Distant Shores

Page 43

 

  Anita touched her arm, but still said nothing.

  "Say something. Please. "

  "I was never this beautiful," Anita said in a throaty voice.

  "Yes, you are. "

  "Lordy, I wish your daddy could see this. Hed put it up on the wall and make sure everyone saw it. Come on in, hed say to our guests; see what my little girl did. " Anita finally turned to her. "I guess now itll be me sayin that. "

  On the first thursday in april, Elizabeth drove to the community college. She found a spot close to the entrance and parked. Light from a nearby streetlamp poured into the car, gave everything a weird, blue-white glow.

  From the passenger seat, Anita shot her a nervous look. "I dont know about going to this meeting, Birdie," she said, wringing her hands together. "Ive never been one to air my troubles in public. "

  "Itll help, Anita. Honest. I used to call these women passionless, but theyre not. Theyre just like us. "

  Anita didnt look convinced. "Okay. "

  They got out of the car and walked down the long, shadowy concrete pathway, then pushed through the orange metal double doors. A wide, linoleum-floored hallway stretched out before them, dotted here and there with blue doors.

  Anita paused.

  Elizabeth took her stepmothers hand and squeezed it gently. She remembered the feeling with perfect clarity; it had been only a few months ago that she herself had been afraid to walk down this corridor. Now she did it easily, eagerly. "Come on. "

  At the closed door, she looked at Anita. "Ready?"

  "Do I look ready? No, I do not"--Anita tried to smile--"but my stepdaughter doesnt care about that. " She puffed up her ample chest and tilted her chin up.

  Elizabeth recognized the gesture. Shed done the same thing herself that first time, tried--like a frightened bird--to make herself seem larger. She opened the door and went inside, pulling Anita along beside her.

  The first thing she noticed was the balloons. Pretty, helium-filled "good luck" balloons hung in the air, tethered to chairbacks. A few rebels had freed themselves and now bumped aimlessly along the ceiling.

  "Shes here!" someone cried out, and all at once, the women in the room came together in a crowd. They were clapping.

  Elizabeth looked down at Anita. "I guess they like it when you rope in a new member. "

  Sarah Taylor pushed through the group, smiling broadly. In a bright yellow dress, she looked like a ray of sunshine against the drab gray walls. "You tried to keep it a secret, Elizabeth. Quite naughty. "

  Elizabeth had no idea what Sarah was talking about.

  Joey pushed forward. "I saw it in the newspaper. I couldnt believe it. You never told us. "

  Mina was next. "Joey called me right away. I drove down to buy myself a paper and there it was. I called Sarah immediately. "

  Fran smiled. "When I saw it . . . " Her face twitched, as if she were about to cry. ". . . I went right out and joined that choir. My first concert is next Sunday. "

  The only one who had nothing to say was Kim. She hung in the back of the room, by the coffeemaker, wearing her usual morticians garb, fiddling with a pack of cigarettes. Every once in a while she looked up, then quickly glanced back to the table.

  "What in the world are you all talking about?" Elizabeth asked when there was a break in the conversation.

  "The art show," Joey said, her voice reverent.

  A hush fell over the room.

  Elizabeths cheeks heated up. "Oh. That. "

  Anita squeezed her hand, steadied her.

  "Were so proud of you," Mina said. "It took real guts to sign up for that. "

  "Balls of steel," Fran agreed.

  Joey smiled up at her. "You gave me hope, Elizabeth. I signed up for a dental hygienist class. I thought, if you can do it, so can I. "

  "But Im scared to death," Elizabeth said.

  "Dont you see?" Fran said. "Thats what makes us so proud of you. "

  Elizabeths emotions suddenly felt too big for her body. "Well . . . thank you. "

  "Whos your friend?" Sarah asked.

  Elizabeth turned to Anita. "This is my stepmother, Anita. "

  "Welcome to the group, Anita," Sarah said.

  "I lost my husband recently," Anita blurted out, as if shed been scared of her "turn" and wanted it out of the way. She laughed nervously. " Course I didnt actually lose him. Hes . . . dead. "

  Mina stepped forward and slipped her arm through Anitas. "Come sit by me. Ill tell you about my Bill and how Im learning to find a life of my own. "

  Elizabeth talked to the women for a moment longer, then went back to the food table. Kim stood by the coffeemaker.

  "Hi," Elizabeth said.

  Kim stared at her through narrowed, heavily made-up eyes. "How will it feel to fail?"

  It was the question Elizabeth had chewed on at every meal. For weeks, shed worried about it. Every time she dabbed on a bit of paint, she second-guessed her choice and her talent. "I expect to fail," she said at last.

  "And youre doing it anyway?"

  Elizabeth shrugged. "For years, I failed by omission. I dont think anything can be worse than that. "

  Kim hitched her purse strap over her shoulder. "I dont know, Elizabeth. Every time I think life cant get worse, my husband sends me a new set of papers. But good luck. I suppose good things have to happen to someone. "

  Elizabeth was still trying to fish out a response to that when Kim walked past her and left the meeting.

  SPRING

  The lure of the distant and difficult is deceptive.

  The great opportunity is where you are.

