The Cottage

"Liar! Quit lying to me," she screamed. "You're seeing another man!"

"I'm not. I swear I'm not."

"You're lying! You're lying," she said again. "Why can't you just tell Daddy the truth? Just

get it over with so I don't have to worry day after day what's going to happen."

"Angie, it's not that simple." She spread her hands. "And nothing's going to happen to you."

"Yes it is. You're going to get a divorce and make me leave here. You're going to move

somewhere and make me go with you. Well, I don't want to go with you," she yelled. "I hate

you! I want to stay with Daddy!"

She ran from the kitchen, her feet pounding on the stairs as she hurried back to her room.

Jill heard the door slam and she hesitated, torn between comforting her daughter and her

own fears. Carrie was right. If Angie found out about their relationship, it would ruin the

fragile bond between mother and daughter. Angie would never understand, especially at her

age.

She sank down heavily in the chair, staring at the half-eaten sandwich Craig had flung

there earlier. She felt alienated. Even in her own kitchen, surrounded by familiar things,

she felt little more than a stranger in her own home.

She leaned her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her hands as she stared across the

room. Little by little, their accusations began to fade, being replaced by much more

pleasant words, snippets of conversations between Carrie and herself, softly spoken words

of love passing between them in their most fervent moments of passion, teasing words as

they sat side by side at the pier, and then no words at all as they held hands by the flower

garden, admiring their work as the clock slowly ticked the time away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

As soon as Jill walked into the cottage on Monday afternoon, she knew something was

wrong. Carrie, who normally greeted her at the door, was at the pier, standing alone,

staring out at the lake. Jill tossed her purse on the bar and made her way down the path,

past the flower garden to the pier, her heels clicking on the wooden boards. Carrie turned

at the sound, her eyes showing her surprise.

"Is it one already?"

"Yes." Jill tilted her head slightly, watching Carrie. "What's wrong?"

Carrie waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, nothing." She walked closer, wrapping her arms

around Jill's waist and pulling her into a tight hug. "Saturday was fantastic and I missed

you like crazy yesterday."

Jill smiled, pulling her head away to look at Carrie, then bending closer, lightly kissing her

on the mouth. "Yesterday was endless," Jill agreed. "In fact, this morning was endless."

She pulled out of Carrie's embrace, watching her, trying to read her eyes. There was a

wounded look there she'd never seen before. She took Carrie's hand and led her to their

bench. "Now tell me what's wrong."

Carrie looked away. "Oh, it's nothing. Just a bad day yesterday."

"Then tell me about it. We've talked about everything. There aren't any secrets between

us. Are there?"

"It's not that," Carrie said. She clutched her hands together as she stared at the lake.

"It's just, yesterday morning, James... he confessed that he's been having an affair," she

said quietly.

Jill's eyes widened. "Oh, God, I'm sorry." Then she frowned. "Is that the proper thing to

say, given our circumstances?"

Carrie smiled slightly and shrugged. "I feel like an ass. I mean, here he was, so eaten up

with guilt that he had to confess, and I just sat there, stunned."

"You didn't say anything?"

"We didn't have a screaming match, if that's what you mean. James and I have never been

big fighters. It was all so calm and civilized. Of course, I don't know what my reaction

would have been had I not been involved with you."

She stood, pacing, and Jill stayed quiet, waiting for Carrie to talk it out.

"She's the assistant manager at one of his stores," she said finally. Again a quiet laugh.

"She's thirty-one. And good God, she's married too. I mean, what was he thinking?"

"So what did you say to him?"

"I asked him how long it had been going on," she said. "Since last fall." She turned and

stared out over the lake. "Now I guess I know why he hasn't been concerned with our lack

of a sex life." She turned back around. "God, that sounded just like the victimized wife,

didn't it?"

"Well, it's a shock. I mean, you never suspected, did you?"

Carrie shook her head. "No. Of course I haven't really given anything a whole lot of

thought lately." She sighed. "But that's not why I'm upset, Jill. I mean, how can I be upset

with him for having an affair? No, I'm upset with myself. I had the perfect opportunity to

tell him about you, about us. Yet I didn't." She walked back to the bench and sat down

again. "And like a typical wife, I let him wallow in his guilt, let him beg for forgiveness, let

him plead with me not to tell the boys. And all the while I'm thinking what an ass I am."

Jill linked arms with her. "But why did he tell you? Does he want to be with this woman?"

Carrie shook her head. "No. Like I said, she's married, has kids. It was just something that

happened."

"And is still happening?"

"No. And I think that was why the guilt got to him." She sighed. "He said he thought maybe

I was having my own affair and that was why I didn't miss him being around."

"Oh."

"I still couldn't tell him. If I'd told him, then everything would have focused on me and it

would be like his little affair just went away, because mine is a bit bigger, seeing as how

you're a woman and all," she said with a hint of a laugh. Then she buried her head in her

hands. "What a mess," she muttered.

Jill leaned closer and bumped her shoulder. "Well, speaking of messes, Craig has officially

moved into the spare room."

Carrie looked up. "It's gone that far?"

"And Angie confronted me. She has informed me that she hates me and if we get a divorce

she wants to stay with Craig."

"Oh no."

Jill shrugged. "She's fourteen. She's supposed to hate her mother."

"And Craig?"

Jill sighed. "I don't know." She turned, looking at Carrie, falling into her eyes. "What are

we going to do?"

"I won't lie, Jill. I've thought of us being together. How wonderful it would be to go to

sleep with you at night, to hold each other, to wake together to greet a new day. How

wonderful would that be?" She turned, her eyes moving across the water. "But this is so

foreign to us both." She laughed. "We don't exactly have experience at being lesbians."

Jill laughed too, slipping her arm around Carrie's shoulders and following her gaze out over

the water.

"But I worry about you," Carrie continued. "You and Angie. If she left your life, if she could

never forgive you, would you eventually grow to resent me, resent us}" she asked quietly.

"And is what we have worth you losing a child?"

Jill nodded, her eyes slipping closed. "In other words, you don't know what we're going to

do either."

Carrie turned, her eyes softening as she saw the love Jill didn't try to hide. She leaned

closer, her kiss feather-light. "I don't have a clue," she whispered.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

"Feel like going to the park?" Carrie asked one warm, sunny day weeks later.

Jill laughed. "You miss the ducks?"

Carrie held up a loaf of bread, her eyes smiling. "I have an urge."

Jill walked closer, her arms sliding around Carrie's waist. "An urge, huh?" She pulled them

together, loving the familiarity of their embrace, loving the gentle kiss they shared. "I

would love to go to the park with you."

"Wonderful. And just so you don't starve, I made us sandwiches to take along."

Jill pulled away, seeing the paper sack on the bar. She nodded and smiled. "Just like old

times."

"Do you mind?"

"Of course not." She reached for the sack. "It'll be fun." Or so she thought until she saw

the crowded parking lot minutes later. She groaned loudly. "Good God. Half the town's

here."

