Sex and the Widow Miles (The Women of Willow Bay) (20 page)

Gingerly, I stepped over three gallons of paint, bending down to see what colors Carrie had chosen. Soft taupe with a lighter cream for the trim.
Nice
. The windows were bare, blinds and curtains removed for the painters. Far below, I saw the lake, grey and restless in the early March breeze. Morning sun glistened off the whitecaps as they rushed onto the beach.

Perched on the wide
windowsill, I leaned back against the frame to gaze out at the world that had been my whole life for so many years. We’d had a good life together, Charlie and I. Raising our family in this beautiful place was exactly what I would choose again given the opportunity. Would I make any changes if the Universe gave me a do-over? Certainly.

I
’d be more assertive and less accepting—ask for what
I
wanted now and then, rather than always deferring to Charlie’s desires. I’d take the Paris gig and put off the babies for a couple of years. I’d bag some of the hospital social stuff—the cocktail parties, the fundraisers—stop worrying about being the perfect hostess and spend more weekends on the beach with my kids.

I
’d make my husband talk to me, tell me what was in his mind and heart instead of simply expecting him to always be there, ready to take on whatever life presented next. Maybe I couldn’t have prevented him from straying. I’d never know for sure. But perhaps he would’ve been less inclined if we’d all—including Charlie himself—expected less super hero and more just plain Charlie.

And yes, I
’d choose Charlie Miles again, in spite of what I’d learned recently. The pain of discovering his affair had subsided to a dull ache that I knew one day would probably fade into a distant sad memory. Until then, I needed to concentrate on my life in the here and now—where
I
was going, what
I
wanted to do. I straightened to standing, stretching with a big exhale before removing the hoodie and placing it back in the box for the kids.

It was time to let this old house go, pass it on to a new family who
’d make their own wonderful memories here. The thought of putting it up for sale didn’t even make me particularly sad. I only hoped it would sell quickly. For the rest of spring, I’d stay in Chicago, continue with the therapist, and keep working at La Belle Femme. There was the fashion show to put on, and Sarah had talked about expanding the shop into the empty storefront next door. I’d already started decorating the new space in my head.

When summer arrived, I
’d talk to Noah about renting Carrie’s old apartment above the boathouse—the place Will stayed when he was in Willow Bay. Maybe we could share it. The anticipation that surged up inside me that thought, waned immediately. Will was well across the Atlantic by now in some exotic city. Was he thinking about me? Wondering if I was okay?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Something had changed. In no time at all, he
’d taken hold of my heart, and then backed away with alarming speed. I had no idea what had cooled his ardor. Maybe it finally hit him that I was a
grandmother
. Perhaps he simply decided he wasn’t up for the drama of a menopausal woman with so much emotional baggage. I’d scared the poor guy off, and that realization left a lump in my throat. It wasn’t anything I could fix right now though, and I had one more important stop to make before I headed back to Chicago.

* * *
*

I steered Liam
’s little Mercedes roadster through the rows of headstones, driving slowly along the narrow road. Carrie had objected when I asked to borrow a car, saying that I wasn’t emotionally ready to handle a trip to the cemetery.

Liam stepped up, tossing me the keys to his car before I could even open my mouth to argue with her.
“Go on, Jules. We’ll be here when you get back.” He’d given me that million-dollar smile as he put an arm around Carrie, whose dark eyes were so full of worry.

I kissed his cheek, then hers, and headed out.

Charlie’s grave sat on a hill near the back of the cemetery in front of a line of pine trees. I’d picked the spot myself, knowing it didn’t matter where I put the shell that was my husband, but also oddly convinced he’d enjoy the view overlooking the town and the bay. Parking by the side of the road, I wrapped up in the knitted scarf Carrie had shoved at me as I left, and then I pulled on my gloves. The sun was still high in the sky, and rivulets of water from the melting snow ran down the road by the grass.

