Part 1 (2/2)
She'd tried to convince herself that love and respect weren't absolute requirements for a successful marriage, but three years later, holding her two-year-old daughter in her arms, she'd done what she should have done that day at church; she apologized for the screwup and with equal parts fear, regret, and relief sundered what should have never been joined together.
Sixteen years of single parenthood on a shoestring had followed.
Today her life had changed again. Tonight she stood on the small balcony of the Midtown Atlanta condo she'd spent the Labor Day weekend moving into, trying to come to terms with that change.
She took an exploratory breath of the night air. It was thick with humidity, redolent with the aroma of marinara from a nearby Italian restaurant, car exhaust, and possibility. Bits of music arrived on the warm breeze, carried from one of the bars over on Crescent Avenue. Below on Peachtree, horns sounded. A siren blared. Voices rose from the sidewalk where despite the late hour a steady stream of people walked alone, in pairs, in groups; all of them going somewhere to do something.
Here, dark and quiet were not synonymous.
”You are so not in suburbia anymore,” she whispered on another breath of night air. Here, people were living the kind of life that she'd barely allowed herself to imagine. A frisson of excitement ran through her and she leaned farther out over the railing, not wanting to miss a thing. She'd have to be very careful not to accidentally click her heels together three times and end up back where she'd come from.
Her cell phone rang and she hurried inside. As she hunted for the instrument, a part of her brain reveled in the fresh paint smell of her new home, the sparkle of the tall windows that overlooked Peachtree, the gleam of the polished wood floor.
She stepped around the new gray flannel sofa and area rug from West Elm, scanned the Crate and Barrel dining room table that would double as her office, and checked the nightstand next to the brand-new never-before-slept-on-by-anyone queen bed, which she'd tucked into a corner behind a tri-fold screen.
Sidestepping half-opened boxes, she searched the stand on which her new flat-screen TV perched and the bookcases that bracketed the Murphy bed that would be her daughter Hailey's, when she came home from college. College.
Claire exhaled heavily. Breathed in shakily. Out with the old life. In with the new.
She found the phone hidden behind a box on the kitchen counter-a lovely dappled granite that she'd fallen in love with the first time she'd entered the studio apartment-and managed to answer it before it went to voicemail.
”Hi, Mom.” Her daughter's voice was achingly familiar and surprisingly grown-up after only two weeks in Chicago at Northwestern University.
Claire reached for a framed photo that lay on the counter and was intended for the nightstand. It was from Hailey's high school graduation and showed the two of them with their arms slung around one another's shoulder staring happily into the camera. They were both of average height and had the same even features and wide smiles above pointed, some might say determined, chins. Their heads were bent together in a tangle of hair-Hailey's long and smooth, the blond tinged with honey overtones, Claire's a shade that resembled dishwater and which she kept cut in short, low-maintenance layers.
Claire listened to the hum of happiness that infused Hailey's voice. It made her happy just to hear it. It also made her aware of just how alone she was.
No. Claire silently rejected the word and all its synonyms. She refused to be lonely. No new beginning was without its b.u.mps.
”How was the move?” Hailey asked.
”Good,” Claire replied. When you'd sold or given away 95 percent of your former life and arranged to have most of your new life delivered, moving wasn't particularly onerous. She'd been able to fit the few things she couldn't part with in her SUV.
”Have you met any of your neighbors?” Hailey asked. She had helped her search for a rental unit before she'd left for Chicago, tramping in and out of every unit in the geographical area Claire had outlined on her map. They'd made the choice together over cardboard containers of pad Thai and panang chicken, just as they'd made so many other decisions over their years of dynamic duoadom.
”Not really. The concierge has been helpful and the other residents seem nice enough.” There seemed to be a diverse group of owners and tenants, which was part of what had attracted her to the building. And while Claire hadn't seen anyone who looked like they were counting their pennies quite as carefully as she was-no one had turned up a nose or been unfriendly.
”Edward Parker is way hot,” Hailey said turning the conversation back to the concierge. ”That British accent is fabulous.” She giggled. ”I could probably be okay with him for a stepdad.” She said this as if it were only a matter of time before she had one; just as she had since she turned five and began trying to picture pretty much every man they ran into-including her soccer coach, the mailman, and her favorite elementary school janitor-as potential husband material for her mother.
