Claire Cook

by Seven Year Switch (v5)

  I took a small bite of mango salsa. I moved some black beans and rice around on my plate. I guess life was just like this: one jump forward and two big hops back. Things had been so clear a few hours ago. I was going to take control of my life, learn to soar on my own power.

  Brightly dressed women chattered away to Billy and his dad like beautiful, exotic birds. Suddenly I felt boring and drab, the world’s ugliest duckling. Billy hadn’t even glanced my way. It was as if I were invisible.

  I gazed up at the trees and thought I saw an anteater swing by, hanging by its tail. I knew Costa Rican anteaters were nocturnal and called tamanduas. They were also known as lesser anteaters.

  I knew the feeling.

  I checked my watch. As soon as I could excuse myself without being rude, I’d head back to the bungalow, get out of this ridiculous outfit, drop the stupid fantasies, and move on with my life.

  But wait. This wasn’t high school. Billy and I should talk things through. I’d explain what I’d just been through with Seth. How I was feeling about my life and how the time just wasn’t quite right yet for a new relationship. He’d tell me he understood, that he’d wait for me. After all, wasn’t he the one who said that life was a marathon and not a sprint?

  At the head table, Billy yawned and put his dinner napkin on the table. He pushed his chair back.

  I yawned, too. I picked up Cynthia’s clutch and reached under the table for her sandals.

  Janice yawned. The lawyer yawned. One of the women next to me yawned.

  Billy stood up. “Long day,” he said without looking in my direction. “Nice to meet you all.”

  “I’ll help you find your bungalow,” Janice said. “It gets confusing around here at night.”

  “Or I could,” the lawyer said. “I think it’s right next to mine.”

  “Thanks,” Billy said. “I could use a good rescue.”

  39

  I STARED UP AT THE CEILING OF MY BUNGALOW, WONDERING if the rustle I was hearing was a cute little lizard or a black zebra tarantula.

  Because we were so close to the equator, the length of days and nights didn’t vary much with the season, and this time of year, they were almost equal. Sunrise and sunset were both sometime around five-thirty, which meant in another couple of minutes I could stop worrying about tarantulas and Billy, and head down to the beach to watch the sunrise.

  So what if I’d had a sleepless night. So what if half the women on this trip wanted to walk Billy back to his bungalow. I was moving on to a life of sunrises and sunsets, belly dancing and yoga. I’d find a way to travel with Anastasia. Maybe I could run a vacation camp for kids.

  When I had the chance, when Billy wasn’t being swarmed by women, I’d talk to him. We’d smooth things over. Whether or not his father ended up buying GGG, everything would be fine. Sure, it might be a little awkward seeing him with another woman, but I’d get over it. I just hoped it wasn’t Janice. She was a little bit abrasive. I mean, not that it was my business, but with all the available women in the world, I didn’t think he should settle for someone like that.

  I kicked my way out of the bamboo sheets and tiptoed into the bathroom. I brushed my teeth quickly and splashed some water on my face, on the lookout for tarantulas the whole time. I tiptoed over to the closet, put on shorts and a T-shirt, and slid into my flip-flops.

  Cynthia rolled over in her bed. “Terpsichorean, munificence, polyglot.”

  “Good job,” I whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

  I felt Billy’s presence on the beach before I even saw him. He was sitting cross-legged on the sand, gazing out at the water.

  Before I had a chance to overthink it, I sat down beside him. “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey,” he said.

  The sand gave away to splashing waves, which blended into a skyful of intricate cloud formations. The colors were muted, all shades of gray.

  A pencil line of orange sun appeared. We sat there silently, as if we were the only two people on earth, and watched the full sunrise show.

  “Wow,” I said finally. “I can’t remember the last time I saw a sunrise.”

  “I can’t remember the last time I missed one.”

  “Really?”

  We both stared straight ahead. “Yeah,” Billy said. “It centers me for the whole day. What ever happens after watching that, I mean, how bad can it be?”

  I took a deep, cleansing breath. “Seth didn’t deserve me, and I finally let him go. I know it sounds crazy, but I feel like I’m actually alone for the first time. As attracted as I am to you, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to jump into another relationship right away. I think I should work on my independence first, really fly with my own two wings. So as hard as it would be for me, I want you to know I’d completely understand if one of the women who walked you home last night…”

  “Which one do you think I should pick?”