Carrie laughed. "School's out. What'd you expect?"

"I guess I'd forgotten what it was like during the summer." She discreetly reached across

the console and rubbed Carrie's thigh. "And I've gotten spoiled with our own private part

of the lake."

"I know." Carrie drove through the parking lot, looking for a spot. She found one toward

the end and pulled in. She sat there, hands still on the wheel. "Maybe this wasn't such a

good idea."

"Oh, it'll be fine. We'll take the trail through the woods to the piers. It'll be less

crowded."

And it was. They met only a handful of joggers and two teenagers on bikes. For Jill, it was

one of those days—those warm, sunny days—when she wished she didn't have a job to rush

back to. How nice would it be to spend the afternoon with Carrie?

"I know exactly what you're thinking," Carrie said.

"Oh, do you?" Jill countered, playfully bumping her with her shoulder.

"Wanna play hooky this afternoon?"

Jill laughed. "Okay. You got me."

"You know, you've got some clothes at the cottage. Shorts and stuff," she said with a

shrug. "Maybe you could?"

"Oh, Carrie, I wish I could. But I've got payroll due. I can't put it off."

"Probably just as well. If we start that, I'll be asking you at least once a week to blow off

work."

"I know." Jill turned, wishing they had the luxury of holding hands. "It's just that an hour a

day is not nearly enough."

"You know, we haven't had a Saturday in a while," Carrie reminded her.

"No, we haven't. And I don't know when we can."

"Has anything changed at home?"

"Other than Craig has volunteered to teach summer school, which is a first for him." Jill

sighed. "It's his attempt at being the martyr, because you know, there's nothing at home

for him." She stopped. "And Angie barely speaks to me."

"I'm sorry."

"No. I can't blame her. I can't blame Craig for what he's doing either. I mean, our wedding

anniversary is this week. How awkward is that going to be?" She touched Carrie's arm

briefly, then started walking again. "I've come to the realization that I'm holding him

hostage," she admitted. "Regardless of what happens with us, it's not fair to him."

"You want to divorce him?"

"They don't have to find out about us, Carrie. That doesn't have to be the issue."

"It'll come up, you know it. Eventually it will."

"Then I'll deal with it. I just don't want it to affect you."

Carrie was silent as they walked on, the trail coming to an end near the piers. Most of the

paddleboats and canoes had been rented and kids and adults alike laughed and played out

on the lake. Carrie paused, finding the flock of ducks that had taken refuge in a tiny cove

not far from the piers. She pointed and Jill nodded, following her through the trees.

"I didn't tell you, but Josh asked me point-blank if I was seeing someone," Carrie said.

"When?"

"Last week. He said he could tell something was up between me and his dad."

"What did you say?"

Carrie looked away, out to the lake. "I told him I wasn't," she said quietly. "But Jill, I came

so close to telling him the truth." She turned, watching Jill. "Josh is such a great kid. And

I think he would understand about this, about us. I really do." She opened the loaf of

bread, handing Jill several slices. "But then I didn't want to burden him with the weight of

all this. He's going to be going off to college in a couple of months. I don't want him

worrying about me."

As they walked closer to the water, the ducks saw them and swam closer, some getting out

of the water to clamor at their feet. They silently tore apart the bread and tossed it to

the dozen or more ducks that gathered around them. Grandma Duck joined them, limping

noticeably as she fought for her share of bread.

"What are we going to do?" Jill finally asked.

"I don't know," Carrie said as she bent down to hand Grandma Duck a piece of bread. She

glanced up, meeting Jill's eyes. "I just know I love you. That's all."

Jill's breath caught as it always did when Carrie uttered those words to her. Yes, that was

all. Love. But a love neither of them quite knew what to do with. Jill stood back, watching

the ducks, watching Carrie. Carrie finally stood, her eyes squeezing shut in a grimace.

"What's wrong?" Jill asked.

"It's nothing," she said as she rubbed her temples. "Just have a killer headache. Comes and

goes." She gave a brief smile. "You want to find a park bench?"

Jill shook her head. "I'd rather go back to the cottage and have a little alone time."

Carrie glanced at her watch. "Fifteen minutes."

Jill took her arm and led her back down the trail. "I can be a few minutes late."

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Harriet knocked once then cracked the door, sticking her head inside. Jill looked away

from her monitor, eyebrows raised.

"What's up?"

"You have a visitor," Harriet whispered.

Jill frowned. "Who?"

"It's your mother-in-law."

"Oh, God," Jill said with a groan. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Sorry."

"What does she want?" Jill whispered.

"She just asked to see you."

Jill stood. "Okay, okay." She smoothed her skirt then walked to the door. Harriet had

disappeared and Jill forced a smile as she greeted Arlene.

"What a surprise, Arlene. Is something wrong?"

"Of course not. Can't I visit my daughter-in-law?"

"You don't normally." Jill stood back, motioning to her office. "Come in."

Arlene took a seat in one of the visitor's chairs, her eyes moving around the room, landing

on the few personal items Jill kept there. She saw the disapproving look on her face and

knew what was coming. There were no pictures of Craig in her office. In fact, the only one

of Angie was taken nearly five years ago.

"It's so impersonal here, Jill. I would have thought you'd have more reminders of your

family. You seem to have forgotten you have one."

"Listen, Arlene, if you came here to discuss my marriage, you should have saved yourself

the trip. It's none of your business."

"I did not come here to discuss your marriage. I came to discuss my son's."

"Then perhaps you should discuss it with him."

Arlene smiled smugly. "Oh, I have dear. And it's positively horrendous what you're doing to

him. Making him sleep in the spare bedroom as if you are little more than roommates. And

poor Angie, you've ruined her for life, I'll have you know. That child is in tears nearly every

day."

Jill stood abruptly. "I'm not going to sit here and listen to this, Arlene." She pointed to the

door. "Good-bye."

But Arlene made no attempt to leave.

"Eighteen years of marriage and you're not even willing to fight for it? What kind of a

woman are you? I never imagined you to be so heartless, Jill."

"Get out of my office, Arlene."

"If you don't love him, then divorce him, let him go so he can get on with his life. He's still

young. He can still find someone who can treat him with the dignity and respect he

deserves."

Jill leaned forward, her hands on the desk. "You have no idea what it was like to live with

him, Arlene. I was invisible in my own house. How would you like to be married to a man who

was never around? To a man who hadn't matured past twenty-one? It got old."

Arlene shook her head. "That's his job. And if you'd bothered to keep your teaching job all

those years ago, you could have spent more time together. But no, you wouldn't listen to

me. Well, I hope you're happy now. You've ruined your husband's life, your daughter's life."

She stood quickly, her purse grasped tightly in her hands. "At least have the decency to

tell him the truth." She spun on her heels and was gone before Jill could reply.

"Unbelievable."

And when Harriet stuck her head in the door a short time later, Jill was still standing, still

staring into space.

