by Susan Hatler
She dangled her legs off the rocks, bending her head to give me a side-glance. “Janine said she talked to you earlier and you seemed stressed. I figured you could use a walk. How was work?” she asked.
Thinking of Taylor and the romantic lobster dinner she was probably having right this instant made me bury my face in my hands. “Not good,” I said, then looked up at her hopefully. “Do I still smell like fish?”
She leaned close and sniffed. “I only smell lemons. Why?”
“I worked all day at the seafood counter, packing shoppers’ orders just like I did in high school and college.” I shook my head. “I’m sick of working there.”
“Why don’t you quit?” she asked.
I pulled my knees up to my chest. “That job’s my fall back in case I don’t accumulate more clients for Olivia’s Occasions. I need that income.”
She squinted, looking up at the darkening sky. “I wish I had a fall back plan. Now that Rex and I are divorced, I have no clue what comes next.”
“I’m sorry about your divorce,” I said, dropping my head against her shoulder. “That seems like such an inadequate thing to say since I should’ve been there for you.”
She leaned her head against mine. “We already talked about that, Olivia. Stop feeling guilty. Honestly, I wouldn’t have let anyone be there for me. Not even my sister.”
I lifted my head. “Why not?”
“If I’d told anyone how bad things were with Rex, then I wouldn’t have been able to deny my situation anymore.” She straightened, kicking her legs out, then letting them fall back against the rock. “Rex changed after he got famous. He became all about the image, not the music. I was miserable, even before he cheated on me.”
I glanced down the beach, spotting Amy and Pete strolling along holding hands. I averted my gaze, thinking of how Greta had pretended not to know about their secret meetings. Oh, poor Greta. I felt so bad for her with the Scotty situation.
I turned to Charlie. “My ex, Hunter, cheated on me too. With his ex-girlfriend. Actually, they ended up back together. I’d only been interested in him casually until he’d painted this beautiful picture of our future together. But once I had to focus on practical problems, like work, he pouted like a baby and moved on. Why do we stay with men who aren’t good for us?”
“Because we hadn’t read Men: Who Needs Them? yet?” She bumped her shoulder into mine, laughing as she dangled her legs. “Greta’s book really spoke to my soul. Once I realized I didn’t need Rex in my life, I stopped holding on to that failed dream, and let go of the pain. I just don’t know where to go from here, you know?”
“What about that firefighter, Wyatt? He seems like a good guy.”
“Yeah, he does,” she said quickly. Light sparked in her eyes as she smiled briefly. “He asked me out, but I don’t know if I should say yes.”
“Why not?” I asked, though I had a feeling I knew why.
“Well, for starters, because going on a date is the exact opposite of all of this.” She gestured toward the mansion behind us. “I signed up for this retreat to get in a better place with myself. I don’t want to muck up all my progress by dating too soon.”
“Hmm,” I said, considering her words. “Do you think it’s possible to be independent and have a boyfriend? It must be, right?”
“I journaled about that scenario this afternoon, but didn’t come to any conclusions.” She sighed wistfully. “I do like that Wyatt’s the complete opposite of Rex. He’s down to earth and even a bit on the shy side. Maybe I’ll go out with him. I don’t know . . .”
I watched her chew on her lip, her same nervous habit from when she was younger. I understood her inner dilemma. Deciding to date was such a huge decision after being hurt. I still wasn’t sure I’d made the right choice with Brody. Getting my heart broken again terrified me, but at the same time I didn’t want to miss out on the potential love of my life. Although, you’d think that potential love of my life could freaking text me back.
“I just don’t think I can date Wyatt,” she said, finally. “It’s just too soon.”
I wrapped my arm around her and gave her a side hug. I could tell from the downcast look on her face, she was already rethinking her decision, though. What a rollercoaster.
“I’d better get back to the house and check on Greta,” I said, hopping off the rock.
