They didn’t know. None of them would ever fully comprehend, and God willing, they never would. But somehow…they empathized and they were with her. These four women had her back, and right now, that was what she needed most.
FOUR
The heavenly scent of cinnamon wafted up the stairs and Sarah sniffed appreciatively as she came out of the bathroom swathed in a fresh terry robe she’d found on the back of the door. Once again, evidence of the generosity and thoughtfulness of Julie and her friends—of Sarah’s new friends.
Julie lounged on the bed, staring at her phone. “Better?”
“Much.” Sarah offered the best smile she could muster as she padded across the room to pull clean underwear, a pair of yoga capris, and a long-sleeved T-shirt from the pile of clothing scattered on the floor on the opposite side of the bed.
“After lunch, we’ll get that stuff sorted and put away in the closet, okay?” Julie’s expression held no judgment as Sarah glanced at her when she passed by, the clothes clutched to her chest. “We can start some laundry, but we’ll have to figure out how the new washer and dryer work.”
“I’m a little surprised you didn’t do it while I was in the shower.”
Julie grinned, undeterred by Sarah’s dry tone. “I thought about it, but, first of all”—she held up one finger—“I didn’t know what needed to be washed and, second,”—she held up another finger—“I didn’t want to make a bunch of noise in here and worry you while you were in the shower.”
Sarah stopped to gaze at her friend. How did she know? How could she even fathom how vulnerable she felt in the shower?
Julie merely raised one brow and answered the question she must have read in Sarah’s eyes. “I saw it at the shelter, honey. I watched you with those victims who came in so terrified that they couldn’t even take off their coats, let alone strip down for a shower.” She rose and placed one arm around Sarah’s shoulders, leading her back to the bathroom. “Get dressed. I’m here and anyone who tries to come near you will have to come through me.” She gave her a little push. “Go on. Smells like Carrie warmed up her apple cinnamon muffins. You’re gonna love ’em. Hey, use some moisturizer,” she instructed and left the bathroom door slightly cracked. “Oh, and don’t bother to dry your hair. You can let it air-dry and Sophie’ll French braid it for you. She’s a genius at it.”
Sarah stared at the woman in the mirror. A sprinkle of freckles stood out against the pallor of her complexion and she was certain she’d developed a few new lines around her eyes in the past week. She looked every moment of her forty-three years, and then some. What had happened to the homecoming queen? To the vibrant, red-haired vixen voted Most Likely to Become the Next Miss Georgia?
Her lips tightened grimly. Paul Prescott had happened. Right there at the country club pool. The day after she’d given the valedictorian’s address at the Ames High School graduation ceremony. The day after she’d been fêted by friends and family for receiving a full ride to Ole Miss on a French scholarship. She was going to get her degree and then go to Paris and be a translator at the French stock exchange—the Bourse.
Well, none of it happened—not Ole Miss or the degree or Paris. Instead, Paul Prescott had absorbed her into his glamorous world, where at first she’d been cherished and adored. Until…
Sarah shook her head and untied the belt to her robe. Nope. She couldn’t go there right now. Not and stay sane enough to go downstairs and face Carrie and Libby and Sophie. Instead, she swiped on deodorant, dabbed her face with some moisturizer from the bag of cosmetics she’d managed to drag from the bedroom to the bathroom at some point during the last week, and brushed her teeth. She threw on her clean clothes and unwrapped the towel from her hair, letting the wet mass fall down around her shoulders.
She should cut the tresses off—it might be easier to deal with a short sassy cut like Carrie’s. Grabbing the pick, she attempted to tame her curls, but Julie peeked around the door, then came in and plucked the pick right out of her hand.
“Here, let me.” Very gently, she slid the wide-toothed comb from the top of Sarah’s head to the ends of her hair, and Sarah closed her eyes and allowed the luxury of someone else’s fingers on her scalp.
“Maybe I should cut it off,” she murmured, tipping her head back as Julie detangled with deft strokes.
