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Free Friday Fiction: The Foreign Language of Friends, Ch. 9

November 11, 2011 by admin

Boats on the Water
A perfect day!

Good morning, everyone! Greetings again from Washington State. We seem to have found the “perfect” house. We saw it online first and were excited about it, but this time the pictures actually match the hype! Of course, there’s the little matter of selling the house in Houston, but that’s another story. In the meantime, these photos are a little gift ordered up by the local chamber of commerce. 🙂

PT Full Moon
Full moon reflecting on the water

Meanwhile, the ladies at The Foreign Language of Friends are getting more stressed out about their lives. In this chapter, Ellen starts to recognize the value of having someone to talk to. If you’re just joining this blog, I post new chapters each Friday…or, you can purchase the entire book for the low, low price of $1.99 on Amazon.com! A print version will be available soon.

CHAPTER NINE – JUNE 28

After the latest emergency room scare, Ellen’s father returned to the nursing home, his hip not broken, though he was badly bruised. She re­minded herself that the fall was not serious, but it didn’t ease her worries. She spent the bulk of the day working on the new writing job, then de­cided to visit her parents to make sure they were okay. Part of her wanted to keep working and avoid facing them, but her sense of duty overruled. She scolded herself for her resentment. After all, she no longer had to care for them 24/7, right? Yet she felt bone weary. Though she had always assumed she would have children, she felt relieved not to have that responsibility, too. Just an hour, she told herself. Go see them for an hour. You owe them that much. Eventually, she coaxed herself outside, to the car, and over to The Venice.

Taking a deep breath, she opened one of the ornate double doors and went inside. She listened to the sound of her shoes clop, clop, clopping on the shiny floors. She regretted changing from her usual shorts and tank top to a slacks outfit with pumps, wishing she didn’t feel the need to impress the staff. Did she really think that dressing up would make her look like a better daughter, not some mean ungrateful child who put her parents away?

The building nearly shouted its scrubbed bacterial-free environ­ment. Sunlight streamed in, some of it shining in the eyes of the residents, whose wheelchairs hadn’t moved since after breakfast. They were lined up along the walls, staring vacantly ahead, many of them restrained, and no one seeming to pay attention to anything but their own mysterious inner thoughts. From time to time one of the residents screamed. Even so, the entire staff looked oh so cheerful, and how was she today, and wasn’t it a great day? Ellen wanted to throw up.

Heading toward her parents’ room, she reminded herself to be grate­ful. The Venice offered her parents care that Ellen was ill-equipped to pro­vide. Cleaning women bustled up and down the halls all day. Her parents were fed well, with meals far more sumptuous than Ellen could ever conceive of, much less execute. It ought to be good, for all this place costs. Thankfully, her parents had lived a frugal lifestyle, so staying in the home was not a problem. They had always played by the rules, working hard, sacrificing, putting away for a rainy day. She wished they had saved a little less and celebrated life a little more. They had always planned to travel but never did, and by the time they were ready Mother’s disease had robbed them of their opportunity. Her father gave up after that, leaving Ellen to suddenly play the role of parent to the people who had raised her.

She found them side by side, in their wheelchairs, holding hands, smiling like shy children who have fallen in love for the first time. Ellen breathed a sigh of relief. At least they knew each other today.

“How are you doing, guys?” she asked, keeping her voice bright and cheery. Must be the effect of this place, she thought. I’m starting to talk like the staff.

“Hello,” her father said, leaning his forehead toward her as she kissed it. “They’re not very nice in this place. I seem to have hurt myself, and now I can’t walk at all.”

“What happened?” she asked, though she already knew. She had learned to play this game with her parents to find out how well their brains were working on a given day.

“I’m not sure. I think someone pushed me,” he said. “There’s a man down the hall who has tried to break into our room, and I think it might have been him.”

“Is that right?” Ellen asked. She pulled up a chair, studying her moth­er, who sat silently, staring at nothing. “Mom, is that what happened?”

Her mother turned toward her, gazing at Ellen with vacant, gray eyes. “Are you the girl who’s bringing me my lunch?” she asked. “Because if that’s the case, I want you to make sure it’s hot this time. The food is never hot.”

“No, Mom, it’s Ellen.”

“Ellen who?”