When I checked on Greta, she’d fallen asleep in her reading chair, with a copy of Men: Who Needs Them? still open in her hands. She looked sweet and vulnerable, unlike the savvy businesswoman I’d met at the beginning of this retreat.
When I got back to my room, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket—
Chirp! Chirp!
I checked the screen, saw a text from Brody, and held my finger over the picture of an envelope. Taking a deep breath, I tapped on the icon to pull my message: Dealt with some serious stuff this evening. I need to see you ASAP. It’s really urgent this time. Text me when you get this. And then come over.
My heart pounded as I stared at Brody’s text, hoping he was all right. I’d just lowered my finger to text back that I’d be right over when suddenly my door burst open.
Janine rushed in. “You need to come quickly,” she said, heaving deep breaths in and out. “Greta is in the living room. It’s not good, Olivia. Not good.” Her eyes widened until they were huge round balls. “She’s telling the ladies that being independent is a myth and that we’re all just a pawn in men’s evil game.” Her voice rose into a squeaky sound. “The women are starting to get upset. We need you to talk Greta down or The Date Escape will be completely ruined!”
I stood there, torn over what to do. Brody said he needed me, and I already committed to meeting up with him tonight. On the other hand, my business was on the line, and if I didn’t save this retreat then I could kiss all future retreats good-bye.
My heart pounded in my ears as tears welled in my eyes, then I set my phone down. A giant hole filled my chest, sucking the wind out of me until my nerves went numb. Then I grabbed Janine’s hand and raced upstairs, hoping this decision wouldn’t cost me everything.
Chapter Twenty
The next morning, I sipped a cup of hot tea in the dining room all by myself. The women had already eaten breakfast and were journaling in their rooms. Wrapping my hands around the mug, I tried to let the warmth seep into my body and soothe my soul after what had happened last night in the living room.
Just like Janine told me, Greta had come unglued, giving a daunting lecture about the weakness of the female species and how a woman’s self-esteem lies directly in the dirty hands of the man who betrayed her. Dark stuff.
I’d had no choice but to remove Greta from the living room even as she shouted, “Don’t have false hope, ladies! I’m living proof that the future is bleak . . .”
Once Janine and I got Greta back to her room, she crumpled into a ball, crying, “I still love Scotty, that cheating scumbag. I’m a scumbag lover. So pathetic, and I hurt.”
Watching tears stream down Greta’s cheeks, I decided her state of mind was currently beyond Men: Who Needs Them? So I set Janine and Greta up to watch back-to-back chick flicks while eating ice-cream from the carton. I figured Greta needed to forget men, to forget being independent, and to focus on good old-fashioned girl time.
With that settled, I ran back upstairs to the living room for damage control. Having no choice, I admitted to the women that Greta’s heart was still broken over the man she’d loved, and I asked them to please keep her recent rants private.
“What happens at The Date Escape, stays at The Date Escape.” I stood in the middle of the room with my hands on my hips, staring each of them in the eye. “Greta’s pain doesn’t detract from the brilliance of her book, nor the significance of this retreat. She’s just a woman grieving, and I’m pretty sure every one of us knows what that feels like.”
Murmured words of agreement chimed across the room.
“I’d never betray Greta’s confidence,” Erin said, s
itting forward in her seat. “It’s such a shame we pretend we’re okay and keep a stiff upper lip, when what we need is to be honest with how we’re feeling. Greta’s book taught me that, section three, ‘Focus on Friendships.’”
After Erin’s declaration of support, the rest of the women joined the conversation, wanting to rally around Greta in her time of need. We spent hours discussing how awful failed relationships made us feel and how understood we all felt after reading Greta’s book, Men: Who Needs Them? We also talked about the ongoing dilemma of remaining independent while dating.
Why hadn’t Greta written a book about that? Well, I knew the answer now. She hadn’t gone that far in the process. Being independent was something she’d approached with a vengeance, but Greta hadn’t dated since Scotty. Now I was flying solo with this retreat, but somehow I was keeping the retreat running smoothly.