The black granite headstone gleamed, drawing me as surely as if Charlie himself had been lounging there, crooking his finger at me. I imagined him as I ambled past the other graves, picturing that leonine mane of grey hair, that cocky tilt to his chin as he gestured,
Come here, babe.

The Christmas greens were gone, cleared away by the grounds crew so the grave looked stark.

I should’ve brought some flowers.

I dismissed the twinge of guilt. This wasn
’t
that
kind of visit. Kneeling down by the marker, I brushed some stray pine needles away from the base. Engraved letters stood out above the dates in the black stone and I traced them with one gloved finger.

Dr. Charles Edward Miles

Beloved Husband, Father, Son

“
You son of a bitch,” I said, sounding almost conversational. “What the hell, Charlie?”

I plopped down on the concrete in front of his grave, heedless of the damp seeping into my jeans. Legs folded meditation style, I crossed my arms under my breasts and waited for the tears, the words of recrimination I
’d planned to say, the anger I’d expected to dump here. But none of that happened. For a moment, my mind was an utter blank, then what came out of my mouth shocked me right down to my socks.

“
Remember the day we made love in the lake? You told me that stupid story about the plaque on the lighthouse that had the pairs of initials on it? You said the initials were carved there by men who’d managed to get and keep a hard-on in the icy waters of Lake Michigan? Oh and use it as well?” I grinned at the memory, stroking the headstone as if it were alive and able to respond to me. “We swam all the way out to the second sandbar. I laughed so hard I almost choked when you dropped your swimsuit and put my hand down there to prove to me you could do it.

“
Then you gave me that look”—I closed my eyes, picturing his face, those sultry eyes that burned with desire every time he gazed at me—”and my bikini bottoms practically fell off, I was so hungry for you. And we did it. Do you remember? Do you remember how glorious that was? How free we felt? Making love in the lake in the middle of the afternoon when the kids were at school and the beach was empty.”

Opening my eyes, I stared up at the wispy clouds floating across the clear blue sky before speaking again with a chuckle.
“You laughed your butt off when I wanted to go up and add our initials to the plaque. I was so disappointed to find out you’d made up the story, so you took your Dremel tool and carved our initials in the big rock at the bottom of our beach steps.
A new tradition
, you said. And it made me feel better. We never did find the swimsuit. Remember? You had to go all the way back up to the house and get me a different one. God, I damn near turned into a frozen prune waiting on you.” My heart sped up at the memory of that happy day—just one of thousands I’d spent with this man.

“
I should hate you, Charlie. For just a little while, I
did
hate you.” Lacing my fingers together I leaned my elbows on my knees and rested my chin on my hands. “I could’ve lived the rest of my life without knowing you’d fucked around and been perfectly happy with my naïve memories. I even invented a story like the ones you were so good at creating. I figured maybe you
wanted
me to find those emails so I’d stop putting you a pedestal and find love again. Move on with my life.” I snorted a laugh, shaking my hair back off my face.

“
Well, I’m fairly confident it was nothing more than you being so cocksure about your own immortality that you didn’t believe you needed to delete them. I’m sure you never imagined I’d discover your secret life or that you’d die before you could erase any traces of it.”

Anyone who drove past me in the cemetery probably thought I was tragic figure, sitting there on the damp concrete, talking to a headstone. But I didn
’t care. The catharsis was too sweet.

“
And if you think I’ll ever apologize to you because you didn’t find everything you needed with
me
, you’re crazy. I owe you
nothing
. I gave you the best life I knew how to give. Tough shit for you if it wasn’t enough.” I rose, brushing the back of my jeans with both hands before laying my palms on the top of the stone.

“
But I forgive you, Charlie. I can’t be bitter and sore for the rest of my life, so I forgive you. There’s still an evil part of me that no longer wishes you’ll rest in peace. Frankly, I’m kinda hoping you’re squirming up there in the hereafter, wracked with guilt and feeling pretty goddamned awful. Not forever, mind you, but for a little while—just until
I
get up there and can smack you senseless.”