“Your daughter.”

“Oh?” Her mother studied Ellen more closely. “I don’t have a daugh-

ter.” She recoiled, her childlike face filled with suspicion. “Who are you, really? What do you want from me?”

Ellen stepped back at the sound of her mother’s agitation. It wasn’t the first time that her mother didn’t recognize her, but she had never lashed out before. “Sorry,” she mumbled. Rattled and helpless, she stood up and backed away, not knowing what to do. Before she knew it, she had rushed out of the room and run to the nurses’ desk. She stood there, wide-eyed, feeling suddenly foolish.

“Oh, hi, Ellen,” said Virginia. The head nurse, who looked to be in her mid-fifties, had been reviewing a file, where every page lay in perfect alignment with the others. When she saw Ellen, she closed it and placed it in a basket. Every item on her desk had found its perfect place, with noth­ing extraneous creating clutter. Ellen knew Virginia to be a no-nonsense woman who had worked at the facility for years and always spoke with authority. “Your father is doing much better than expected. He must have amazing bones for a man his age.”

“He’s pretty bruised, though.”

“Well, remember the CAT scan that they did – all clear, so he’ll be fine. All that bruising will be gone in a few weeks, and he’s already forgot­ten what happened.”

“He thinks he was attacked,” Ellen said ruefully. “He’s getting para­noid.”

Virginia closed the file she had been working on and stood up, a knowing look on her face. She walked over to Ellen and placed one hand on hers. “It’s part of the process, dear. It doesn’t happen to everyone, but it’s not unusual.”

Ellen swallowed hard to try to rid herself of the lump in her throat. “And Mother? She was afraid of me today.”

“I know. That one’s harder because she’s so young. Your father could go on for years the way he is, but your mother…You can’t take it personally, Ellen. She just can’t help it. I’m so sorry. This must be so hard on you.”

“Yeah.” She bit her lip, knowing she could say no more without choking up. She thanked Virginia and left the facility, wincing less at the sound of her shoes, knowing that the real noise was the guilt in her own head. When she got to the car and turned the key in the ignition, she knew she couldn’t go home just yet. She decided to drive to Sláinte before going to her quiet, empty home. A nice chamomile tea would calm her down.

She was surprised to find Julia there, sitting alone, Spanish book on the table, her fingers flipping absently through the pages, a melted iced tea next to her.

“Julia?” Ellen asked.

Instantly, Julia’s face changed, and a bright smile appeared. “Ellen, it’s great to see you! Would you care to join me?”

“Sure,” Ellen said. “I’ll get some tea.”

“I’d be happy to upgrade if you want. The wine is pretty good here.”

“Oh, I don’t…” Ellen thought about her day and decided to aban­don the anti-Alzheimer’s campaign, at least for a day. She hadn’t had a drink in, how long? A couple of years? But stress wasn’t good for the brain, right? “Sure, yeah, that sounds good, actually. Tell you what, I’ll buy the first round. What do you want?”

“Oh, just get the happy hour white for me, that will be fine. And thanks.”

Ellen stood in line for the drinks, amused that Julia wanted the cheap drink when everyone knew she could afford the best. Maybe she thinks I’m poor, she thought, then pushed the negativity from her mind. Julia knew this place, so she knew the wine. There would be no reason for her not to get what she wanted. When her turn came, she ordered two of the whites and paid ten dollars, plus the coins in her pocket for the tip jar. After she threw them in, she realized that she hadn’t paid attention to the amount. Was it enough? Too much? Doubtful, she pulled another dollar from her wallet and dropped it in, just to be sure.

“Studying hard?” Ellen asked as she took a seat and handed Julia her glass.

“Thanks for the drink. Well, not really. I thought it would be good for me to come out here, that maybe I could focus more than at home, but everything blurs together. Class is harder than I thought.” She sipped the wine and smiled. “I’ve had great wines all over the world, but this is one of my favorites. It comes from a little winery not far from Austin.”

“It is good,” Ellen agreed, and truthfully. “That’s really tasty.”