”I've talked to him exactly twice for about five minutes each time,” Claire pointed out.
”But he's cute, right?” Hailey said.
”So are puppies, but I don't have the time or energy to housebreak one.” Even Claire had to smile as she pictured leading the elegant Englishman to a pile of newspaper or out to a strip of green between buildings and ordering him to ”piddle.” ”I'm not here to get married, I'm here to write,” Claire reminded her daughter. Somehow in the years filled with work and single parenting that added up to too much stress and too little sleep, Claire had managed to write two historical romance novels and see them published. Writing Highland Kiss and Highland h.e.l.lion had been her great escape from the often overwhelming responsibilities of her real life; a chance to live in another time and place and to experience the kind of romantic love and devotion that people like her could only dream about; the kind of love that led to happily-ever-after.
”You're there to have a life, too,” Hailey added.
”I already have a life.”
”No, you had Grandmom and Grandpop to take care of all those years before they died. And you've had me and everything you had to do to take care of me,” Hailey corrected. ”That's not a life. Now it's your turn to just take care of you.” There was a brief pause. ”Or find someone else who will.”
”I'm going to ignore just how chauvinistic that statement was to say that raising you has been a privilege and an honor. And I'm still here to take care of you when you need it,” Claire said.
”I'd rather you write your breakout bestseller and find some hot men to go out with,” Hailey replied. ”And FYI, I don't think those things are mutually exclusive.”
”G.o.d,” Claire said, feigning displeasure. ”How did you turn into such a relentless optimist?”
”I learned it from the same woman I learned everything else from,” Hailey said quietly. ”You deserve the best, Mom. I hope you're going to go for it.”
A silence fell, reminding Claire just how far away her daughter was and how completely their life had changed. She'd sold their home, bought what she needed to start fresh, and had exactly enough money left over to pay the rent on this condo for one year. That meant she had three hundred and sixty-five days to plot and write a new and hopefully bestselling novel.
”One thing at a time,” she said falling back on the adage turned mantra that she'd used to get over each new hurdle. To put one foot in front of the other. To take care of increasingly infirm parents and raise her daughter alone. To keep going no matter how tired she was or how short of cash.
Claire plugged in her earbuds and tucked her cell phone in the pocket of her jeans. ”Tell me about your cla.s.ses while I make up the bed,” she said as she located the box marked sheets and ripped off the packing tape. ”Did you finish that paper for Sociology?”
Hailey chattered happily while Claire smoothed on the bottom and top sheets, slipped pillowcases over the pillows, and arranged the comforter, turning one corner down invitingly. The bed might be new, but the sheets were well worn and familiar.
Moving into the bathroom, she laid out a towel and stacked the others in the linen closet, then arranged her toiletries on the bathroom counter. She'd do just what she had to tonight and tackle the rest in the morning. As they talked, Claire focused on Hailey's voice and her obvious happiness and knew that Hailey was hearing the same in hers. Both of them were poised to add a new and exciting chapter to their lives.
Hailey yawned midsentence and Claire glanced at the closest clock. It was getting late.
”I think it's time for both of us to turn in,” she said when Hailey yawned a second time.
”Okay.” The word was followed by another yawn. ”G'night, Mom. I'll text you tomorrow.”
”Night-night, sweetheart,” she said automatically as she had so many times over the years. And then despite the fact that her daughter was eighteen and too grown-up and too far away to be tucked in, she finished with the same nonsensical cliche she'd uttered when the bedtime story was over and the lamp turned off. ”Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs bite.”
The line disconnected and Claire stood alone in the center of the cluttered condo. Hers, all hers. A thrill of antic.i.p.ation coursed through her. How in the world would she ever calm down enough to fall asleep?
”Don't be a goon,” she said aloud as she plugged in the Snoopy night-light that had always glowed in a corner of Hailey's room and which Claire had not been able to throw away. ”You wanted a new life and you've got one.”
Now all she had to do was hurry up and go to sleep so that she could wake up tomorrow morning and start making the most of it.
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