"Need to talk about it?"

Jill looked at her for a long moment then sighed. She and Harriet were eight-to-five

friends, nothing more. They rarely discussed their home life. And she didn't think now was

a good time to start.

"I'm sorry, but I overheard," Harriet said.

Jill moved back to her chair, finally motioning for Harriet to sit. Telling someone she was

having marital problems was one thing. Telling them she was having an affair with a married

woman was quite another matter altogether.

"Craig's her only child," Jill said by way of explanation.

"Well, I've noticed you haven't really been yourself lately."

Jill laughed. "That's an understatement." She folded her hands in front of her, idly

twisting the wedding band she still wore. "I guess you could say Craig and I are separated,"

she said.

"Oh my goodness. I had no idea."

"We're still living in the same house, he's just moved into the spare room. And it's beyond

awkward," she admitted.

"Are you going to divorce?"

Jill looked up and met her eyes. It was a decision she wrestled with daily. She knew the

answer, of course. She just hadn't been able to say it. But now she nodded.

"Yes. I'm going to file for divorce."

"I'm so sorry. I know with a child, it must be very difficult."

"What's more difficult is realizing your child wants to stay with her father, not you." Jill

leaned back in her chair, turning her head to look out the window. "It's very complicated,

Harriet."

"I know it's none of my business but is there someone else?"

She wanted so badly to tell her. The love she felt for Carrie was nearly bursting at the

seams and she just wanted to tell someone about it, tell someone how happy she was, how

fulfilled she was when she was with Carrie. But she couldn't. Not yet.

"I just told my mother-in-law it was none of her business." She smiled to soften her words.

"I should tell you the same thing."

"Of course. I understand."

As she moved to go, Jill stopped her.

"Harriet? I appreciate the offer to talk. Really I do."

Harriet just nodded and slipped from the room.

"I mean it, Craig. You've got to talk to her. She's not our goddamned marriage counselor,"

Jill said as she slammed the cabinet door.

"What? I'm to forbid her to talk to you?"

"That would be a start." She added the pasta to the boiling water, aware of Craig watching

her. "Where is Angie?"

"She's at my mother's."

"Great. Another chance for Arlene to brainwash her."

"She's just worried about her. And I'm sure Angie tells her stuff."

Jill turned. "You mean more than you tell her?"

"I'm sorry but I just need someone to talk to sometimes."

"But your mother?"

"Why not her? We're close." He looked at the bottle of wine on the counter. "You want me

to pour you a glass?"

"Please." Jill stirred the spaghetti sauce, wondering at Craig's civility this evening.

Especially regarding the wine. "And I'm just saying, there are some things mothers don't

need to know. Our sex life being at the top of the list."

Craig actually laughed and Jill realized it was the most conversation they'd had in months.

And she admitted it was much better than the silence they'd been living with.

"You know, the Fourth is coming up," he said as he placed the glass of wine within her

reach.

"Yeah. And?"

"Well, we usually have a get-together here, with the group," he said.

"You mean your softball buddies?"

"And their wives. You act like I only invite my friends."

"They are your friends, Craig. But I get along with most of the wives, yes."

"Well, do you want to do it this year?"

Jill put the spoon down and turned, watching him. Was he serious?

"You want to have a party? Here? Wouldn't that be a little awkward?"

"Yeah. You're probably right. I just thought . . . well, I thought we could do something

normal, you know. Like we used to."

Jill turned back to the stove, hating the blanket of guilt that was slowly, slowly settling

over her. Yes, they always had a party on the Fourth of July. Her birthday was the fifth so

it was a double celebration. Arlene baked a cake and they would sing "Happy Birthday" to

her. Then at dusk, pile into cars to go watch the fireworks out at the lake.

The lake. Their lake. She wondered if Carrie and her family went out there too.

"So what do you say?"

She sighed. "Okay, fine. If that's what you want to do."

"Thanks, babe."

She turned back around. "Craig, this doesn't change anything."

He nodded. "Oh, I know. I just think it would be good for us, for Angie, to do something

familiar. She's really having a hard time, Jill."

"So I hear. She doesn't exactly speak to me," she said as she drained the pasta. "Take the

bread out of the oven, would you?"

"You ready for me to call Angie home?"

"Yes, everything's ready."

And it was. Spaghetti and meatballs. Garlic bread with an obscene amount of cheese melted

on top. And a healthy salad that Craig and Angie would no doubt lather in dressing. She

sighed again. How dysfunctional was this evening? She'd come home pissed off, still

steaming about Arlene's visit, and Craig had been attempting to cook dinner. Again, guilt

hit, so she took over for him, browning the meatballs before he could ruin them and finding

some homemade spaghetti sauce in the freezer instead of the jar he had by the stove. And

here they were, about to sit down to a family meal together. She and her husband—who

s m o o r d e b e t a r a p e s n i g n i v i l e r e w — n e t n a h t e r o m d i a s y l e r a b d a h o h w , r e t h g u a d r e h d n a.

words to her in the last few weeks

And now you've agreed to a birthday party.

She filled her wineglass again, hardly noticing the slamming of the door as Angie walked

past.

CHAPTER THIRTY

A tiny round cake, laden with what Jill assumed were forty candles—all burning hotly—

greeted her when she got to the cottage. She laughed then pulled Carrie into a quick hug.

"How did you know?"

"I snuck a peek at your driver's license. I know it's only the third but I wanted to do it

before the holiday."

"How sweet of you," she said with a kiss. "But I'm not sure I'm supposed to be enjoying

forty quite this much."

"Nonsense. Forty is a great year."

"I happen to agree with you." Jill bent down, blowing out all forty candles at once. She

clapped excitedly then hugged Carrie again. "I love you."

She felt Carrie's arm pull her tighter, heard the quiet sigh Carrie uttered when their

bodies pressed together.

"I love you too. Happy birthday."

The quiet, gentle kisses turned to more as their bodies moved sensually against each other.

After all this time, Jill was still surprised how her body reacted to Carrie's touch.

"I have champagne," Carrie murmured into her ear.

"Later," Jill whispered, turning her head to capture Carrie's mouth. "Make love to me

first," she breathed against her lips. She felt Carrie tremble at her request and her eyes

slid closed when Carrie's tongue wrapped around her own.

No more words were spoken as Carrie led her into the bedroom, carefully removing her

clothes. Jill lost patience as she stepped out of her skirt then reached for Carrie's shorts,

sliding them down Carrie's hips in one motion.

"In a hurry?" Carrie teased.

"As a matter of fact, yes."

Jill laid down on the bed, pulling Carrie with her, her thighs spreading to allow Carrie to

settle between them. But as soon as Carrie's bare skin touched her own, Jill rolled them

over, pinning Carrie beneath her.

"I changed my mind," she whispered before her mouth closed over Carrie's breast.