“Cheers,” Julia said, raising her glass. “Or, I guess I should say, salud. I guess I’m learning the important words, anyway: vino and cerveza. I’ll be able to drink freely in any Spanish-speaking country.” They both laughed. Then Julia’s face turned serious. “You look like you had a rough day,” she said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Ellen stared at her glass, thinking. No one knew her story. She had no family to tell, and there was no point bringing it up to work contacts. No one ever talked about anything personal. “I’m not sure,” she said, fi­nally. “I mean, I guess it wouldn’t hurt anything, but I don’t know. I don’t know you that well.”

“Well.” Julia cleared her throat. “Look, you’re right. We don’t know each other well. But maybe that’s a good thing. And, despite how some of our fellow classmates have decided to judge me, I really am a good listener. Try me.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Ellen said. “Mickey seems very sweet, but she’s young, and it sounds like she has some things on her mind. I’m sure you were just the nearest target.”

“I suppose,” Julia said with a wry smile, “but it still hurts. I have had a lucky life, I know, but I need friends, too. I have bad days and fears just like everyone else. Money doesn’t change that. But let’s not talk anymore about me. What about you?”

Ellen took a sip of wine, taking in Julia’s statement. “I guess I never thought of it that way. I mean, you’re right, we all have needs.”

Julia nodded. “Thanks for recognizing that. It means a lot to me. But you…what is it?”

“My parents both have Alzheimer’s Disease,” Ellen said. She won­dered if she had ever said those words aloud before. “I put them in a nurs­ing home recently, and they’re not doing very well. Today my mom accused me of lying about being her daughter.” Tears welled in her eyes, and when she looked at Julia, she saw tears in hers, too.

“Oh, no, that’s so sad. So that’s what you were talking about that first night in class.”

Ellen reddened, remembering how she almost didn’t go back to class after that. “I guess it sounded pretty weird, huh?”

Julia took another sip of the wine. “Not weird, just…well, maybe a little. They have a great cheese plate here. Want to split one?”

Ellen nodded, laughing a little. “Sure, I guess…telling this story is new to me. I mean, yes to the cheese plate.” They both laughed again, and she felt herself relaxing a little. “But as you can imagine, I’m a little nervous about the whole thing. I’m only thirty-five, but I may have a ticking time bomb inside of me, and yeah, that scares me a lot.” She took a deep breath. “A lot. Listen, I’d rather you didn’t tell the others, okay?”

“It’s just between you and me,” Julia said, holding up her glass for a toast. “To new friends and to keeping confidences. And hope for a future when science understands Alzheimer’s.”

“Salud,” Ellen said, and they drank together.

They sat in Sláinte for hours, eating cheese, ordering more wine, and sharing. “So, what made you sign up for class?” Ellen asked.

“The brochure,” Julia said, rolling her eyes, and they laughed again. “Seriously, I needed something to do. My husband travels all the time — he’s been spending more and more time in Paris these days – and I get sick of playing tennis all day, to tell you the truth. I love it, but I would like a little more from life.”

“Why not study French?” Ellen asked.

Julia stared at her wine glass. “Hmm, that’s a good question. Well, we’re also looking at getting a little place in Belize, so Spanish would come in handy there, I guess. French would make more sense though, ultimately, wouldn’t it?” She looked up at Ellen, her eyes wide with confusion. “I’m going to have to think about that. I mean, I could say it was Belize, or I could also say that Spanish comes in handy in Houston, but that isn’t really the truth. I don’t know. It sounds crazy, but I’m a little sick of Paris. I can’t believe I’m saying that.”

“I’m sorry,” Ellen said.

“Why, what did you do?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I brought up something painful. You seem so sad.”

Julia grinned, and her facial muscles relaxed. “No, I’m glad you brought it up. I don’t know the answer to your question, but I’m happy you asked. I think it will help me to think about it. But I have a question for you, my friend.”

“What’s that?” Ellen asked, taking another sip of wine.

“How come you apologized for something that wasn’t your problem?”

Ellen nearly spat out the wine. “Oh, God, I did, didn’t I? It’s a bad habit I have. When Daddy started going downhill, he would get really agitated. At first I argued with him, but then I learned to keep the peace. I would just say ’I’m sorry’ to him until he calmed down. I’ve been doing it for so long now, that it’s practically a reflex. I’m sorry I said I’m sorry.” At that, both women started to giggle.

“We’re a mess!” Julia said, gasping the words out through her laughter.