  --John Burroughs

  TWENTY-SIX

  Elizabeth was a wreck.

  She hadnt slept more than two hours last night. Shed tossed and turned and sweated. Shed even cried, although whether out of fear or frustration, she didnt know. What she did know was that the Stormy Weather Arts Festival officially started in less than an hour, and she--fool that she was--had agreed to show her paintings to the world.

  "Was I drunk?" she muttered, changing her clothes for the third time.

  The decision of what to wear was simply too big.

  She slumped onto the cold wooden floor in front of the sofa. She couldnt remember when shed been this scared. She would fall face-first today. And then what? Shed fought so hard for this new life of hers. Shed walked out of her marriage and forged her own path. Shed picked up her old paintbrushes and done the unthinkable: shed dreamed.

  "Get a grip, Birdie. "

  She went up to her bedroom and changed into an ankle-length black knit dress with a boldly patterned leather belt. She left her hair down (in case she needed to hide behind it) and peered into the mirror.

  Her face was the size of a volleyball. Hello, Wilson.

  She stifled the urge to groan aloud and focused on one thing at a time. Foundation first. She put on more than usual, then added blush and mascara. By the time she was finished, she looked nearly human again.

  The phone rang--as expected, at eight-forty-five. Elizabeth briefly considered not answering it, but knew such an evasion would be pointless. Meghann would probably send the National Guard down to check on her.

  "Hello?" she answered, hoping she didnt sound as brittle as she felt.

  "I was afraid you wouldnt answer," Meg said. "Are you okay?"

  "Id rather pull out my own toenails than go to the gallery today. I cant believe I agreed to do this. "

  "God, I wish I could be there. Im so sorry. "

  "Actually, Im glad youre busy. Ill call you when its over. "

  "Birdie?"

  "Yes?"

  "Youre my hero. You remember that. Im so proud of you. Today is going to change your life. "

  Unfortunately, that wasnt easy to believe right now. "Thanks, Meg. "

  They talked for a few more moments; then Elizabeth said good-bye and hung up the phone. She scouted through the bureau drawers for the right necklace. Finally,
she found what she wanted: an ornate turquoise squash blossom that Jack had bought her when he got the job in Albuquerque. This means good luck, baby, hed said.

  After she put it on, she took one last look in the mirror. Then she went downstairs.

  Anita was already there, standing by the front door. She was dressed in a pretty lavender rayon pantsuit. Her snow-white hair was coiled into a huge bun at the base of her neck. "How are you doing?" she asked.

  "Shitty. Maybe I wont go. Art should sell itself, right? Theres nothing more pathetic than a middle-aged woman crying in public. Oh, God, what if I throw up?"

  Anita came forward, grabbed her by the shoulders. "Breathe. "

  Elizabeth did as she was told.

  "In and out, in and out. "

  Elizabeth relaxed a little. "Thanks," she said, still shaky.

  Anita reached down into her pocket, then held out her hand. In her palm lay a small gray stone, polished to a mirror sheen, striated with rust and black and green. "This was your daddys worry stone. It was always in his pocket. He used to joke that when you were born, it was the size of a bowling ball and he wore it down to the nub. "

  Elizabeth couldnt imagine her father afraid of anything, let alone carrying a worry stone around in his pocket.

  "Were all afraid," Anita said. "Its the going on that matters. "

  Elizabeth took the stone. It settled in her palm like a kiss. She could almost hear her daddys booming voice: Fly, Birdie. You can do it. It calmed her down, reminded her of what mattered. "Thanks," she said, pulling her stepmother into a hug.

  When she drew back, Anita said, "Wed better get going. We dont want to be late. "

  All the way to town, Elizabeth concentrated on her breathing. The roads were closed off in a lot of places, but she found a parking place in front of the Hair We Are Beauty Salon.

  Echo Beach was dressed for a party. Banners and balloons were everywhere. The weather was surprisingly good; steel-gray clouds and cold breezes, but no rain. Every storefront was decorated in bright colors. A few hardy tourists, dressed in down parkas and knee-high boots, walked along the narrow main street. The beach was littered with people flying kites, dogs chasing Frisbees, and kids building sand castles.

  Elizabeth stood on the sidewalk across from Eclectica. A white sign filled the window. It read: meet local artist elizabeth shore.

  "I think Im going to be sick. "

  "You most certainly are not," Anita said. "Youre Edward Rhodess daughter. There will be no vomiting in public. Now, get movin. "

  "Elizabeth!" Marge was standing by the gallery, waving her arms. She wore a drop-waisted raisin-colored corduroy dress with open-toed sandals. Her hair had been tamed into a pair of thick braids. A stunningly beautiful cloisonne necklace hung between her breasts. "Hurry up," she yelled, then disappeared inside.

  Elizabeth walked across the street. At the gallery, she stopped. Her feet refused to move forward.

  Anita said, "Good luck, honey," and shoved her into the gallery.

  Inside, the Womens Passion Support Group was waiting. At her entrance, they burst into applause.

  Elizabeth stumbled to a halt. "Hey, you guys," she said, hating the tremor in her voice. "It was nice of you to come. "