I patted the polished surface of the marker.
“So long, Charlie.”

TWENTY-ONE

Standing among the boxes and crates in my living room, I once again thanked the heavens for Carrie
’s unnatural proclivity for organization. She’d come into the house armed with packing supplies, stickers, tags, and a clipboard. In less than three days, I was damn near ready to go. Most of my clothes and shoes were either packed to go to Noah’s or already at the charity store in town. I’d even shipped a bunch of stuff to La Belle Femme, including a couple of small tables for decorating, a whole box of costume jewelry, and two boxes of scarves and pashminas.

How in the hell did I acquire all this stuff?

Dumb question. Charlie Miles had shopped with passion and panache. He was the shopaholic in our house and loved to pick out everything from dishes, to candles, to my clothes. He’d always had in his head exactly how he wanted me to look and could go into a boutique or department store and dress me from head to toe. The hell of it was he was invariably right. I looked like a million bucks at every fundraiser, cocktail party, and event we attended. I glanced down at my grimy sweatshirt and yoga pants with a rueful smile.

“
I can just hear you now, Charlie,” I whispered as I taped the last box of knick-knacks and wrote
Charity
across the top in bold black letters. “If you saw me like this, my hair in a ponytail, covered in dust, you’d be appalled and swoop right in and carry me to the shower. Then you’d find something slinky and sexy for me to wear and we’d head to town for dinner. The whole time you’d be scolding me, telling me I should’ve hired someone to do all this.”

But I was glad I
’d decided to dig in and do the work myself—it gave me a real sense of accomplishment and independence. I wandered among the boxes and furniture, amazed at how much I was letting go of—how little I was taking with me. I’d already signed a contract with the realtor, and the house was going on the market next week. The tag sale would be in mid-April, and Noah and Margie had enthusiastically agreed to rent Carrie’s old place above the boathouse to me on a six-month lease starting in June. If I hadn’t figured out what I wanted by Christmas, I’d sign another lease and keep trying.

The new pub table was going with me, along with the wicker from the screened porch, furniture for a guest room, and about a third of my dishes and kitchen supplies. Otherwise, I was
going shopping, a thought that filled me with delight.
My own furniture!
I anticipated scouring magazines and shops to find exactly the right pieces.

“
Julie, what about the attic?” Carrie’s voice wafted down the stairs.

Shit!
I’d forgotten about the attic. I charged up, taking the stairs two at a time and met her in the hall outside my bedroom. Entrance to the attic was through the walk-in closet. Together, we scanned the detritus of thirty years, all carefully arranged throughout the huge space above the garage, thanks to the ever-vigilant Dr. Miles, who’d shared Carrie’s organizational skills. Dusty boxes were labeled according to which child’s mementos were inside, furniture from past years occupied one corner, and Charlie’s and my childhood stuff was boxed and neatly labeled in another.

I will not be overwhelmed.
I will not be overwhelmed.

I repeated the mantra I
’d been saying to myself since we’d started this project. Then I made an executive decision, something I’d become quite brilliant at in the last few days. “Boxes go to storage until the kids can come and sort through them. Everything else, we’ll put in the sale.”

“
Even the antiques?” Carrie quirked one dark brow. “Your mother-in-law’s antiques?”

“
Aw, damn. No, wait.” I chewed my lower lip for a second.
Damn
. Charlie’s mom and sisters set a huge store by the family antiques. They’d been the topic of more than one heated discussion between Charlie and his overbearing twin sisters. I knew my kids would never be interested in the hulking pieces. “Okay, I’ll call the wicked sisters and tell them to come and get whatever they want. No doubt they will. Jane’s been resentful about that damn grandfather clock since Gerta gave it to Charlie twenty years ago. Not a single holiday passes that she doesn’t mention it in a snarky tone.” I snorted a laugh. “That’s actually why he put it up here and covered it with a dust sheet, so he wouldn’t have to hear about it every time she came over. It didn’t stop her, by the way.”