"I won't complain," Carrie murmured, and Jill smiled as she moved lower, wetting a path

across Carrie's stomach before cupping her hips and pulling her to her waiting mouth.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

As soon as Jill heard Craig whistling in the kitchen as he piled ground beef into the bowl,

she knew the party was a mistake. It would serve no purpose other than to give him false

hope that their marriage was salvageable. And it wasn't. But when she pushed open the

swinging door to the kitchen and found him there, a baseball cap turned backward on his

head, packages of wieners mingled with the ground beef on the counter, she didn't have

the heart to say anything. She decided she could play along for a day.

"You're starting early," she said as she reached for the coffee pot.

"Well, I didn't want you to have to mess with all this." He grinned. "Of course, if you could

do your special seasonings thing with the burgers, that'd be great."

She touched his arm. "I tell you what, why don't you go set up the volleyball net and I'll

tend to this."

"You don't mind?"

She smiled. "I believe this has always been my job."

"Great. Because I've still got to run to the store and get cokes and stuff."

"Would you like me to make a pitcher of tea?"

"Oh, don't go to any trouble. You know all the guys will bring beer."

"I remember. But I think your mother prefers iced tea."

Craig stopped, his eyebrows raised. "You're worried about my mother? Are you okay?"

Jill laughed. "I just don't want her to have anything to complain about."

"She'll complain that your spicy burgers are too spicy, as always," he said before closing

the door.

"Yes, as always," she muttered to herself as she assembled the seasonings. And as much as

Craig was making this little party out to be no big deal, she was actually terrified of it.

There would be questions, she had no doubt. Her absence at the softball games this

summer surely raised some eyebrows. And if not that, she doubted seriously that Arlene

had been able to keep their marriage problems to herself.

But questions... she wasn't ready to answer any. Would she just pretend everything was

fine between her and Craig, just to avoid questions? She shook her head. That would only

confuse Craig, Angie... and her in-laws. And that was the last thing she wanted to do.

"I don't want to go to the party."

Jill stared at her daughter, both of them standing with hands on their hips. She cocked

her head, her frown as pronounced as Angie's. "You don't have a choice."

Angie stomped one foot, then crossed her arms at her waist.

"I should have a choice. I'm not a child! And anyway, I've been invited to Shelly's."

"Look, I don't want to go to this party any more than you do. But he's making me. So if I've

got to go, you've got to go."

Angie stared at her. "Are we going to the lake for fireworks?"

"I suppose so. We always do."

Angie shifted her feet then finally uncrossed her arms. "Can I invite Shelly over here?"

Jill smiled. "Of course. You can invite whomever you like."

They stared at each other for a moment before Angie spoke. "Okay. Well, I might hang

around then."

"Good. I'd hate to think you were going to run away from home on the Fourth of July."

Angie smiled. "Well, it is your birthday."

Jill sighed. "Yeah. I'm forty."

"Good God! Forty? Man, you're old," she said as she fled from the room.

Jill watched the swinging of the kitchen door, a smile on her face. "My daughter is teasing

with me," she murmured. "Whatever in the world is wrong with her?"

"Who are you talking to?"

Jill turned, finding Craig in the doorway, his cap still turned backward. Her eyes widened.

"Oh my God. You shaved your moustache."

He laughed. "You'd make a terrible detective. It's been gone all week."

"But you've had it forever. You had it when we met. Why in the world would you shave it?"

He rubbed his upper lip with his fingers, smiling. "I figured I needed a change."

"Well, not that my opinion holds a lot of weight anymore but please grow it back. You look

naked without it."

He grinned. "How would you know? You haven't seen me naked in months."

Before she could respond, he was gone, his whistling echoing through the house as he

headed upstairs.

"Well, I see you've come to your senses."

Jill lowered her glass of wine. "How so?"

"Or is it just because it's your birthday you agreed to this party?" Arlene waltzed into the

kitchen, a huge cake in her hands. "And isn't it a bit early for wine? You don't want to have

the guests talking, do you?"

Jill blew out her breath, vowing not to let her mother-in-law get to her today. So she

smiled sweetly. "As with everything else, Arlene, it's none of your goddamn business." She

had the pleasure of seeing her mother-in-law gasp before walking out to the deck. Craig

and his father were measuring off the out-of-bounds lines for the volleyball games.

Despite her loathing for her mother-in-law, she'd always gotten along well with Carl. But

given the current situation, she wouldn't blame him if he chose to ignore her. He didn't.

"Jill, how are you?"

"Fine, Carl, thanks."

"I'm glad you both decided to have the party. It just wouldn't seem like the Fourth

without it."

Jill looked at Craig, nodding at his smile. "So I'm told." She walked out into the yard to join

them. "Your mother made a cake," she said. Then, quieter, "You don't suppose she would

resort to arsenic, do you?"

Craig laughed. "I'll eat the first piece."

Jill bypassed the lawn chairs Craig had set out on the deck, choosing instead the more

familiar swing. Craig was certainly in a good mood today. So was Angie, for that matter.

She wondered if it was only the prospect of the party, or if they thought—since she'd

agreed to it—that things were going to return to normal.

She pushed off with her foot, setting the swing in motion, watching them as they marked

the lines. Their guests would be here any minute and she still wasn't sure how she was

going to play it. Pretend everything was fine, just to avoid uncomfortable questions? In

other words, lie. Or be herself and keep her distance from Craig, letting everyone know

that the rumors they'd most likely heard were true. Or perhaps she could use her current

favorite line—none of your goddamn business.

She smiled, imagining saying that to Whitney Myers, wife of Craig's best friend. Wife,

teetotaler and Sunday school teacher. Of all of Craig's friends' wives, she got along well

enough with most of them. However, she and Whitney had never hit it off. She always came

away with the impression that Whitney was judging her. And finding Jill sorely lacking.

She stood in the shadows of the deck, watching the others as they laughed, their

conversations free and easy. With each other, at least. But with her, the conversations had

been guarded, forced. She took a deep breath and swirled the wine in her glass, wondering

if she dared to open a second bottle.

"Jill?"

She turned, surprised to find Mindy standing behind her, watching. She straightened,

moving away from the pillar she'd been leaning against.

"Hey, Mindy," she said. Then she found her manners. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Great party. As always."

"Thanks."

Mindy moved closer, blocking Jill's view of the backyard. Jill assumed she was to have her

first inquisition.

"I know we haven't been the best of friends but if you need someone to talk to, I'm here

for you."

Jill raised her eyebrows. "Why would I need someone to talk to?"

"Well... you and Craig, I mean, it's no secret you guys are having problems," she said quietly.

"We haven't seen you two out together in ages."

Jill bit her lip, just barely holding back her new favorite response. Instead, she smiled and

lightly touched Mindy's arm.

"Thanks for your concern, Mindy, but I'm fine. Really."

"So you and Craig, you're not... well, you're not separating?"

It's none of your goddamn business.

Again she smiled. "Our personal life... well, it's personal. You understand."