I looked out the window at the mansion next door. I’d chosen work over Brody, which didn’t sit well with me. He’d left a voicemail late last night saying he was worried because he hadn’t heard from me. This morning I shot him a text telling him I was fine but needed to focus on work. He didn’t text me back.
I sipped my tea and watched the waves crash against the shore below. The next step in the retreat still eluded me, but I felt renewed confidence in my ability to run this retreat. I was lost in thought when Janine appeared in front of me.
“Olivia?” She bent down, and whispered, “There’s a lady at the front door for you. She says she’s your mother.”
I choked on my tea, coughing and sputtering. “My mom?” Alarms sounded in my head. Why was she here? How had she found me? What did she want? “Thanks, I’ll go to the door.” I set my cup on the table and dabbed my mouth with a napkin. “Would you stay available in case any of the women have a question? I shouldn’t be long.”
“Of course,” Janine said, giving me a warm smile. Having an assistant was turning out to be something I couldn’t live without.
I hurried into the foyer, and came to an abrupt halt. The woman standing by the front door looked nothing like my well-coiffed mother. No, this woman was wearing a tracksuit with a stringy mess of red hair peeking out from beneath a hot pink beanie hat.
“Mom?” I said, recognizing the hat I’d given her for a birthday gift, and nothing else about this woman. I moved toward her slowly, as if she were a frightened animal who might flee if I moved too quickly.
Her gaze flicked on and off of me. “I’m sorry to bother you at work, Olivia. But this can’t wait,” she said, staring at me through blue eyes with dark circles underneath. “Your dad tells me he’s been eliciting your help in trying to win me back, and this has to stop. Our relationship is over. O. V. E. R.”
“Mom. Slow down.” I reached for her hand and pulled her inside.
She pushed her flat lips into a slight grin. “I’m sorry to spring this on you, but your father doesn’t need any encouragement.”
“I’m not encouraging him, quite the opposite.” My belly twisted. I didn’t want my parents to divorce. But I also didn’t want to see my dad miserable and stuck. Like Greta. “How can I help, Mom?” She placed a cool hand on my arm.
“Help him understand I’ve moved on, and to stop sending me gifts.” She folded her arms, more hugging herself than blocking me out. “Today, a man showed up on my porch singing John Travolta’s Greased Lighting!”
“Oh, no,” I said, covering my mouth. My parents used that song for their first wedding dance in honor of how they met. Dad had been creative this time. I’d have been slightly impressed if I didn’t know how hopeless his gestures were. “I’m not encouraging Dad, trust me. But I’m at work. Maybe we could talk later? Like next week?”
Her brows drew together, and she thrust her hands to her hips. “No, this needs to happen right now, Olivia,” she said stubbornly.
“Fine,” I relented, although I didn’t see why this couldn’t wait. Shutting the door behind me, I led the way through the side gate, then toward the stairs, which led to the beach.
As we started down the steps, she turned to me wild-eyed. “You have to understand that I’m not being unreasonable.” Her jaw tightened and she gave a curt nod. “First of all, your father always left the toilet seat up. You might think that’s a petty thing to complain about, but the fact that he ignored my repeated requests to put the seat down is indicative of a much larger problem. He doesn’t respect me or what I want.”
“Okay . . .” I blinked, wondering, once again, why my parents felt the need to complain about their marital problems to me. I was their child, not a marriage therapist, and their relationship turmoil was breaking my heart.
My mother blew out an aggravated breath. “He’s inconsiderate. He’s never cared about my feelings. I took care of his house, raised his child—which, of course, I loved doing—and made dinner for him every night. Not that he even bothered to show up for dinner on time. Your father is a complete workaholic. I can’t even remember the last time he took me on a date.”
Hearing her complain about my dad, created a hard boulder in my stomach. “You know what else is inconsiderate, Mom?” I put my hand on her shoulder as we reached the last step. “Showing up at someone’s place of business and disrupting their work.”