“You could,” Julie agreed from behind her. “But I’d get settled in before you make any major changes. Right now, you can do a braid or clip it up or pull it back into a ponytail. If you go shorter, you’d have to do it every day. Besides, your hair’s gorgeous—so thick, and the color’s amazing.”
Sarah opened her eyes. “Yeah, but I’ve been yanking out a couple of white hairs every few weeks. If that continues, I’m gonna be bald by the time I turn fifty.”
“You’re so tiny and cute, you could probably pull that off with no problem.” Julie grinned at their reflections. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s go eat.”
* * * *
Julie placed her fork on her plate, nudged it aside, and rested her elbows on the placemat. “We need to talk, Sarah.”
“I know.” Sarah played with a paper napkin, folding it into a fan shape and smoothing the wrinkles out again over and over.
“Lib and Sophie and I talked things over.” Carrie set her coffee cup down gently. “We decided we’re going to take turns staying here with you at night for a while.”
“What?” Sarah gasped. “Why?”
“Not forever,” Libby amended quickly. “Just until you get more comfortable.”
“That… That’s not necessary.” Sarah was torn between frustration that they believed she couldn’t even stay by herself and relief that she’d have someone near to help her listen.
“Given the past week or so, it seems like a good idea,” Carrie replied. “But only until you get settled in and can sleep at night. That’s my son Jack’s old room.” She tipped her head toward the door under the loft steps. “The daybed in there is very comfortable and with someone here, you’ll always know help is downstairs.”
Julie scooted her chair closer and put an arm around Sarah’s shoulders. “And I’m giving you the name of a good therapist in Traverse City.” She tightened her grip when Sarah automatically began shaking her head. “Yes, Sarah. You need some help. We can make sure you’re eating and taking care of yourself, but you have to talk to someone. Dr. Benton is an amazing psychologist—she got me through the year after Charlie’s death.”
Tension built in Sarah’s body and she struggled with the urge to flee, to run as far and as fast as she could.
But Julie held her firmly when she made the move to rise. “This isn’t negotiable, Sarah. You can’t stay holed up in this apartment for the rest of your life.”
“So we’re coming to take you out each day,” Sophie added as she stacked plates.
“I don’t think…” Panic rose in Sarah’s throat. Outside she was exposed. She might be recognized.
Libby laid one hand over Sarah’s on the table. “There are lots of artists up here and tons of little shops with lovely crafts and antiques. And right now, the beach is covered in smooth stones and shells and other interesting things left by winter. You can collect some stuff, start making this place your own.”
“That’s right.” Carrie rose, crossed to the living room, and brought back a bowl that was sitting on the narrow table behind one of the sofas, filled with all sizes of rocks that had been polished to a high sheen. “These are called Petosky stones—they’re actually fossils of critters that lived under the lake thousands of years ago. They’re all over up here, but you can’t find them anywhere else on Earth. I found these when Jack was growing up. He and I wandered the beach all the time. The lake is very…calming.”
Calming? There was a concept Sarah couldn’t imagine. Even in the relative safety of the Chicago shelter, she’d never actually experienced a true sensation of calm. Oh, she’d managed to relax somewhat now and again, but that was always with the help of a glass of wine or a
shot of tequila. She never had more than one drink, though. Alcohol clouded her mind and staying in control was crucial. Plus, tequila made her chatty, which meant she might start sharing secrets best left under wraps.
There was that one night after she and Julie had closed down the resale shop. They’d shared a few shots of tequila from the bottle Sarah kept tucked in the bottom drawer of her desk in the back room. The liquor loosened her tongue and she let down her reserve enough to share her story with Julie—something she’d never done outside of mandatory group therapy. That night was the beginning of their friendship and somehow Julie Miles had managed to worm her way into Sarah’s heart and confidence.
Shivering, she crossed her arms and gazed out the front window at Lake Michigan. Someone had opened up the shutters, which filled the whole apartment with light and suddenly made it feel huge. The bay was quiet, except for one gleaming white yacht that was making its way in from the lake. A few others were already parked along the long wooden dock that extended into the bay, but there wasn’t a lot of activity in the marina this afternoon.
