her first new friend, Tanya. She was standing on a dock as Evie had walked Hailey down to scare the seagulls. She just wanted to pet them, but the birds didn’t know that. Tanya was standing pointing out something in the water to a little boy who had a small fishing pole dangling in the water.

  They started chatting and Evie got a recommendation for a preschool that was a little unorthodox, but sounded like it would speak to Hailey’s soul, which was more important at the moment than learning to sit quietly and raise her hand. Her new acquaintance was thrilled to have someone new to set up play dates with, and she also gave Evie valuable pointers about the town.

  Tonight was supposed to be a quiet evening fussing over the tiny details of her space. The shelves were lined with products, some of her own design and some part of her master plan. Prominently displayed were the things that Mabe told her she had to have to keep the tourists happy. It turned out that she really enjoyed making the quirky little items that she knew people would buy on a whim.

  Instead of enjoying her last quiet moment in the shop, she was trying to figure out how the hell she was going to open when there was water all over the floor.

  The first drop had come as a surprise. Her brain didn’t register that she wasn’t outside and there was no way water should be hitting her head. Then the next drop came, then another. When she looked up, she saw a wet patch on the ceiling. Factoring where the leak was coming from, she ran up the stairs in the back of the shop to her apartment. Under her kitchen sink was a spray of water coming from the pipes. Trying to tighten the connections didn’t help because there was actually a crack in one of the pipes. There was also nothing that could be called a shut off valve under the sink.

  Evie was creative, but she wasn’t mechanically inclined and her options for plumbers were limited. It was late and the local service didn’t keep twenty-four hours on call. She’d left messages and hadn’t heard back from anyone. Her upstairs kitchen had buckets and towels on the floor but the water was still dripping down onto her beautiful hardwood floors.