Ellen glanced around and saw that some of the other customers were looking their way, some curious, some grinning. “Oh, Lord, everyone’s looking at us. They probably think we’re really drunk or something.”

Julia held up the empty bottle that they had graduated to when they realized that one glass wouldn’t cut it. “I think we are,” she said, and they descended into another round of giggles.

“We should get Mickey and Claire drunk,” Ellen said. “Then maybe we could all get along.”

Julia nearly shrieked with laughter. “Could you imagine Claire Malone out of control? Now that would be something to see!”

“Mickey, too. So young, yet so uptight. Scary.”

“We probably shouldn’t talk about our study group this way,” Julia said. “It’s not very nice.”

“Nope,” Ellen said. “But let’s do it anyway. I like them, don’t get me wrong. They’re just – I don’t know. Whose idea was this study group, anyway?”

Julia raised her hand. “That would be me. But you know, I do this a lot. I throw people together at dinner parties, and everyone ends up happy about it. I’m sure we’ll all find a way to get along.”

“If we don’t kill each other first,” Ellen said. Then she looked at her watch.

It was eight o’clock. “Oh, my God,” she said. “I still have to get some work done tonight. Julia, it was great. Thanks for being here.”

“My pleasure,” Julia said. “I enjoyed the company.”

As Ellen left, grateful to have walked, she wondered how long Julia would stay at Sláinte. Julia had everything, and yet she was still alone. The money is nice, Julia had admitted, but it doesn’t mean I don’t bleed.

We all bleed, Ellen thought. Every one of us. We are all lonely in our own way, and we all carry burdens. Understanding that somehow made her own feel lighter.

Filed Under: books, fiction, women Tagged With: books, fiction, Foreign Language of Friends, free, free fiction, novels, writing

Friday Fiction: The Foreign Language of Friends

October 21, 2011 by admin

If you’re just joining this blog, please feel free to look back at previous Fridays to get earlier chapters of The Foreign Language of Friends (now available on Amazon as an e-book — Sony, B&N, and Apple soon!). I’m working on a POD version of the book as well.

Have a great weekend! See you Monday!

CHAPTER SIX – JUNE 26

 

Claire woke in the morning feeling as though she hadn’t slept at all. Her head ached, and her eyes struggled to focus. She stretched, circling her sore left arm. Must have slept on it wrong. She hadn’t overindulged the night before and had, in fact, gotten plenty of rest. Thank God it was Sunday, when she always maintained a light workload, just three or four hours.

She’d planned to meet Heather and Anne for Sunday brunch, a monthly ritual they’d begun after the girls finished college. Claire often lost track of time during the big McClendon projects, so the monthly brunch was her way of not losing touch with her girls. Evelyn’s idea. Evelyn, Claire’s longtime and long-suffering assistant, had nudged Claire toward a more involved motherhood, despite Claire’s ongoing resistance. Claire brushed off a moment of guilt, reminding herself that Heather and Anne were far better off with their hard-driving, ambitious mother than if she had let them stay poor. She had provided them all the advantages she’d had to fight for, and now they were strong, successful women themselves. Claire enjoyed visiting with her daughters and looked forward to their monthly gatherings, where they could relate as adults. She had struggled through their childhood, seeing her children as mysterious and unfathomable creatures. Never playful herself, Claire found their sense of whimsy and silliness confusing. Now that they were grown, they could all speak the same language.

She moved slowly, fatigue adding heaviness to her limbs. When she tried to move more quickly, a wave of nausea stopped her, and she hoped she wasn’t getting the flu. Never having taken a single sick day during all her years at McClendon, Claire couldn’t even remember when she’d last had a cold.

She thought back to the day before, to the so-called study group that looked like it would end up being a waste of time. Everyone seemed nice enough, but the slow pace drove Claire crazy. Afterwards, she had gone straight to work, just as she did every Saturday, relieved to slip into the one environment where she felt like she belonged. She was most productive and enjoyed going into the office when few others were there. Of course, with the end of a major deal drawing near, this time she had plenty of company, but everyone tended to be quiet on Saturdays so they could get home as soon as possible. Claire always outlasted everyone else.