  I whipped my head around.

  Billy crossed his arms over his chest. “Janice was nice. But I think she’s still got a few issues to work through. The lawyer’s a possibility—never hurts to have a lawyer in the family. And somebody left a casserole on the front porch of our bungalow this morning, so I’ll have to find out who that was and add her to the list….”

  I threw a handful of sand at him.

  He grabbed my hand and pulled me into a cross between a hug and a headlock. “Couldn’t we just relax and have our third date?” he said.

  “NOT JUST A TARANTULA,” I said.

  “But a black zebra tarantula,” Billy said.

  “Okay, wise guy, maybe I have told the story a few times.”

  I slid over a little so I could kiss him.

  “So,” he said when we came up for air. “Are you sure Joni’s okay with you taking off for the day like this?”

  I laughed. “Vianca and the surfing instructor had it all under control. And I have to say Joni couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. I think she was just trying to get your dad all to herself.”

  Billy shook his head. “I wouldn’t hold my breath. Not to downplay my catch factor, but that casserole on the front porch was probably for my dad. There’s been a steady line of them at his door ever since my mother died.”

  “How long has it been?” I asked.

  A little flash of sadness crossed his face. “Two years.”

  “Maybe he’s just not ready,” I said. “Anyway, if nothing else, Joni Robertson is a great friend to have.”

  Billy kissed me on the forehead, then glanced in the rear-view mirror. The taxi driver was focused on getting us over the bumpy roads in one piece. “I’m actually angling for them to move in together by tonight,” he whispered. “That way you and I can have my bungalow.”

  “Sorry,” I said, “but I already have a roommate, and I can’t possibly desert her. Besides, what was that thing you said about life being a marathon and not a sprint?”

  “A total pickup line,” Billy said.

  The taxi driver pulled over and dropped us off at the edge of the Avellanes beach parking lot, next to Lola’s Bar and Restaurant. We made arrangements for him to pick us up later. We rented full-size surfboards.

  “Wow,” Billy said as we maneuvered the surfboards to get their weight evenly distributed between us. “Now this is a beach.”

  We walked past some crooked old trees and under a rustic little awning through a break in a wooden fence, then past a giant driftwood tree half buried in the sand. The turquoise water went on forever, and the frothy white wave breaks were long and smooth and encouraging.

  “Stingray Pointers,” I read out loud.

  “No pun intended,” Billy said.

  “Shh,” I said. “I’m trying to read.”

  STINGRAY POINTERS

  Equipped with whip-like Tails that have serrated barbs, the stingray is Capable of covering the majority of its Flat body with sand. Only its eyes and tail are Left exposed. Shuffle your feet as You walk through the water—the stingrays will dart Away.

  “I find
the capitalization here quite fascinating,” I said after I finished gulping.

  “I’m glad my ex-wife didn’t know about stingrays,” Billy said. “We had enough issues with jellyfish.”

  “Siphonophores,” I said. I dropped the canvas bag holding our towels and water bottles and kicked off my flip-flops.

  “No pressure,” Billy said. “If you feel like hanging around up here for a while, I’ll just catch a few waves and come back.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said.

  Surfing isn’t much different from the rest of life: it’s fun, but also a lot harder than it looks. I was dying to stay up on the sand practicing my pop-ups until they would have made even Ismael proud, but it was time to move forward.

  Doing the stingray shuffle while carrying a big hunk of fiberglass attached to my ankle by a leash was like trying to pat my head and rub my stomach while floating a piano. But once I got in deep enough to lift my feet up, I did all right for myself.

  In surfing, and maybe even in life, the trick is to use the calm between the waves to position yourself for the next one. I paddled in a prone position and rode a few waves in. Eventually I worked my way up to a sitting position, then graduated to kneeling until I tipped over. I was pre–pop-up, but I was on my way.

  Meanwhile, Billy looked like he was on a tryout for a surfing movie. My paddling muscles were screaming, so I took a minute to watch him. A wave came out of nowhere, and the next thing I knew I was eating a mouthful of sand. I fought my way up to the surface and rested my head on my board.