"Okay, then." She stepped away. "Good. Well, again, if you need to talk," she said.

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

But her easy smile vanished as soon as Mindy walked away. These people—these women—

who she had called friends, weren't really, she realized. They were just acquaintances she

saw sporadically at games and on the rare occasions they shared a meal. And Mindy's offer

as a confidant now was based more on curiosity than concern.

And with that revelation came another. She did indeed need to open the second bottle of

wine.

"The burgers were great, babe."

Jill flicked her eyes at him, cringing at the endearment she'd grown to detest. "Thanks."

"But you're not really having a good time, are you?"

She smiled. "Why? Can you tell I'm sitting here, praying I get teleported to Hawaii or

something?"

"That bad?"

"Craig, I know you want some normalcy in your life but having this party didn't change

anything," she said softly. "I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "Angie had a good time. I haven't seen her this happy in months."

Jill nodded. "I know. And I realize how this is wearing on her. I really do." She took a deep

breath. "Maybe it's time we made some decisions instead of continuing like we are," she

said gently.

She saw him swallow, saw his eyes close and she truly felt sorry for him.

"You mean like divorce?" he finally asked.

She nodded but he shook his head.

"I'm not ready to talk about that, Jill. Can we just not talk about that now?"

She nodded again. "Okay, Craig."

He stood. "Do you still want to go to the fireworks?"

"I think I'll bow out, if you don't mind."

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts, his eyes hinting at his inner turmoil.

"Sure. I understand. I'll take Angie and her friends then run them home afterward." He

motioned to the yard. "Don't worry about all this. I'll clean it up in the morning."

She nodded and forced herself up, forced herself to go through the motions of telling

everyone good-bye, and she graciously accepted the words of thanks that were tossed her

way as their guests left. And in a matter of minutes, quiet prevailed and she was left alone.

Even Arlene left without a parting comment. No doubt she was still smarting from their

earlier conversation.

Now alone, Jill went about the task of cleaning up the kitchen and putting away the

leftovers. And despite Craig's directive about the backyard, Jill tidied the deck enough so

that she could sit in the swing.

And think.

Her wine had been replaced by a bottle of water and she slipped off her sandals, sitting

barefoot as she put the swing in motion. Darkness had chased the light from the sky and

she knew the fireworks would soon follow. Even now, sporadic bursts could be heard in the

distance.

She relaxed for the first time all day, letting the motion of the swing soothe her. Her

earlier consumption of wine had mellowed her mood to nearly the point of contentment. So

finally, at last, she allowed her thoughts free rein, allowed visions of Carrie to form, to

grow... to consume her.

Any doubts that lingered about their relationship were dispelled today. Even though she

and Craig were able to function somewhat normally together, were able to talk and tease

even, didn't change the fact that she was in love with someone else.

And how it came to be that she could find herself so totally in love with another woman,

she didn't have clue. She only knew her heart belonged to Carrie. Not Craig.

With that, she accepted the inevitable.

She would file for divorce.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

After the long three-day weekend, Jill was in more of a hurry than usual to get to the

cottage. She closed the gate behind her as she drove down the driveway, glad she'd worn a

sleeveless blouse with her slacks today. It was sunny and hot but even then, she'd prefer

to have lunch in the shade of the garden rather than inside.

But Carrie was nowhere to be found when she got out. She looked down to the pier but it

was empty. So was the tiny table they'd placed under the trees by the flower garden.

She knocked once on the sun porch door then went inside. The interior door to the cottage

was closed and she assumed Carrie had the air conditioning on today.

"Carrie?" she called as she stuck her head inside.

"Here."

Carrie was sitting in the dark, her head leaned back on the loveseat.

"What's wrong?" Jill asked, walking closer and rubbing her shoulder.

"I'm all right."

But when she looked at Jill, her eyes were filled with pain.

"Are you feeling ill?"

Carrie closed her eyes. "I've had this damn migraine all weekend. Nothing I take seems to

help."

Jill sat down beside her, touching her face. "You feel warm. Do you think you have a

fever?"

Carrie took her hand and squeezed and pulled it to her. "I'll be fine now that you're here."

"Well, I don't have a lot of experience with migraines but I do know you're supposed to be

in a dark, quiet room." She stood, pulling Carrie up. "Come on. Lie down in the bedroom. I'll

make a cold compress for your head."

"Will you stay with me?"

"Of course. Come on."

Jill pulled the covers back and helped Carrie remove the shorts she was struggling with.

After closing all the blinds, she untied the drapes, letting them fall to keep out even more

light. Then she soaked two hand towels in cold water. One, she put in the freezer for

future use, the other, she placed across Carrie's forehead.

"That feels good," Carrie murmured.

Jill crawled in beside her, sitting up against the pillows and lightly rubbing Carrie's head.

She smiled as Carrie moaned and continued her ministrations, pressing harder around

Carrie's temples, trying to ease her pain.

"You know, you've been complaining of headaches a lot lately," Jill commented. "Is that

unusual for you?"

Carrie opened her eyes briefly then shut them again. "Just allergies," she said. "Some

years are worse than others."

Jill leaned down and kissed the top of her head, then settled back against the pillows again,

her fingers continuing to massage Carrie's scalp. Before long, Carrie's even breathing

signaled that she had fallen asleep. Jill watched her, noting the frown that marred her

features, even in sleep.

Finally, as the clock ticked nearer to two, Jill eased out of bed. In the kitchen, she got the

cold compress out of the freezer and returned to the bedroom. Carrie had shifted, rolling

to her side as if searching for Jill. She took the wet cloth from her head, replacing it with

the one from the freezer. Carrie moaned once but didn't wake. Jill kissed her lightly on

the cheek then moved away. As an afterthought, she took Carrie's cell phone from her

purse and turned it on, then placed it beside the bed. She would call her later, just to make

sure she didn't sleep the afternoon away.

"I love you," she whispered as she kissed her cheek one last time before leaving.

But she didn't even make it back to the office before her own cell rang.

"I woke up and you were gone."

"I was hoping to sneak away quietly so you could sleep longer," she said.

Carrie chuckled. "Who could sleep with an ice cube on their head? But I feel better. I

guess your cold compress helped."

"Good."

"I'm sorry I messed up our lunch."

"You didn't mess it up. We were together."

Carrie paused. "How was the party?"

"Oh, it was ... it was tolerable. No, that's not even the right word. I survived it, I guess I

should say. But I almost felt like I wasn't really there, you know? Like my body was there

but I wasn't. Like I no longer belonged there."

"Is that how you feel? Like you don't belong there?"

"Yes, that's how I feel." She cleared her throat, thinking this conversation should be had

in person and not over the phone but she didn't want to wait any longer. "Carrie, I'm going

to file for divorce."

Carrie was silent for only a moment before Jill heard her take a deep breath. "Jill, I want

us to be together. If you're serious about doing that, then I want us to be together."