They were down to final clauses. McClendon had won a bid to construct a natural gas pipeline to connect Atlanta Energy’s platform in the Gulf of Mexico to McClendon’s processing plant in southern Mississippi. Atlanta, flexing its “Big Oil” muscle, had sent its lawyers shut down the deal during their last meeting, wanting McClendon to cut its bid to the bone. McClendon had already cut their profits just to get the business, and while Claire knew that deals like this always worked out in the end, those last weeks and days were the worst. One pissing contest after another.

Yes, she had put in a long day, but she’d felt satisfied when she walked out the door that evening. She had picked up an order of pasta primavera from the Italian place around the corner from her loft, and had drunk just one glass of wine.

No matter how much she dissected the day, Claire didn’t notice anything odd or different. Well, there was that sinking spell she’d had at mid-afternoon, but that was probably from lack of lunch. She had been too absorbed in her tasks to take a break, but that wasn’t unusual. An overall indifference to food was what helped her maintain her lean frame.

Still, something had felt a little off. And certainly, today was worse. She would never cancel the brunch, though, and closed her eyes for a while longer, hoping that the feeling would pass. It didn’t, and when she realized she was going to be late unless she got moving, she gathered her will to get up from bed. She waded through the quicksand of her tired body, showered, dressed, and put on her makeup. The shower helped, at least. When she got to the restaurant, she felt triumphant. I just needed a little rest. I’m fine. Squinting under the sun’s glare, she scanned the restaurant until she saw two hands waving at her. Smiling, she went to hug her daughters.

“Mom, you’re late again,” Heather scolded. “Working all morning, I suppose!”

Claire shook her head. For a moment she felt vulnerable — small, as her mother used to say. She ignored the feeling and smiled. “No, believe it or not, I took the morning off to rest.”

Anne laughed as she reached out to hug Claire. “That’s funny, Mom.”

“No, really, I mean it. If it’s any comfort to you, I worked all day yesterday after my study group.”

“How’s that going?” asked Heather. “Have you chewed up and spit out your fellow classmates yet?”

“Not all of them,” Claire said, “but there’s still time.” She made herself comfortable at the table. Heather and Anne had already ordered mimosas, and Claire waved to the waiter for the same.

“My girls,” Claire said, appraising them. Heather looked like her father, something that still pained Claire after all these years. Though tall like Claire, she had a sturdier build, wavy brown hair, and large, deep-set brown eyes. Anne, Claire’s little fairy princess, resembled no one in the family that Claire knew of. Petite and small-boned, Anne looked almost frail. She had straight blonde hair, which she wore loosely down her back, making her look younger than she was, and a dusting of tan freckles covered her nose and cheeks. Annie sometimes deceived people with her looks, disarming them with her soft appearance. She had inherited Claire’s ability to go for the jugular and had followed Claire’s footsteps into the energy industry, though she preferred the “real action” of selling the commercial deals to prospective customers over legal work, which she saw as boring paper-pushing.

“Are you okay?” Heather asked. “You seem a little pale.”

“Just tired, dear,” Claire said. “And I could use some food. I’m famished.”

They chatted as they always did, though Claire at times lost track of the conversation. From time to time she saw Heather giving her quizzical looks, but she just smiled and pretended that nothing was wrong. She talked about work, of course, though she found herself talking more about the Spanish class and the new friends she had made.

“Mom, that sounds great,” Heather said. “You could use some friends who talk about something other than work.”

“Maybe so,” Claire said with a sigh. “I’m just not sure that your mother has anything else to talk about anymore.”

“What about taking a little time off?” Heather asked.

“Not going to happen anytime soon. The big project I’m on now has gone on long past what we expected it to, and we’re going to start negotiations with a multinational corporation soon.” Claire spoke in code to her daughters, as all of her work was highly confidential. She never used corporation names, even when they weren’t out in public.

Heather laughed, the earthy, hearty sounds echoing those of her father. “Seriously, Mother, why don’t you do something fun? They’ve got to let you out sometime.”

Anne rolled her eyes. “Heather, this is how things are done. We’re not all teachers, with the summers off and a long winter break. Some of us have to work for a living.”

“Excuse me for trying to bring out the humanity in this family,” Heather said. “And I won’t even go into the myths about a teacher’s schedule. Mom, I know you’re a big mover and shaker and all, but haven’t you ever considered relaxing for once?”