  Billy paddled his way over to me. “Come on, let’s take a break.”

  I spit out another mouthful of sand. “I thought you were tougher than that.”

  We stingray-shuffled our way out of the water and carried our boards up. We dried off and spread out our beach towels.

  Billy handed me a bottle of water. “Why don’t you watch our stuff, and I’ll grab us something from Lola’s. Anything you don’t like?”

  I flopped down on my towel. “Yeah, stingrays. And tarantulas.”

  Billy bent down to get his sunglasses. “Don’t you mean black zebra tarantulas?”

  I reached for his arm. “Hey,” I said.

  He sat down beside me and swung an arm over my shoulders. “Hey.”

  I leaned into him. “I just wish we could freeze things right here. All by ourselves on this perfect day. No worries about what happens next, whether you’ll call me once we get home.”

  Billy kissed me on the top of the head. “The issue, as I remember, was not me calling. It was you answering.”

  “Or whether our kids will like each other,” I said. “Or whether you’ll go off to Japan and decide to stay there with my old husband.”

  “Or whether you’ll ever get a divorce from said old husband,” Billy said.

  “Not an issue. I told you, it’s over. I’m calling a lawyer as soon as I get back.”

  “My wife and I used a great mediator, if you need a referral.”

  “God, you’re so civilized. It’s actually a little bit obnoxious. No offense.”

  “It was a lot more obnoxious when we weren’t being civilized, believe me.”

  “And what about mixing our business and personal lives? I mean, if you buy out Joni, then I see only two choices. Either I’m jobless, or I’m sleeping with my boss.”

  “Do I get a vote on that one?”

  I elbowed him. “Cute. It’s just that this could all turn into one great big mess.”

  An enormous mud-covered, pinkish pig ambled across the beach and plopped down at our feet.

  “I’m kind of over this nature thing,” I said.

  A surfer walking by bent down to scratch the pig on the head. “Hey, Lola,” he said.

  “Guess that’s Lola,” Billy said. “Maybe she’s here to take our sandwich order.”

  “I’ve actually read about her,” I said. “In one of the guidebooks. She’s pretty famous—I think she was even featured in a spread in Gourmet magazine once.”

  “Better than in a recipe,” Billy said. “Life’s messy. It just is. So we’ll take our time and do it right. And remember it’s a marathon and not a sprint.”

  The pig looked up.

  “Such a pickup line,” I said. “Don’t ever fall for it.”

  40

  “GREAT GIRLFRIEND GETAWAYS,” CYNTHIA SAID. “ FEISTY and fabulous mantasy escapes both close to home and all over the world. When was the last time you got together with your girlfriends?”

  I managed to nudge my car door shut with my hips without losing either my cell phone or my Lunch Around the World supplies.

  “It’s man-free, not mantasy,” I said.

  “Oh, hey, girlfriend. It’s a cross between man and fantasy. I’ve been trying it out, and I think it works. I’ll bring it up to Joni at the next staff meeting.”

  “We don’t have staff meetings. And don’t you dare suggest starting them. Listen, can you get Anastasia off the bus for me? Billy’s leaving for Japan today….”

  “Of course. Good plan—you should definitely spend some time with him to make up for all the bad things your husband is about to tell him about you.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “You’re a real confidence builder.”

  “I try. Oh, wait, a real call is coming through.”

  I dropped my cell into my shoulder bag and hiked the shopping bags up a little higher so they didn’t slip out of my hands.

  I made it to the kitchen counter without dropping a thing. I laid out the ingredients to make a boca feast fit for a Tico—tortillas, tamales, even plaintain chips.

  Then I arranged the feathers and paint and brushes. I put the framed feather Anastasia had painted with hummingbirds, frogs, and flowers in the center for inspiration.

  When I pulled out the hip scarves, the tinkling coins made one of the world’s most pleasing sounds. Joni and Cynthia had loaned me theirs, too, so everybody would be able to take a turn. I’d stopped by the library on my way and had scored not one, but two belly dancing CDs, and I couldn’t wait to check them out.