Jill slowed as she turned into the parking lot. She stopped and turned off the car, her hand

gripping the phone tightly.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes. I'm prepared for whatever fallout there may be. I'm not concerned about James,

just my boys. But sweetheart, are you prepared? Have you really thought all this out?

Angie? Your family?"

"I can't go on like this, Carrie. I just can't."

"Okay. Okay." She sighed and Jill thought she heard the tiniest of moans.

"Headache back?"

"Yeah. We'll talk about this tomorrow. I think I'm just going to lie down for a little longer."

"Good. Do you want me to give you a wake-up call later?"

"That'd be nice. I love you, Jill," she murmured before disconnecting.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

"Where the hell did this come from?" Jill said out loud as the downpour began. Out the

window of her car, she saw the dark clouds gathering to the north and she turned her

wipers on faster. She would be soaked. Her umbrella was hanging on the coat rack in her

office. They hadn't seen rain in weeks.

She was thankful for the remote Carrie had given her for the gate as she pushed the

button, waiting for it to open before driving through. She pushed it again, closing the gate

behind her and driving on through the rain. But at the cottage, she was surprised to find

the driveway empty.

Dodging water puddles as she ran along the path, she hurried into the sun porch and out of

the rain. Inside, it was dark and quiet, no sign that Carrie had been there yet today. She

pulled her cell phone out, debating whether to call her or not. She thought better of it, in

case Carrie was someplace where she couldn't talk.

She busied herself with lunch, foregoing their normal fare of sandwiches when she found

soup in the pantry. But as the clock ticked closer to one thirty, she began to worry. Again,

she picked up her phone, but again, she decided against calling.

And only moments later she heard Carrie's van, heard the door slam. She walked into the

sunroom, waiting. Carrie rounded the corner, their eyes meeting through the windows. Jill

knew immediately that something was wrong.

"Sorry I'm late," Carrie said. She moved into Jill's arms and Jill pulled her close.

"What's wrong?"

"I was at the doctor," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know, these damn headaches I've been having."

Jill took her arm and led her into the cottage, easing her down on a bar stool. "Have they

been worse?" she asked as she ran her fingers through her damp hair.

"Unbearable lately."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Carrie shook her head. "I didn't want you to worry. They did a ton of tests. I've been

there all morning. They did a CAT-scan too. But the symptoms are like a damn sinus

headache," she said as she rubbed her forehead.

"When will you know something?"

"Probably not until Monday." She wrapped her arm around Jill's waist and pulled her closer.

"But don't worry, okay. It's probably just my allergies in overdrive."

But Jill did worry. Try as she may, Carrie couldn't hide the pain in her eyes. And for the

first time, Jill realized how thin Carrie was getting. The last week or so, she hadn't had an

appetite at lunch, only picking at her food.

"Feel like soup?"

Carrie shook her head. "I've been poked on and stuck with needles," she said. "I think I'll

pass. But you go ahead and eat."

Jill leaned closer, her lips caressing Carrie's temple, then moving across her cheek before

finding her lips.

"I love you."

Carrie turned on the chair, her legs opening as she pulled Jill between them, holding her

close. "I love you too. So much," she murmured.

Jill smoothed her hair, her fingers gliding through the short locks, now more salt than

pepper. Another thing Jill had just noticed. She closed her eyes, pulling Carrie to her

breast, feeling Carrie burrow there.

"Is there anything I can do?" she whispered.

Carrie squeezed her tight. "No, no. I'm just so tired."

"Then come on," Jill said, pulling away and helping Carrie to her feet. "I'll help you into

bed."

"It's probably time for you to go already, isn't it?"

"Just about. But it's okay. You can rest. I'll leave the soup out. You need to eat something,

Carrie. It'll make you feel better."

"Sure. Okay. Leave the soup out," she said, her words slow, deliberate.

Jill stopped, her eyes searching Carrie's. "Maybe I should stay with you."

"No, it's okay. They gave me something for the headache. It's probably kicking in."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Sure."

Jill pulled back the covers on the bed, then slowly undressed Carrie as she sat mutely on

the edge. She paused, her hand cupping Carrie's cheek.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Carrie closed her eyes. "I'm fine, love."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Jill held up the sack when she walked into the cabin. "I picked up burgers. You feel like

eating out in the garden?"

Carrie shook her head, her eyes moving around the room quickly, then settling back on Jill.

"Please don't say you're not hungry," Jill said as she walked closer. "Getting you to eat

something lately has become a full-time job." She set the bag on the bar then wrapped her

arms around Carrie, smiling when she heard her sigh.

"I love you, Jill."

Her brief kiss became lingering, and Jill closed her eyes, falling into Carrie's embrace, but

Carrie stopped, pulling away.

"We need to talk, Jill," she said quietly.

Five simple words, yet Jill felt her world crumbling. Their eyes fixed on each other,

holding, searching. Jill's breath left her and she shook her head.

"No," she whispered.

"Yes." Carrie took her hand and led her into the sunroom. "Let's sit."

Jill shook her head. "No. I don't want to sit."

Carrie sighed wearily. "Please? I need you to do this for me."

"Oh, God," she whispered. "You're sick, aren't you?"

Carrie nodded. "Yes." She patted the seat beside her. "Come."

Jill took a deep breath then sat down, her eyes searching Carrie's. "How bad?"

Carrie took her hand and brought it to her lips. "Bad. It's bad, Jill."

"Oh, God. Your headaches?"

Carrie nodded. "They found... they found tumors, Jill."

Jill stared, unable to breathe, unable to look away. "No." She shook her head. "No."

"I've been thinking. You know, it's not too late. You can stay with Craig, you can try to

salvage your marriage."

"No! No, no, no," she said loudly. "I don't want him! I don't want my marriage! I just want

you."

Carrie looked away. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, God, Carrie. I'm sorry," she said around her tears. "I'm sorry." She drew Carrie to

her, her lips moving without thought before burying her face against Carrie.

"I love you so much," Carrie whispered. "I'm sorry."

"No." Jill cleared her throat then pulled away. "We'll get through this." She took a deep

breath and wiped at her tears. "So... what do they say? The doctors... what do we do?"

Carrie shook her head. "You don't understand. There's nothing to do."

Jill's eyes widened. "What do you mean? No treatment?"

"No. They're inoperable, Jill."

Her words sunk in and Jill slowly shook her head. "No," she whispered. "No. I won't let you

give up."

Carrie took her hand again, holding it tight. "I'm not giving up. There's nothing to give up,

Jill. There is no chance."

"There are treatments. There are always treatments."

"No. No, I won't go through that. And for what? To prolong this for another month at the

most? No. I don't want my last days on this earth to be in a hospital, hooked to machines,

stuck with needles... sick as a dog. No! I won't do it."

Jill stood, moving away from her, her eyes wide. "I call that giving up."