“Not really,” Claire said, her face deadpan. Seeing the look of horror on Heather’s face, she added, “Honestly, work is my fun. I’m sorry you don’t understand that. Although, Anne,” she added, noticing the triumphant look on her younger daughter’s face, “we should be thankful that we have someone trying to keep us in balance.”

Anne frowned at that, and she and Heather eyed each other warily. Though grown, with fulfilling lives of their own, they had never stopped competing with each other.

Claire changed the subject then, regaling them with stories of outgoing Julia, shy Ellen, and Mickey the human pinball. She wondered aloud what Señora Martin’s story was. Claire and her daughters spent the rest of their brunch in relaxed conversation, and Claire found herself laughing more than she had in a long time. She realized that in the study group, despite her impatience, she had felt — dare she think it — happy. For the time being, her fatigue disappeared.

Filed Under: fiction, women, writing Tagged With: books, fiction, Foreign Language of Friends, free, free fiction, novels, women, women's fiction, writing

And Now, a Word From Our Sponsor…

October 17, 2011 by admin

Since last week was intense, I thought I would include some soothing photos from the Conservatory Garden in Central Park to begin our week with a smile!

Central Park
A lovely respite from protests and the overall busy-ness of NYC.

I seldom do commercials. In fact, I am squirming now with the thought of doing one at all. I blog because I love to, and I hope through my adventures that my readers see something of themselves. It’s always easier to promote the work of others.

That said, I have work of my own to promote today. At long last, The Foreign Language of Friends is now available on Amazon Kindle. In the next 2-4 weeks, it will also be available on other e-readers as well. At Amazon’s suggestion, I am creating a POD paperback version for those who want their paper books. I’ll post again once the book is available in these other formats.

I’ve priced The Foreign Language of Friends at the low, low price of $1.99, so buy early and buy often, and tell all your friends! If you haven’t seen my Friday postings before, check them out to get the first several chapters for nothin’. Yep, this is a commercial. Please buy my book! Help me keep my fabulous editor in business. She’s worth every penny. Plus, it’s a fun story. I had a great time creating it!

If you buy it and like it, may I ask one more favor? Please take a few minutes to write a review on Amazon. Thanks kindly in advance.

Now I am learning all about blog tours and am ready to gear up. I discovered BlogTour.org, which looks promising. Bryce Beattie, creator, conceived of the idea when he was working on his own blog tour. BlogTour.org matches authors who want to promote their work with blogs who are willing to feature authors. If it works, it can really simplify the process.

If you’re an author who is interested in BlogTour, take a gander at the website and sign up. You’ll find me listed there as a blogger willing to interview authors and their works, as long as they fit in with the general flavor of A Woman’s Nest.

More Flowers
It may be October, but there are plenty of flowers still in bloom!

In the meantime, my period of rest is over! My fabulous aforementioned editor, Jill Bailin, has turned Blood and Loam over to me for revisions, and it looks like she’ll be keeping me busy for a while. I also do my own book layouts, so I’ve pulled The Foreign Language of Friends into my trusty Adobe InDesign to get that done. And, I fully intend to do NaNoWriMo, which comes up in just a few weeks. Thankfully, my good She Writes friend Jodi Aman is offering a FREE 21-day meditation challenge in November, and I’ll need it to get some zen during all the craziness. It’s all good! I was getting a little cranky without a writing project, and I’m much happier when I’m juggling a lot of plates.

We’re back on track with my typical blog schedule, so I hope you’ll join me tomorrow for my latest book review. Have a great week!

Peace
Peace! Shalom! Shanti!

Filed Under: books, fiction, women, writing Tagged With: Amazon, BlogTour.org, books, Bryce Beattie, chick lit, fiction, Foreign Language of Friends, free, Jodi Aman, NaNoWriMo, women's fiction

Friday Fiction: The Foreign Language of Friends, Ch. 2

September 23, 2011 by admin

In this chapter, we meet one of the main characters, Julia Lafferty. Have a great weekend, everyone!

 

CHAPTER TWO – JUNE 1

Julia tossed her keys into the basket she kept next to the front door so as not to lose them, a trick she had learned years ago. Well, that was the hope anyway, although they still managed to show up in the oddest places: in laundry askets of clean clothes, on the back of a toilet, or even the refrigerator.

