Chapter 19 & 20

The drive seemed to last days instead of hours. There was nothing to look at except strip malls and gas stations that sold Confederate flags. Character-free towns with revival tents began to creep me out after a half-hour and static on the radio only disappeared for gospel music or Rush Limbaugh. My air-conditioning broke, so before suffocation set in I rolled the windows down.

After swallowing my third bug in less than ten minutes, I needed a sedative.

“Is a goddamn distraction too much to ask for?”

No one replied. I gave up and contemplated my life.

The shock that came over me when I found myself envying Rebekah was overwhelming. Never before had I considered myself lonely or deprived like one of those women who wandered into baby stores and daydreamed about the potty-training experience. Not once did I ever try on a wedding dress and imagine my ‘special day’. I had contempt for such silliness and that’s why The Lifetime Channel was never a hit in my home.

Max and I were supposed to be different; a couple that didn’t need to operate by everyone else’s rules. We were better than that.

So why was I suddenly imagining a wedding ring on my finger?

Perhaps I was experiencing a normal emotion regarding my work. I’d been doing the same thing for so long, maybe I needed a change. Following Sarah to the middle of nowhere was probably a good idea because it would give me the chance to slow down temporarily and experience the results. If self-discovery gave way to mind-numbing boredom, then perhaps I’d have my answer.

I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror and almost laughed out loud. I wouldn’t last five minutes.

You’re your own worst enemy.

Finally, we arrived in Plant City and my introspection could be postponed. I headed toward a cool shower, but Sarah dragged me off to see her church instead. I went to bed early that night trying to think up ways to escape.

The next morning I felt differently. Sarah served pancakes, tofu sausages, and fresh-squeezed orange juice. The pond at the edge of her property was large enough to provide a breeze while the grapefruit trees offered shade and privacy. There were six or seven cottages scattered around the pond with an acre of land between them.

The sweet scent of lilies filled the air and eating breakfast outside was enjoyable and relaxing.

“How did your family find such a comfy place?” I asked. “And aren’t you glad you never had to take a vow of poverty?”

“This is just a throw away cabin my dad bought decades ago,” Sarah said. “I feel guilty sometimes using it.”

“Now we’re getting to it,” I said.

“Oh come on, compared with Rebekah’s million-dollar wedding and the Cessna that Julia’s parents presented to her when she finished law school, this is nothing.”

“You’ve always been embarrassed by your parents’ wealth,” I said. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Only when you give money away are you truly rich,” Sarah replied and I rolled my eyes.

“Fine.” She ceased the holier-than-thou routine. “This house only has two bedrooms, one bath, a kitchen and living room. It’s small and cheap and enough for me.”

When I couldn’t eat another bite, Sarah gave me a tour. We started in her bedroom, the size of my walk-in closet. She filled it up with a bed, dresser, and desk. The Bible on Sarah’s bed was the same Bible from when we were kids; I recognized the handmade cover her mom made for her Confirmation. The desk held some papers and a simple vase with flowers that smelled heavenly. A collection of rosaries draped over her dresser mirror. I stood there admiring them for a moment. Some were elegant and others were simple; there were at least twelve of them.

“They’re beautiful,” I said.

I’d watched Mrs. Susi, my old friend back in New York, say the rosary a few times and the ritual fascinated me.

“Where did you get them?” I asked.

“Two were gifts from my mother. I picked up the rest from a few countries in South America and Africa.”

“You travel a lot for a nun,” I said.

“It was missionary work, Olivia. I’m hardly ever a tourist.”

“God forbid,” I said.

Sarah’s guestroom was the size of my bathroom with a creaky old bed that swallowed me up. I could have slept for days in that bed. She even kept a guest book on the dresser for signatures. I thumbed through it and recognized her parents, Rebekah, and Julia. There were several pages filled with names that weren’t familiar.

“Who are these people?” I asked.

“Sometimes women from the shelter stay here before they move on,” she replied.

“Sort of like a halfway house?” I asked.

Sarah nodded. I declined her request to add my name to the list.

“Your signature might be worth money one day,” she said.

When we got to the bathroom, we couldn’t both fit inside so she allowed me to look while pointing out everything.

“It’s a good thing you’re not married,” I said. “A man couldn’t stand up to take a piss in here.”

A brass tub with claws took up most of the room. It didn’t even work; Sarah kept it there because it added character.

“Who needs a charming latrine?” I asked.

“The shower works just fine,” she said.

“No baths,” I told Bozack with a sigh.

The living room was filled with pictures of families she’d given shelter to over the years. I got lost in their faces, especially the children, as Sarah told me stories about each one. Every tale was tragic, yet a few had happy endings.

“What a legacy,” I said. “You should be proud.”

Her kitchen was the largest room in the house. The gas stove and appliances looked like they were ordered from an early 1950s edition of Good Housekeeping. Her wooden table with six chairs needed the Walton family to be complete. There was even a bowl of apples in the center.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Laura Ingalls walked through the door.” I fed Bozack an apple.

“That’s the look I’m going for,” Sarah replied. “Laura was my favorite.”

“Nellie Olson was misunderstood.” I looked around the house. “I like it here. Normally, the prairie look gives me hives, but this is quaint and peaceful.”

“I’m so glad you approve.”

“So am I.”