She wondered how easy it would be for someone to blend in on a busy summer afternoon. Someone could be up the stairs to her deck and never be noticed by the kids she’d seen scrubbing down the docks, pumping gas, and planting annuals in the boxes along the dock. Fighting an urge to race back upstairs to her chair, Sarah pulled her attention back to the room.
“Absolutely,” Sophie was saying from the kitchen where she was rinsing dishes. “Henry and I walk the beach almost every evening all summer long. By August, the water’s almost warm enough to swim.”
“That’s debatable.” Julie grinned. “You kids might be willing to get in it, but holy shit, that water is too dang cold for my old bones.”
Libby snorted. “Old bones? My bones should look so good when I’m almost”—she paused, clearly for dramatic effect—“sixty.”
“I thought we agreed we weren’t mentioning the S word ever again.” Julie drawled.
“But the look of complete horror on your face every time we do is so priceless.” Carrie laughed.
Sophie giggled and poured the last of the wine into her glass. “And you keep giving us openings that are perfect to remind you that you are the old lady of the group.”
“It’s still years away.” Julie’s tone indicated that the matter was closed as far as she was concerned, but the others continued with the good-natured ribbing.
Sarah couldn’t help smiling as the four squabbled with the ease of old friends, their affection for one another obvious. They’d done everything they could to include her in their conversation at lunch, to put her at ease, and it warmed her heart. Yet, except for Jules, she wondered if she could ever be at home among them. Julie was the first person Sarah had trusted since she’d left Ames, Georgia. Actually, the first person she’d trusted probably…ever in her adult life.
It had taken her several years to get comfortable enough to even speak to the other abused women when she’d moved into the shelter. She’d pretty much kept to herself and it hadn’t been until after she helped start the resale shop that she’d opened up to her small therapy group about her past. She was perfectly aware that closing up was the natural instinct for an abuse victim. If you never opened yourself up to others, then you never risked getting hurt—in any way. Sarah had mastered that lesson early in her marriage to Paul Prescott. Dear God, how she had mastered it?
“Sarah?” Thankfully, Julie’s voice brought her back before the memories began to wash over her again. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Sorry.” Sarah blinked. She had to stop drifting like that—vigilance required focus. Besides, Julie was watching her like a hawk, so she needed to show her some semblance of normal. She plastered on a smile. “I wasn’t listening. I got distracted picturing you with a walker and a hairnet.”
Libby, Sophie, and Carrie burst into laughter while Julie shook her head and rolled her eyes.
“I like her,” Libby said. “I like her a lot.”
“Teasing Julie is our favorite sport.” Sophie turned off the water and joined them at the table. “You’re going to fit into the MP just fine, Sarah.”
“MP?” Sarah raised one brow.
“Menopause Posse,” Carrie supplied. “We stick together, have each other’s backs, and do charitable work around the village, but our main mission is to make Julie feel like crap about being the oldest among us. And you’ve just proved you’re worthy of full membership with all the rights and privileges therein.” She rose, came around the table, and grabbed a daisy from the bouquet they’d brought in with them.
Sarah hadn’t even noticed it until this moment, even though it had been sitting right there on the kitchen bar. Good God, they’d brought her flowers. Inanely, she wondered if the lovely blue glass vase had come with the bouquet or if it was already in the apartment. She didn’t remember seeing it before.
Carrie bowed low, offering Sarah the flower. “You, Sarah Jane Bennett, are a true smart ass and, although you look about sixteen, I’m fairly sure you’ve reached or surpassed the magical age of forty, so you qualify as a Menopause Fairy. Will you accept our invitation to be an official member of the MP?”
It was now or never. Julie’s friends were offering their strength, their friendship, and showing her they intended to protect and support her. She could accept their friendship, find her way here in Willow Bay, and begin to live like a normal person—or she could stay huddled in the chair upstairs. Alone. She could even cut and run again—maybe to Canada or France.
It was her choice. Just as it had been her choice eight years ago to finally divorce Paul and start over in Chicago. But would she find a readymade support group someplace else?
