Elizabeth sat down cross-legged on the hardwood floor in front of the cold fireplace. Scooting backward, she leaned against a packing box. She didnt see the point in talking about this, but that was the problem with confession. Once you shared a problem with a friend, you had to keep talking about it forever. And if your best friend was a lawyer, well, in the immortal words of Tony Soprano, fuggedaboudit. She nodded. "In our way. "
"Hes unhappy, too?"
"Not since he got this job. Hes like a parolee with money in his pocket. Supposedly, this job--and New York--will change everything for us. "
"Maybe it will. "
"Yeah, maybe. "
Meg stared at Elizabeth over the rim of her glass. "Did the support group help?"
"They think I should try painting again. "
"Ive been saying the same thing for years. "
Elizabeth sighed. She really didnt want to have this conversation now, with boxes all around them and the move looming overhead. "Its not like riding a bike, Meg. You cant just jump on and ride away. Art needs . . . fire, and Im cold. "
Meghann studied her. "Maybe Jack is right. Maybe New York is a good answer. Youre sure as hell stuck in a mud-rut here. "
"Lets talk about something fun. Tell me about your life. Whos the new guy?"
"What makes you think theres a new one?"
"Every year you make a New Years resolution to quit dating children, so for a few months, you date men without hair. "
Meghann laughed. "Jesus, thats pathetic. But as it happens, Im dating a very nice accountant. It cant last, of course. You know I never date a successful man for long. It jeopardizes my professional standing as a loser magnet. "
"I hate it when you talk about yourself that way. "
"Were a fine pair, arent we? One has no guts; the other has no hope. No wonder were best friends. " Meghann lifted her glass in a silent toast. "Im going to miss you, Birdie. "
"I guess well have to go back to the Thursday night phone call. We did that for a lot of years. "
"Yeah. "
"Itll be fine. Well still talk all the time. "
But they both knew it wouldnt be the same.
ELEVEN
In the last week of January, the weather turned bitterly cold. The sky gave up all trace of blue and hunkered down as if for battle. Trees shivered along the shoreline, waited for the freezing rain to turn to snow.
Elizabeth made her last trip to town. The two-lane coastal highway curled lazily along the rim of the cliff. To her left lay the mighty Pacific, on the right, a wall of old-growth forest whose trees were among the biggest in the world. Locals claimed that herds of mighty elk lived in those woods, and when you looked into all that black and green darkness, it was easy to believe.
The road took its last hairpin curve, then rolled down to the ocean.
welcome to echo beach, where god answers back, read the sign on her left.
Downtown ran for exactly four blocks. There were no stoplights to slow you down, no sprawling resorts or chain restaurants. The nearest four-star hotel was the Stephanie Inn, miles down the coast.
Old-fashioned streetlamps stood at regular intervals along the cobblestone sidewalks. The storefronts had beautiful leaded windows and arched doorways. Shingles were on every exterior wall, their wooden surfaces aged to the color of ash. The only signs were handwrought, of wood or iron, and they hung discreetly beside the closed doors.
Even the names were different here. The Tee-it-up Sportswear Shop; the Take a Hike Shoe Store; the Hair We Are Beauty Salon. There were countless gift shops and restaurants and ice cream parlors. Brown, leafless vines of sleeping clematis and wisteria climbed along the fence that separated town from the old-fashioned beach promenade.
Elizabeth parked on the street in front of the Beachcomber restaurant (all you can eat on Thursday nights!) and ran her last few errands. She dropped off a box of clothes and paperback novels at the local Helpline House, alerted the post office to her change of address, picked up her airline tickets, and reminded the local sheriff that the house would be empty u
ntil renters were found (John Solin had been too busy to schedule a viewing, but Sharon was still hopeful).