Carrie closed her eyes, shaking her head. "No, darling. It's just accepting reality, that's

all." She stood, slowly walked across the room to Jill. She took her hands again. "There's

not much time left," she said softly. "I know it. I can feel it. Don't make me go through

chemo." She shook her head again, finally giving in to the tears Jill knew she had been

hiding. "Don't make me do that for you."

Jill broke down then, her sobs shaking her whole body, and she clung to Carrie, taking

comfort, trying to give comfort.

"No, baby, no. Don't cry," Carrie murmured. "This won't help anything. Don't cry," she said

again. "Your tears are too valuable to lose."

"Don't leave me."

"It's not up to me."

"But—"

"No. No," she whispered, her lips lightly brushing Jill's mouth. "Please stop crying. Please?

I can't bear to see you like this."

"I'm sorry," Jill said, her tears still falling.

"We don't have much time, Jill. Not much time at all."

"Oh, God." Jill wiped at her eyes, trying to get herself under control and failing. "I'm

sorry."

"No. I'm sorry." She tried to smile. "I don't suppose there's ever a good time or place to

tell someone news like this." She took a deep breath. "I'll have to tell them tonight."

Them meant her family and the reality of their situation—of their relationship—hit home.

This was what they had. One hour each day. Even now, during this time of sorrow and angst,

that's all they would have. One hour. Her tears fell anew.

"I know, darling. I know," Carrie murmured. "As much as I want to spend my last hours with

you, we both know I can't. I'll be with my kids instead. But know my thoughts will be of you.

My last thoughts will be of you."

"No, no, no," Jill whispered.

"Please don't be sad. Look at me, Jill." Jill raised her face, ignoring the tears that flowed

freely down her cheeks. "Our souls, they're connected. We'll be together again. Just like

before. Just like now, in this life. There'll be others."

"I so want to believe you."

Carrie wiped at Jill's tears then brought their mouths together.

"Then believe."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

"You want to talk about it?"

Jill turned, startled. She shook her head, putting the swing in motion again, but he walked

closer anyway.

"I ordered a pizza for dinner," he said.

Jill cleared her throat. "I didn't feel like cooking." She knew her voice was still hoarse

from crying but she didn't care. She didn't care about anything right now.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

She sighed. "It's nothing." God, it was everything.

"You've been out here all evening." He walked out of the shadows, the moon casting the

only light. "You've been crying."

She closed her eyes. "Please, Craig. I just want to be alone."

"Is it something I've done? Something I haven't done?"

"Craig, it has nothing to do with you, with us." He stood there with his hands in the pockets

of his shorts, still watching her. "Really. I just want to be alone."

"Okay. Well, I'll let you know when the pizza is here."

"Fine."

She leaned back in the swing, her eyes closed, wishing— hoping—for a different outcome to

the day. She was beyond numb, beyond drained, beyond... empty.

They'd taken the afternoon, after she had called in to Harriet. There were questions but

none that Jill could answer. She'd simply told Harriet to shut down her computer and lock

her office. And then she'd hung up and the tears came again. So they walked to the pier

and sat. Just sat. They didn't talk much. They sat, they touched, they cried.

And at five, Carrie had gathered her close, had told her goodbye. Her eyes had been filled

with pain, pain she'd tried to hide from Jill.

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

Carrie nodded. "Sure. Same as always."

Jill had driven away, her eyes glancing again and again into the rearview mirror, seeing

Carrie standing on the driveway, watching her. The feeling that she would never see Carrie

again was like an ominous premonition, one she tried to dispel as she drove away.

But now, sitting here in the dark—alone—that feeling came to her again. Much like all those

months ago when she'd first met Carrie, when she felt their meeting was preordained,

their affair inevitable. Much like that, she knew deep in her soul that she would never see

Carrie again.

And again, the tears came.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

She'd thought... maybe... Carrie's van would be there. But she wasn't really surprised to

find the driveway empty. Because she knew.

She was surprised, however, to see the roses on their table in the sunroom. Roses and a

bottle of wine. Her breath caught and she covered her mouth, trying so hard not to cry at

the sight of the lone wineglass.

"Oh, Carrie."

She stood at the door for the longest time, gathering herself, her eyes moving over the

table, seeing the papers, seeing the note. She finally moved, walking closer, instinctively

bending to smell the flowers.

"Why did you do this?" she whispered.

But the note drew her and she sat down, her eyes glancing at the words, reading them

quickly before her vision became blurry with tears.

I won't make this long. You don't need that and I'm not sure I could manage it. There are

just some things you need to know. First, the cottage. It's as much yours as mine. And it

didn't become a home to me until you came into my life. So I've transferred the title to

your name. All you need to do is sign the paperwork I've left for you. My attorney's card is

there. I've given him all of your information. He'll be in contact with you. Also, there's a

bank account that I opened in your name. It's not a huge sum, Jill, but it was mine and I

wanted you to have it, not James. It was the money from Joshua and from his land.

I know how hard this is for you. I came into your life and turned your world upside down,

and now I'm leaving you. But it doesn't hurt so much, Jill, knowing we'll be together in

another life, another time. As brief as it was, I couldn't have laved you more even if we'd

had twenty years together.

Please don't cry for me. I'll be with you. You just have to look for me. I've asked for my

ashes to be spread at the park, near the pier, where you and I walked and talked, where we

fed the ducks... where we met.

There was another sentence or two, but Jill couldn't go on. She cried out then with one

swing of her arm, she knocked the roses and wine to the floor, glass shattering on the tile

from her fit of grief. There amongst the mess stood the lone wineglass, undisturbed by

her fury.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Present Day

Jill shifted on the bench, her gaze sliding from the old woman back to the countless

headstones that dotted the landscape. "And just like that... she was gone." Jill dabbed at

her eyes, her tissue in shreds and she dug in her purse for another one. "I never saw her

again. And three weeks later, I read the news... in the paper," she said, tears again falling.

"So quick. I'm in shock still, I think. There wasn't time to say good-bye. There wasn't time

to say all the things I wanted to say, needed to say. She was just gone." Jill paused for

breath, just now noticing the lengthening shadows as the sun slipped from the sky. She'd

been talking for hours. "I'm so sorry, I've just been rambling on."

The old woman took her hand and squeezed, her own eyes misting with tears. "Not

rambling, dear. You've been telling me of a great love. Thank you for sharing that with me."

Jill blew her nose then cleared her throat. "Yes. We fell in love. People do that, you know,"

she said, almost apologetically. "And when you're falling in love, you believe in things so

strongly." She paused, tears again welling in her eyes. "And I believe. I truly do. Is that

crazy? Is it crazy to believe—to hope— that there's another lifetime that we'll be

together? Do you think about that with your Eddie?"

She shook her head. "No. The Bible says it's not so. But I believe I'll see Eddie again. In

heaven. Not in another lifetime." She patted her hand. "But I've learned through the years

that everyone has different beliefs." She leaned closer. "That doesn't make it wrong."