  I was all set up and ready to go by the time my class arrived.

  “Welcome back, honey,” Ethel said. She was wearing a bright red sweat suit today with lipstick to match. “How was Costa Rica? Everything you dreamed it would be?”

  “And more,” I said.

  T-Shirt Tom was the last to arrive. “I bet I know where we’re going for lunch today-ay,” he said. His shirt said save the males.

  I pointed to my own T-Shirt.

  “The direct translation of pura vida is ‘pure life,’” I began, “but pura vida can also mean everything from ‘you’re good people’ to ‘the good life to you’ or ‘to life.’ Pura vida may have originated in Costa Rica, but more than anything, it’s a state of mind.”

  I smiled. “And I am so there.”

  PASSPORT

  TO YOUR NEXT CHAPTER

  CLAIRE COOK’S SEVEN SIMPLE STEPS

  SELF. You can’t have self-awareness, self-confidence, or any of those other good self words until you decide to like yourSELF, and who you really are.

  SOUL SEARCHING. Sometimes it’s just getting quiet enough to figure out what you really want; often it’s digging up that buried dream you had before life got in the way.

  SERENDIPITY. When you stay open to surprises, they often turn out to be even better than the things you planned. Throw your routine out the window and let spontaneity change your life.

  SYNCHRONICITY. It’s like that saying about luck being the place where preparation meets opportunity. Open your eyes and ears—then catch the next wave that’s meant for you!

  STRENGTH. Life is tough. Decide to be tougher. If Plan A doesn’t work, the alphabet has 25 more letters (204 if you’re in Japan!).

  SISTERHOOD. Connect, network, smile. Build a structure of support, step by step. Do something nice for someone—remember, karma is a boomerang!

  SATISFACTION. Of course you can get some (no matter what the Roll
ing Stones said). Call it satisfaction, fulfillment, gratification, but there’s nothing like the feeling of setting a goal and achieving it. So make yours a good one!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First and foremost, a zillion thanks to you, my readers. Whenever you take time out of your busy lives to read one of my novels, send it to your sister on her birthday, tell a friend you liked it (and make her buy her own copy!) you breathe life into my next book. On this most basic, sustaining level, without you I wouldn’t be having the best midlife career switch ever, and I ppreciate your support, especially in this crazy world and tough economy, more than I can say.

  But wait, there’s more. I think reader response is so important that it sometimes feels as if I don’t completely know what I’ve written until you tell me what you’ve read. Your messages and reviews lift me up and keep me on track. You get it, you really get it! Thank you.

  Many, many thanks to my fabulous bookseller, librarian, journalist, and blogger friends and supporters—I appreciate you truly, madly, deeply.

  While I was writing this novel, a small group of women generously shared buried pieces of their past with me. Your stories helped me find the heart of this book, and I’m so thankful for them. And, as promised, your secrets are my secrets!

  Thank you to the kind people of San José and Tamarindo for help along the way, as well as to Charlotte Phinney, Maria Sanchez, and Anna Holmes. Thanks to Ken Harvey for another caring, insightful read.

  Heartfelt thanks to Tammy Orrell for never missing one of my book events within a hundred miles’ drive. It was an honor to be your favorite author. Rest in peace, Tammy, and thank you, Jessica, for letting me know.

  I thank my lucky stars for the wonderful women (and a few good men) at Hyperion/Voice. When you shine your collective brilliance on my books, you light up my world. Thanks for focusing so much attention on this grateful woman’s voice. Thanks, thanks, and more thanks to my wonderful editor, Brenda Copeland, her terrific assistant, Kate Griffin, and to the rest of the talented Hyperionites: Ellen Archer, Barbara Jones, Mindy Stockfield, Sarah Rucker, Marie Coolman, Allison McGeehon, Katherine Tasheff, Maha Khalil, Mike Rotondo, Joan Lee, Claire McKean, Laura Klynstra, Lindsay Mergens, Shelley Perron, Shubhani Sarkar, and Karen Minster. Thank you to the HarperCollins sales force for your support—with an extra shout-out to Donna Waitkus and a special thanks to Andrea Rosen and her team for inspiring a scene in this book at our meeting!