Distant Shores

Kim tugged on one of her long, silver earrings. "All I have is spare time. He left me plenty of money. I dyed my hair and got a tattoo--it says, Fuck Don. Those are positive steps forward, dont you think?" She wasnt smiling. In fact, behind all that black eyeliner, her eyes were pools of pain.

"Maybe you could get a job," someone said. "Earn your own money. "

"Believe me," Kim snapped, "I earned that money. Besides, what could I do? I left college to get married and raise my daughter, who is now sixteen and thinks Im dumber than a lug wrench. Volunteer work and husband ego-boosting hasnt qualified me for a whole hell of a lot. I cant see getting dressed in DKNY every day and saying, Would you like fries with that? "

"There must be something that interests you. "

Kim sat back. Her fingers played a pianolike rhythm on her black pants. "Nope, nothing. Sorry. " She looked up. "Does revenge count?"

The group fell silent. Sarah said, "Maybe if you just listen tonight, youll stop being so afraid. "

"Im not afraid. " Kim reached into her purse and pulled out a pack of Virginia Slims. When she realized what shed done, she crammed them back into her bag.

Sarah leaned forward. "Youre in a desert right now, dying of thirst, but youre afraid to reach for water. Just dont give up, Kim. Sooner or later, youll get to a point where its more frightening to do nothing than to do something, and then youll reach out. "

Kim gave Sarah a look of barely veiled contempt. "Can I find that crocheted on a pillow somewhere? Really. Maybe at a Losers R Us outlet store?"

Sarah let the silence continue for a moment, then nodded at the woman beside Kim, who immediately started talking. After her, another spoke, then another and another.

Elizabeth realized suddenly that it was her turn.

Everyone looked at her.

Sit here like a rock, huh, Meg? Shed look like an idiot if she passed. She took a deep breath. "Im Elizabeth. Im an ordinary housewife with two grown daughters. Stephanie is almost twenty-one; Jamie is nineteen. I havent been divorced or widowed or dumped on. Everything thats wrong with my life is my own fault. "

"Blame isnt what were looking for," Sarah said. "Were interested in what you want from life. Your dreams, Elizabeth. "

Elizabeth knew that if she didnt answer, her turn would last forever. "I used to paint. " Surprisingly, it hurt to say the words out loud.

"I work at an art supply store. Picture Perfect on Chadwick," one of the women said. "Come down this Saturday, and Ill help you find everything you need. "

Elizabeth had plenty of supplies. Paints and brushes were the least of what an artist needed, and no support network could convince her otherwise. "Theres no point, really. "

"Dont be afraid," Sarah said. "Buy the paints and see what happens. "

"Youre lucky," Joey said, her voice wistful. "You actually have a passion. Ive been coming to the meetings for months and I still have no clue. "

"I wish I could paint," added another woman.

Elizabeth looked at the faces around her. They believed this was helping her. In fact, it was making her feel worse.

"Sure. I could do that," she said just to end her turn. "Itd probably be fun to paint again. "

She thought the women were going to start break-dancing.

Except for Kim, who sat there, dressed in her mournful black, staring at Elizabeth through knowing eyes.

FOUR

For the next week, Jack and Sally spent eighteen-hour days following the story. They got to the office early--Jack left home long before the sun had risen--and stayed late. Twice, hed even slept on the couch in his office.

Theyd interviewed dozens of people, tracked down countless leads, and tried to bullshit their way past closed doors.

Innuendo, anecdote, gossip--these they had found in abundance. By all accounts, Drew was a sleazy, not-too-bright young man who had an exceedingly high opinion of himself, an almost total disregard for other peoples feelings, and an unshakable belief that societys rules didnt apply to him. In other words, he was a real pain in the ass.

He was also Oregons brightest collegiate athlete, the best state basketball player in two decades. Speculation was high that he could lead the down-on-their-luck Panthers to their first ever NCAA championship season.

It was hardly surprising that no one in Panther athletics would talk to them--not even to issue a no comment. The basketball coach had been unavailable all week. And no one seemed to have seen the incident with the girl except Sallys sister. In short, they had no proof. No one liked Drew Grayland