Jill was silent for a moment, absently rubbing at her eyes, knowing she must look frightful.

She finally turned. "No one knows. No one. Just you." She touched her heart. "A love so

strong inside of me and no one knows."

"And you crashed the service today just to see them, to put faces to names?"

"Yes. Is that awful of me? I thought maybe I might feel... well, might feel her here."

"From what you've told me, it's not here you'll find her. You have the cottage now. That's

where she'll be."

Jill laughed bitterly. "Yes. I have the cottage. A place I can't bear to go to, yet a place I'll

never be able to part with."

"Nonsense. You'll go there because that's where she is. That's where you'll find your

peace." She pointed to the grave. "That's why I come here. To me, this is where Eddie is,

this is where I put him. That's what I was taught to believe." She stared at the grave, her

wrinkled face hinting at a smile. "Oh, I feel his presence in the house, always will I suppose.

But he's here. And I have my bench where I can come and talk to him. It eases the pain

somewhat." She surprised Jill by putting a thin arm around her shoulders and pulling Jill

closer. "Death... it's so hard to be the one left behind," she said quietly. "But we go on.

That's what we do." She pulled away. "Now, you go on home. You've got some decisions to

make."

Jill nodded, then leaned over and kissed the wrinkled face. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Thank you for... well, just thank you."

Jill squeezed her shoulder one last time, then walked away, surprised by the lessening of

the pain in her heart.

"If you ever need to talk, you know where I'll be," she called to Jill.

Jill turned, watching as Bea's glance slid back to the grave, back to her Eddie.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

She gave herself a week. A week to get her emotions under control, a week to make sure

there weren't any complications with the cottage and a week to feel confident about her

decision.

Despite everything that had happened to her in the last year, her decision to leave Craig

really had very little to do with Carrie. She'd been unhappy in her marriage long before

Carrie came into her life. But still, divorce was something she'd never even considered

before.

So she waited for Craig to get home, determined to tell him, determined to get on with her

life. She couldn't continue this any longer. Between his constant questions and her fits of

tears, the last few weeks had been a challenge for both of them. But it was time to give

them both some relief. So she waited, sitting quietly out on the deck, the familiarity of it a

comfort as she put the swing in motion. He would be home soon, she knew. And Angie, with

the new school year barely a month old, had fallen into her old habit of going to Arlene's

afterward until they called her home.

Then she heard it, the garage door opening, the truck door slamming. She closed her eyes

for a moment, trying to gather her courage. She didn't want to hurt Craig but what she

needed to tell him would hurt him deeply. After everything that had transpired between

them—their fights, their silence—Craig still thought they could resurrect their marriage.

"Hey. Thought you'd be out here."

She nodded, waiting for him to join her.

"I thought, when you said you wanted to talk... well, I thought maybe it would be a good

thing," he said. "But it's not, is it?"

"No, Craig." She took a deep breath. "We can't do this any longer."

"But—"

"No, please. Let me finish." She cleared her throat before continuing. "It's been a tough

year for you, I know. But I've got to do this, Craig. I'm going to file for divorce," she said

quietly. "It's best for everyone, Craig."

He walked away, his steps echoing on the deck as he paced back and forth. Then he asked

the question Jill knew he would ask.

"You've always denied it but there's another man, isn't there? Just tell me."

She stared at him, her eyes filling with tears she didn't try to hide. "No, Craig. There was

never another man."

"Then why? Why would you want to divorce?"

"Because I have nothing to offer you anymore. Nothing. And it's not fair to you to go on

like this, Craig. I can't stay and be your wife." She looked away, then back at him, meeting

his eyes. "I'm sorry, but I'm just not in love with you. And you need someone who is. You

need to find someone who loves sports as much as you do. Then she'll go to all your games,

she'll stand up and cheer for you, she'll love you for that part of you. But I can't be that

person. I'm not that person."

"I don't understand." He paced again. "What does that mean? You want me to move out?"

She shook her head. "No. This is your home. This is Angie's home."

"Angie? You want Angie to stay with me?"

"Yes. Your mother is close by." She smiled sadly. "Angie doesn't want to be with me, Craig.

Besides, I wouldn't be very good for her right now. So we'll work out some arrangement. I

just want what's best for her."

He leaned his head back and stared at the sky, then let out his breath. "I guess I shouldn't

be so surprised. It's been so long since it's been normal." He turned and looked at her.

"Where will you go?"

"Actually, I've got my eye on this... this cute little cottage out at the lake." She wiped at

the tears sneaking down her cheek. "I think it'll be perfect for me."

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Despite her initial apprehension about the cottage, she found she actually felt at peace

there. And she came across many pleasant surprises as she sorted through Carrie's things.

Namely, a painting that Carrie had tucked into the bedroom closet, complete with giftwrapping

and a card. The wrapping paper indicated it was to be for Christmas but Jill

couldn't wait.

And when she tore the paper off, she slid to the floor beside it, her tears flowing freely.

The painting, in watercolors, was of her, sitting by the pier on their bench, the greenness

of the trees and the blueness of the water depicting a spectacular early summer day. And

beside the bench was the huge pot they'd bought and stuffed full of blooming red and

yellow flowers.

"Thank you," she whispered.

The painting exemplified their entire summer. Carefree days filled with love, filled with

colors and flowers, filled with gentle conversation and even gentler touches.

She took a deep breath, then looked at the painting again, this time without tears. This

time with wonder as she remembered the woman who had painted it. The woman who

showed her the meaning of true, genuine love.

It was weeks later—with the air hinting at fall and a light rain falling—she was standing in

the sunroom, staring at the lake and the pier, when she felt a pull, a familiar urging to go

outside. She tilted her head, her eyebrows drawn together in a frown. This feeling, this

unexplained inclination, turned into a yearning as her feet finally moved, carrying her

silently to the door. And just as the first time she'd met Carrie, it was like a hunger that

guided her. She didn't question it. She walked out, ignoring the rain, just following the

silent command of her heart.

The water was still, only the tiny droplets of rain disturbing the smooth surface. And she

stood there, looking out over the lake, searching for what, she didn't know. And then she

saw them off in the distance.

Ducks. A dozen or more.

They swam purposefully toward her, their quiet clamors carrying across the water. She

watched, aware that her heart was beating quickly, her breath hissing between her lips.

Then, out of the pack she came, wings flapping strongly, her gray head a dull contrast to

the brightly colored mallards around her.

Jill dropped to her knees as Grandma Duck ran across the water, away from the flock

before settling down again. Her sobs came quickly and her chest ached as she knelt there,

waiting for the duck to swim closer. So overwhelming was the feeling of Carrie's presence,

she stopped breathing, simply staring out over the water, waiting—believing.

And just as quickly as her sobs came, laughter bubbled out unexpectedly. She sat on her

heels, tears still running down her cheeks as she laughed in the rain.

"Oh, God, Carrie... I should have known you'd come back to me as that damn duck."