She felt invigorated after a quick match at the tennis club. The activity gave her sun-kissed face a warm glow and brightened her eyes. Although in her late forties, she still turned heads and enjoyed the fact that she did. Periodically, Julia used a touch of Botox® around the forehead and eyes, “just to freshen up a bit.” Where was the harm in a little nip and tuck from time to time? After all, looking young helps one to feel young. She hadn’t gone under the knife yet, but “the girls” might need a little lifting soon.

The phone rang. She dropped her Burberry metallic leather bag, overflowing with everything she needed and many items she didn’t, with a thud onto the kitchen counter, and grabbed the phone. Glancing at the caller ID, she said, “Hi, Lisa, how are you? Hey, sure, I just got back. How about tomorrow, ten o’clock? Then we can have lunch at the club. I think a martini is calling my name. Sound good? Great, see you then. Bye.”  

With tanned hands and manicured fingernails she grabbed the mail, and sat on the patio where she could enjoy the garden. Rows of white, pink, and fuchsia rose blossoms filled the yard with whimsical color and soft scents. A team of landscapers kept the lawn and gardens in symmetrical perfection. A ceiling fan that resembled palm fronds circled lazily above.

Julia had always planned to care for the flowers herself, but her husband Larry just laughed at her. “Don’t ruin those pretty hands,” he said. Sometimes she ignored him and worked in the dirt anyway, happy as a child making mud pies. He was gone so much anyway, he didn’t have to know.

As usual, most of the mail was junk. A few political ads set her teeth on edge, because that signaled the coming influx of annoying robo-calls, trying to get her vote. She put the grocery ads aside, not that she ever actually looked at them, but she always meant to. She tore the credit card solicitations in two, and set aside Larry’s mail.

She almost discarded the flyer for continuing education at Houston Community College, but she found herself holding on to it, unable to let go. “Hmm,” she said aloud. Feelings of excitement mixed with self-doubt crept in. She had never been a great student, not because of a lack of intelligence, but more because she had a social life to maintain.

Still, recently she had thought about wanting “more,” though the desire had remained, to date, a vague, amorphous feeling. She already had so much, she couldn’t imagine what that meant, but it nagged her anyway. She leafed through the brochure as though looking for clues. Religions of the World? Nah, too heavy. Starting Your Own Business? She thought about that one for a moment, then shook her head. She knew entrepreneurs who poured all their energies into getting a business up and running. Worse than a job.

“What are you looking at so intently?”

Julia jumped. “Larry!” she cried with delighted surprise. “What are you doing home?”

He leaned over and gave her a lingering kiss, which she returned eagerly. After nearly thirty years together, his lips still set off electric shivers in her body.

“Packing. I’m off to Paris again. Want to go?”

“Hmm, sounds tempting. How long will you be gone this time?”

“Not long. I’m sure not more than a week or two.”

She laughed. “As great as that sounds, not really.” For years she had jumped at all their impromptu trips, especially to Paris.

“You’re not worrying about the Parisian women again, are you?” he asked. “Because there’s plenty of great shopping there, at least so I’ve heard.”

“Ah, oui, oui, mon mari,” she said in her best French accent, complete with the remains of an East Texas twang. She had once shared with Larry that she felt inferior to Parisian women, who all seemed to exude slim magic and sensual mystery. He insisted that he found the women to be overly consumed with their appearance and even those of their favorite accessories, their perfectly puffed and coiffed little dogs. Julia, however, had found French women to be beautiful, friendly, and engaging. Larry insisted that he saw none of this, but it didn’t remove the unease Julia felt each time he left. She had come to accept it as her only real insecurity. “The shopping sounds lovely, but I really want to stay home.” She ran a hand through short, spiky brown hair. I need a new coat of paint, she thought to herself. She had seen bits of silver at her temples again, and her trips to the hairdresser had increased in their frequency. “But what’s up?”

“Arthur wants me to look at some apartments over there. We’re over there so often that he thinks we’ll save money on hotels. Plus, it gives us more of a presence there. I’m not so sure I want to deal with Parisian bureaucracy, but I’m a good foot soldier, you know.” He sat next to her and took her hand.