She rolled her eyes as she stepped onto the sand. “You’re too focused on your career, just like your father. Nothing is more important than the people who care about you. Relationships are the meaning of life. Have I taught you nothing?”
“You don’t get it, Mom.” I rubbed my temples, hoping none of the retreat’s guests would hear my mother barking at me. “This retreat is the biggest opportunity of my life. If this goes well, my business will be set for years to come. I’ll be more than just that scared girl who dropped out of college. I’ll be someone I can respect. Work has to come first right now.”
“You sound just like your father,” she said, making a tsk tsk sound. “He made all kinds of excuses as to why work took priority. An upcoming promotion, a new client he needed to impress, you name it. Want to know when work stopped coming first for him? The day I left. Is that what you want for your future? One Hunter after another. Then one day you realize all you’re left with is work overload, unmet dreams, and regret.”
My breath rushed out, and my heart drummed. “Of course not,” I told her, thinking of how I’d blown off Brody for work. Was that the same way my dad had treated my mom? “But I’m not even married. Your problems have nothing to do with me.” I paused. Did they? I shook my head, then took her arm, hoping to guide her back to the car. “This has been a great talk, and we should really do this again sometime. You know, like after I’m done with the retreat.”
With a teary gaze, she turned to me, and pulled her arm free. “I need to talk to you. Your father’s about as receptive as a brick wall. If you don’t change, you’re going to be just like him.”
I pulled back with a gasp. I was so not like my father, was I?
“I want better for you, Olivia. I don’t want you to ever pass up the right person for the wrong reasons.”
An image of Brody came into my mind. I didn’t want to pass him up. I also wanted to see my parents happy. “You’re so . . . right,” I said, thinking about my conversations with my dad lately. The man called claiming he wanted my advice, but he wouldn’t listen to a word I said. I kicked a small rock, sending up a spray of sand. He was stuck where Greta was: a sort of love limbo.
“I know I’m right,” Mom said, looping her arm through mine. “All of the little disappointments add up to the colossal failure of our marriage. And our sex life?”
“Okay, wait.” I thrust my palms up and detached myself from her arm. “We need to have some ground rules. Anything that happens in your bedroom is strictly off limits.”
“Well, it wasn’t always in the bedroom,” she said, then giggled to herself.
I seriously wanted to gag and felt thankful when she didn’t go on. We both stopped at the water’s edge, the surf lapping chilly
waves onto my toes. I couldn’t help thinking of my times on this beach with Brody. At sunrise, when we’d ducked behind the rocks to avoid Greta. I smiled. Or, at the bonfire, when we’d gazed into each other’s eyes igniting a connection I’d never known before.
Maybe my mom was right. I shouldn’t have chosen work over my blossoming relationship. But I’d been scared to take that risk again. Throwing myself into my career had seemed the safer option. If that was the better choice, would I feel this sad over it?
I felt a twinge of sympathy for my mom because my dad had neglected her. That wasn’t a reason to cheat, though. Then I remembered Dad saying Mom had told him she and Junior were just friends. The circumstances were certainly questionable, but could that possibly be true?
“Mom?” I turned to her, needing to know the answer. “Are you having an affair with that guy Junior who’s always at your house?”
She bristled. “No, I’m not. I’m still a married woman.” She patted my arm as I let out a huge sigh of relief. Then she turned to face the mansion. “So I have no other choice but to file for divorce,” she said, and then started walking back in the direction we’d come.
My eyes watered. I stayed frozen in place for a moment, gaping after her. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I hurried to catch up with my mom, with all sorts of horrible thoughts swirling through my head. My parents were getting divorced. Somehow, I’d known the end was coming, but hearing the words hurt.
The only thing that could bring me the slightest comfort right now, would be talking to Brody. I pulled my cell out of my jacket pocket and checked the screen. The blue light blinked indicating I had a message. I tapped on the envelope icon and a message pulled up . . . from Erika: You really came through for me, Olivia. I’ve talked to the owners and we’ve decided to promote you to seafood department head. Congratulations!
