Distant Shores

Jack went to the window and stared out. A hazy reflection of his own face stared back at him. Beyond it, the plane pulled away from the Jetway. Slowly, Jack headed for his own gate.

The make-believe spring lasted until the end of March. Then the rains returned with a vengeance. Each day, Elizabeth walked to the mailbox in her Eddie Bauer raincoat and knee-high boots, with high hopes. Time and again, she returned empty-handed. Twice in the past weeks, Stephanie had written. Short, pointed letters; each one contained a burning, unanswerable question.

Who stopped loving whom?

Were you lying to us all those years?

Do you want a divorce?

The questions were youthful demands for certainty in uncertain times. Elizabeth knew that her answers were too vague to be of much help. How could it be otherwise? Some issues were simply obscured by the fog of too many lost years.

Jamie hadnt written at all. Nor had she returned any of the phone messages Elizabeth left on their machine.

Elizabeth had always been so close with her daughters. This new distance--and their hurt and anger--was almost unbearable. The old Birdie would have crumpled beneath its weight, but the newer, stronger version of herself knew better. Sometimes a woman had to stand up for what she needed, even against her own children. This was one of those times. And yet, the silence ate at her, ruined her ability to sleep well.

"It would have been better to lie to them . . . or to go back to Jack," Elizabeth said to Anita for at least the hundredth time since the birthday party weekend. "I could have moved to New York and restarted my old life. Everyone would be happier. " She stepped back from her painting, frowned, then added the barest streak of Thalo purple to the sunset. It was the painting shed begun the first night Anita arrived. Shed finished four of the pieces for the Stormy Weather Arts Festival, but the rains had forced her back inside. So, shed turned her attention back to the portrait.

At the kitchen table, Anita sat knitting. She barely looked up. "I dont suppose everyone would be happier. "

"Everyone else then," Elizabeth said, standing back from her work again. It was lovely. Perhaps the best work shed ever done. "Okay. Thats it. Im done. "

"Can I finally see it?"

Elizabeth nodded, suddenly nervous. It was one thing to be happy with your art. It was quite another to show it off. She stepped aside and let her stepmother stand directly in front of the easel.

Anita stood there forever, saying nothing.

"You dont like it. I know the colors of the sunset are a little crazy; I wanted to emphasize your softness by exaggerating the world around you. You see how it seems that the sky is drawing the color out of you, leaving you a little paler?"

Elizabeth studied the work for flaws. In it, Anita looked frail and ethereal, yet somehow powerful, like an aged queen from King Arthurs court. There was the barest sadness in her gray eyes, though a hint of a smile curved her lips. "Maybe you think I gave you too many wrinkles. I thought--"

Anita touched her arm, but still said nothing.

"Say something. Please. "

"I was never this beautiful," Anita said in a throaty voice.

"Yes, you are. "

"Lordy, I wish your daddy could see this. Hed put it up on the wall and make sure everyone saw it. Come on in, hed say to our guests; see what my little girl did. " Anita finally turned to her. "I guess now itll be me sayin that. "

On the first thursday in april, Elizabeth drove to the community college. She found a spot close to the entrance and parked. Light from a nearby streetlamp poured into the car, gave everything a weird, blue-white glow.

From the passenger seat, Anita shot her a nervous look. "I dont know about going to this meeting, Birdie," she said, wringing her hands together. "Ive never been one to air my troubles in public. "

"Itll help, Anita. Honest. I used to call these women passionless, but theyre not. Theyre just like us. "

Anita didnt look convinced. "Okay. "

They got out of the car and walked down the long, shadowy concrete pathway, then pushed through the orange metal double doors. A wide, linoleum-floored hallway stretched out before them, dotted here and there with blue doors.

Anita paused.

Elizabeth took her stepmothers hand and squeezed it gently. She remembered the feeling with perfect clarity; it had been only a few months ago that she herself had been afraid to walk down this corridor. Now she did it easily, eagerly. "Come on. "

At the closed door, she looked at Anita. "Ready?"

"Do I look ready? No, I do not"--Anita tried to smile--"but my stepdaughter doesnt care about that. " She puffed up her ample chest and tilted her chin up.