Chapter 20

I took advantage of my recently acquired free time and tried new things.

The local library hosted a book club and although the participants’ average age was seventy-five, I signed up to discuss The Celestine Prophecies. One woman told me to stick to Deepak Chopra, yet most of the retirees were friendly and tolerant of my youthful opinions.

Sarah’s neighbor, a former nurse named Agnes who was hooked on Perry Mason reruns, took time out of her busy schedule and taught me how to fish. It went well until I actually caught something. The sight of a bass struggling to breathe hit too close to home so I threw it back into the water. Agnes said not to take everything so personally.

I signed up for tennis lessons with a volatile ex-pro named Paul Chesterfield. Mr. C spent each hour cursing my weak arm and poor follow-through. I had to admire the man, after each session he collected his money and said,

“You’re dynamite, sugar. Gonna have you kicking ass real soon.”

When I finally stopped hitting the ball into the net and Mr. C smiled, it was the highlight of my summer.

I made only one change to Sarah’s house. It was time to retire her television, the same set she received as a gift for finally going potty back in 1971. Against her wishes, I replaced it with a 32-inch high-definition color TV and DVD player. For the first time in years, I wanted to enjoy the benefits of being a couch potato.

“My dad watched the first season of All in the Family on this,” Sarah said, rubbing the old TV as if it were a family pet about to be euthanized.

“Exactly,” I replied.

Despite her protests, Sarah enjoyed chastising my must-see choices in living color.

I drove into Tampa to check out the scene. Sarah worried that such a trip might trigger an outburst. Sounded like a challenge to me. Although I felt a certain amount of trepidation, everything was fine. Tampa had changed and it no longer felt like the same town.

My old school had been redesigned to look less like a prison and more like a beach house. The building where Bernard’s law practice had been was replaced with a natural food market. Bernard once referred to tofu as “hippie shit that only prolongs the inevitable” before throwing a steaming plate at Sally. I considered it a sign of humanity’s progress that a corporate eyesore was replaced with a healthy alternative.

“Good for you!” I yelled at the beautiful establishment.

I parked across the street from my old house and stared for five minutes. Someone had the good taste to paint over the periwinkle blue with respectable beige. I almost went inside to take a look around, yet decided against it. The Volvo station wagon parked in the driveway filled me with hope that a nice family had claimed the house. I noticed no dark cloud above the roof or blackened silhouette peering from a window.

“This house is clean,” I said.

I had no desire to visit my parents’ graves. In my mind, two decaying tombstones sat amidst weeds and all who passed by concluded that Bernard and Sally Foster weren’t worth remembering. I didn’t want to know if a cemetery caregiver tended to my parents’ final resting place out of misplaced sympathy. That would have ruined my entire vacation.

Besides a few jazz concerts in Hyde Park and ice cream at Bo’s, I stayed away from Tampa. There was no reason to tempt the gods of destruction as if I were looking for a fight.

“Can you believe I’ve been here almost five weeks?” I asked Sarah one night over dinner.

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” she said. “You’re a completely different person. You’re relaxing, playing tennis, and discussing books with senior citizens. I’m especially impressed that you learned how to cook.”

“Relax, I’m not turning into Rebekah.”

“Please. Rebekah can’t do toast.”

“I have to admit,” I said, feeding scraps to Bozack as he lay beneath the table, “I’ve been having a great time.”

“Have you given more thought to Max and his proposal?”

“I think about Max at least a zillion times a day.”

“Is that all?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not sure someone like me can become an ordinary housewife.”

“Who says you have to be ordinary?” Sarah asked. “You think getting married makes you Mrs. Cleaver?”

“It makes me Mrs. Someone Else,” I said.

“Make up your own rules, Olivia. The fact that you’re considering a change means something and Max wanting you means something. Follow the road and see where it leads. Otherwise, you’re letting fear and uncertainty rule and that would be a weak ending to your story. You’re better than that.”

“You see good in everyone,” I said. “Whether it’s there or not.”

“Has Max tried to contact you?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“Does he even know where you are?”

“Max’ll find me; he always does,” I replied. “I just hope I’ve figured it out by then. I’d hate for us to give up everything and in ten years we’re left with nothing except a broken relationship and a truckload of regret.”

“Wow, you really are a control freak,” Sarah said. “What do you want from Max, some kind of warranty? If he breaks down you get your money back?”

“Something like that,” I said.

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“It should.”

“Then what’s left to be surprised about?” Sarah asked.

My brain grew numb and it hurt to think.

“I take enough risks,” I said wearily.

“Not enough of the good kind. Just enjoy life. What’s the worst that could happen? You realize you made a mistake and come back home. New York will always be there and so will thousands of ruthless men.”

“Pick up where I left off?” I asked.

We ate in silence for a few moments.

“I have an idea,” Sarah said suddenly. “Why don’t you come down to the shelter and take a look around?”

“Ugh,” I moaned. “I don’t know if I’m up for such a thing.”

“Come on, Liv. What else have you got to do tomorrow? Watch another Friends rerun?”

“Seinfeld,” I said.

“There’s a support group meeting tomorrow night. Why don’t you come down and I’ll introduce you to the girls. They’ll inspire you.”

“Fine!” I yelled, making my dog jump and hit his head on the table. “You wear me out.”