Wrapped in a fleece blanket, I sat on my lime green rocker and, while its runners creaked to and fro on the weathered planks of the porch, I looked lazily out at my kingdom. The air held the salt smell that I loved, along with the sweeter one of the first tiny lilies of the valley to bloom at the foot of the porch. Later there would be morning glories and lilacs, and beach roses in the thickets where grass met rock. I was looking forward to watching the sun rise over them all.
Smiling, I fingered the pearls that wound around my throat and dipped under the blanket to fall between my breasts and rest in a gentle loop on my thigh. Connie had been right. My strand was long and ever-growing. In the last few months alone, I swear, a dozen new ones had appeared. There was one with a beaming Kikit posed prettily in her tutu at the dance recital, and one with Johnny’s arms raised in victory when his basketball team won the league championship in double overtime. There was one at the joint birthday party we had thrown for the children, with thirty of their friends, one magician, Dennis and his parents, and Brody and Rona and I in amiable attendance. There was one for a newly signed WickerWise lease on Newbury Street in Boston, and another for the successful Alzheimer’s Association benefit in Washington that Brody and I had supported.
There were pearls on my strand that were still half-formed but growing—Rona searching for the place in WickerWise that suited her best, she and I puzzling out a comfortable personal relationship, my memory of Connie that held not the withered figure she had been at the end but a more healthy woman in her prime.
I was working on other pearls, brushing at sand that stubbornly resisted my desire for perfection. Though Kikit had gone since December without an allergy attack, the last one had left her skittish about eating anything other than what we had checked and she had checked, and even then she searched for things as she ate. Johnny was still tussling with the divorce, still trying to figure out what the rules were, what position he played, and how he could score.
Divorce is never an ideal situation. For the sake of the greater good, something was always left behind. In our case, it was the intact family that the four of us had once been. As agreeable as Dennis was, I hated making arrangements about who would have whom when. As sensible as shared custody was, I never stopped wanting the children all the time.
On the positive side, Dennis had come to know the children.
And I had Brody.
Ahhh, Brody. So many pearls there, I couldn’t begin to count them. Smooth and precious—best friend, lover, husband-to-be—my fingertips touched each. As I watched, the sun caught on the diamond he had given me. It was as multifaceted as our lives.
“You look like you’re taking root,” he mused, drawing up the rocker’s matching table and setting down a tray. It held French toast, fresh strawberries, and a carafe of coffee.
I gave him a lazy smile and stretched under my blanket. “I might just.”
Hunkering down before me, he opened the blanket, slipped his arms around my waist, and pressed a wet kiss to my bare middle. My fingers were in his hair by the time he looked up. I felt happier than I would have believed possible a few short months before.
Softly, I began to sing. It was another love song. I had sung more than my share of late.
He put his head down, cheek to my thigh. His pleasure was as warm as the breath on my skin. I stroked his hair. A sweet peace filled me as I hummed the rest of the song. Life didn’t get much better than this.
Still softly but exuberant now, I shifted songs. This one was about wedding bells, chapels, and champagne, which was where we were headed.
Brody lifted his head and grinned. I was trying to figure out the devil in that grin, when he let out with a song of his own. It had to do with honeymoons and was slightly obscene.
Laughing, I wrapped myself over him to smother the sound. He might never carry a tune or be able to clap to a beat, but, Lord, I did love him.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I never fail to be humbled by the willingness of very busy people to give of their precious time and expertise so that my books may have a ring of truth. In writing A Woman’s Place, I was particularly blessed. For her legal advice, I thank one of Boston’s leading family law specialists, Margaret Travers. For her keen insight as owner of The Wicker Lady, I thank Charlie Wagner. For help in countless other little ways, I thank Fay Shapiro, Melanie Gargus, Regina Hurley, Ashley Brown Ahearn, and Peter Carr. If there are technical errors in A Woman’s Place, the fault is mine.
Thanks, also, to my own lawyers—my husband, Steve, and my son, Eric, for deflecting their minds from their own cases to brainstorm on behalf of mine. Not that the twins did nothing. They listened and reacted and gave valued opinions on everything from title to plot line to cover.
Finally, huge thanks to my agent, Amy Berkower, who went above and beyond with this one.
About the Author
BARBARA DELINSKY, a lifelong New Englander, was a sociologist and photographer before she began writing. Readers can contact her c/o P.O. Box 812894, Wellesley, MA 02482-0026, or via the Web at www.barbaradelinsky.com.
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Critical Acclaim for the wonderful novels of
BARBARA DELINSKY
A WOMAN’S PLACE
“In the spirit of Kramer vs. Krame…her story is notable and likely to garner attention.”
—Publishers Weekly
“A seamless story that has lessons for women everywhere who are trying to do it all and do it well.”
—Richmond Times Dispatch
“Truly grippin….a compelling story about a woman who faces the greatest fear of any loving mother, that she might lose her childre…. Will tug at your emotions.”
—The Romance Reader
“The reversal of traditional gender roles and the power of the civil court to ravage a family are at the heart of the novel…. The first person narrative effectively draws the reader through Claire’s rude awakening as she realizes just how much the system and its manipulators can legally take away from someone who’s done nothing wrong.”
—Minneapolis Star Tribune
SHADES OF GRACE
“A tale of three women whose lives are affected by a tragic disease, Delinsky’s novel adroitly pulls the heartstrings while exploring generational responsibilities…. Readers will sympathize with the characters as each comes to grips with a life-changing situation.”
—Richmond Times Dispatch
FOR MY DAUGHTERS
“Delinsky delivers that wonder of wonders, a beach book with substance.”
—Houston Post
“Delinsky again proves herself an excellent storyteller…. Thoroughly enjoyable.”
—Publishers Weekly
Books by Barbara Delinsky
Fiction
An Accidental Woman
The Carpenter’s Lady
Coast Road
Fast Courting
Finger Prints
For My Daughters
Gemstone
An Irresistible Impulse
Lake News
Moment to Moment
More Than Friends
Passion and Illusion
Rekindled
Search for a New Dawn
Sensuous Burgundy
Shades of Grace
Suddenly
Sweet Ember
Three Wishes
A Time to Love
Together Alone
Variation on a Theme
The Vineyard
The Woman Next Door
A Woman Betrayed
A Woman’s Place
Within Reach
Nonfiction
Uplift: Secrets from the Sisterhood of
Breast Cancer Survivors
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be constru
ed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A WOMAN’S PLACE. Copyright © 1997 by Barbara Delinsky. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © AUGUST 2005 ISBN: 9780061841033
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