She gazed around the table at the eager faces—each woman’s expression warm and full of welcome. With a deep breath, she rose from her chair, curtsied, and accepted the daisy amid cheers from her new friends.
Blinking back tears, she cleared her throat. “Okay, so teach me the secret handshake.”
FIVE
Tony paused in his vigorous rubbing of the teak deck to reach back and rub the sore muscles of his lower back. Sitting back on his heels, he admired the shining surfaces of Liam Reilly’s yacht, the Allegro. Tony had been captain, first mate, and chief cook and bottle washer on the boat every summer for nearly fifteen years—the first five with a Chicago Bears linebacker who’d eventually grown bored with partying on the lake, and for the last ten years, with Liam. Tony had to confess that although the time with the linebacker had been glamorous, boating life with a symphony conductor was better, more peaceful, especially since they’d made the move to Willow Bay.
His phone vibrated against his leg and he swiped his palm on his jeans before he reached into his pocket. Caller ID showed him the faces of his daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughter as well as the time, six thirty, which meant it was an hour earlier in Chicago. No doubt Olivia had picked up Emma at daycare and was driving home.
Drive time was when his darling daughter caught up on phone calls and he figured Emma must have clamored to talk to Poppy.
He swiped the screen. “How are my girls?” he asked, trying not to groan as he rose from the stern where he’d been kneeling. Was it possible he was getting too old to spend an entire afternoon on his knees waxing decks?
“Hi, Dad.” Olivia’s voice had the tinny quality of someone on speakerphone, which confirmed his guess that they were driving. “How’s it going?”
“Poppy, I petted a bunny,” Emma’s little voice broke in.
“A bunny?” Tony dropped down on the wooden seat that lined the deck, grinning as he always did when the four-year-old called him Poppy. She’d stolen his heart the day she was born and he was her slave, which both delighted and annoyed her mother. He’d pull the moon from the sky if Emma asked him for it, but Olivia couldn’t get too upset with him because he’d do the same for her and she knew it. “Was there a bunny at school?”
“A white one,” Emm
a affirmed and Tony pictured her in the backseat, strapped into the car seat with that damn five-point racing harness that drove him crazy every time he tried to buckle the kid into it.
“That’s pretty cool. Was it bring-your-pet-to-school day?”
Emma’s sweet laugh carried over the miles and warmed her grandfather’s heart. “No, Poppy. I can’t take Gwennie to school. She’d poop on the playground!” She had a point. Gwennie was the family golden retriever and Tony had no problem imagining the dog doing her business in the schoolyard.
“A petting zoo brought some animals in today.” Olivia sounded tired.
“Hard day at the hospital?” He reached down for his bottle of water and took a long pull as Olivia proceeded to vent about her job as an ER nurse.
He was so proud of his only daughter, but he worried about her working in an urban Chicago emergency room. When she switched from twelve-hour weekend shifts to three eight-hour days, his mind had eased somewhat—at least she wasn’t driving in the city at all hours of the night anymore. Her husband, Brian, had requested she change her hours to coincide more with his job as a professor of physics at Northwestern, and Tony had supported him fully. Not only was it safer, but it allowed them more time together as a family.
“Do you have plans for the weekend?” he asked when she stopped to take a breath.
“We’re going to Mom’s—she and Francie are having a Memorial Day cookout,” Olivia offered, sounding cautious. No matter how often he reiterated how pleased he was that his ex-wife had finally found happiness, their only daughter still worried about mentioning her to him.
Tony had always been aware that something was missing from his marriage to Olivia’s mother, but Shannon had gotten pregnant their junior year in college. In the eighties, you married the girl you knocked up. She dropped out and cared for the baby while he finished up his engineering degree. Shannon had tried hard, but Tony, who was getting a career off the ground and putting food on the table and a roof over his family’s heads simply wasn’t paying attention. Somehow, they held it together, and it wasn’t until Olivia was a junior in college that Shannon finally came out of the closet. The news that she’d fallen in love with her best friend, although startling, hadn’t been a shock. It explained a lot.
Saving Sarah Page 4