“That you are, my love.” She had met Larry in college and knew right away he was a go-getter, but she hadn’t imagined a life of travel and every luxury, from a spacious home filled with art to servants at her beck and call, a life where she was willing to turn down a trip to Paris because she had been there so many times.

“I’ll miss you,” he said. He sat next to her and stroked her arm. “I have a little time before I head to the airport. How about giving me a special good-bye?”

“Larry, you are such a bad boy,” she said, laughing, and crawled onto his lap. She buried herself in their embrace, knowing that their servant Luisa had headed off just a few minutes before to the store, so they would have time. She gave his ear a little nibble and said, “How about right here?”

“Sounds good to me,” he said, and they made their way to the floor without letting go of each other. In the heat of early summer, the tiled floor felt cool. Their bodies danced together as those of a long-married couple who know everything about what gives each other pleasure. Julia didn’t know if that was good or bad; sometimes, as now, it felt a little mechanical, as though Larry’s mind was somewhere else. Still, she felt close to him in these moments, and contentment flooded her, leaving her warm and soothed. She nestled in his arms, and they spent a few more minutes murmuring their love. Then he shifted to face her, running a hand through her hair and kissing her forehead. “By the way, have you thought any more about the Belize thing?”

The “thing,” as they called it, was his offer to buy them a place along the coast of Belize. Larry’s firm handled a lot of commercial real estate there, so he had suggested they find a nice second home. “Mmm,” she said, her eyes almost closed. She imagined the sun and surf as she lay on a lounge chair, soaking up tropical rays. Surprisingly, she felt…nothing. “I don’t know. Larry, it sounds wonderful, but so does staying home. I don’t know if I can keep up with all this running around.”

He laughed, flashing the boyish grin that still melted her after all these years. “Crazy, isn’t it? But exciting though. Think about it. Remember when we stayed at the Four Seasons? Remember the water, how turquoise it is?”

“Oh, yes, beautiful,” she said, not wanting to let go of her afterglow. To her, Belize meant massages and seafood salad lunches with the other wives, giving Julia many much-needed opportunities to socialize. She loved the ocean breezes, the beaches, the refreshing seaweed shakes with rum that arrived at her chaise longue with only a glance needed from her. It was tempting.

Still, the word “more” crept into her brain again like a pesky fly. She didn’t even know what that meant, especially since she already had more than most people she knew, and “more” felt selfish and greedy. She had more than anyone she knew; what else could there be? She sensed thoughts and feelings, all jumbled up and trying to come to the surface, but still separate bits and pieces that hadn’t found each other.

“Jules, where did you go?”

His words jarred her back to the present. “Yes, sorry, love, I guess when you mentioned Belize I started thinking. You know, I saw an ad for a Spanish class, and I’m thinking about taking it. It would probably help if we decided to get a place there.”

“You don’t need to take Spanish. Wherever we go, everyone knows ‘Visa’ and ‘MasterCard.’”

“I know. But I might want to. You know, just to talk to people in their own language. It might be nice.” She heard his disappointment as clearly as if he had shouted at her. She knew he wanted her to just go along with him, for them to have their adventures together, but in reality, he spent most of their travel time working while she looked around for people to talk to. She had found herself turning down his trips, preferring to stay home, play tennis, and putz around in the rose garden.

“Tell you what, Larry, I’ll think about Belize. Just let me look into this language class.”

“Okay, I can live with that,” he said. “I know it’s hard on you, hanging out while I work, but maybe if we have a place of our own there you could make some long-term friends, not just the tourists passing through. Lord knows you’ve never met a stranger. And you could have two gardens, one in Houston, the other in Belize.”

“That’s true,” she said, laughing.

“I have to go,” he said, gently untangling himself from her. “I may be there for a while this time. You can still change your mind, you know.”

“I know,” she said. She watched as he walked away, his physique still trim and strong. Only his hair, graying and thinner than it once was, broadcast his age. She wondered if she was making a mistake not going. It had never bothered her before to say no, but now, uneasiness wrapped itself around her like a corset. She stood and shook the feeling away. They had a life together that most people only dreamed of, and there was nothing to worry about. Best to go help him finish packing. Then she would sign up for the language class, where she would have something to keep her occupied so she wouldn’t worry so much about nothing.

 

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