graduated from college, both of them smiling, wildly in love. He must have paused the DVD while she’d suffered her little meltdown.
“I can’t watch this,” she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing. “I need some fresh air.”
“Sure.” He pushed away from the bed as well.
God, no. She didn’t want him to accompany her. She had to get away from him before she sank into his arms again. “I’m just taking a walk,” she said brusquely. “You don’t have to escort me.”
“It’s late.” He glanced toward the windows, their closed drapes blocking out the night. When he turned back, shenoticed the shadow of moisture her tears had left on his shirt and suffered a pang of remorse. She shouldn’t have fallen apart like that. Not on his shoulder.
“I’m just going to step outside the building for a few minutes. I’ll be fine.” Like hell she would, but she had to find her own strength. She couldn’t rely on him to wipe her tears and make everything better.
She slid her feet into her shoes, grabbed the room key from the dresser and swung through the door. Only after it had shut behind her and she was halfway down the hall to the stairs did she draw in a breath. Her tongue tasted salty from her tears. She needed air. She needed the night.
She needed to get away from Curt, from his arms and his warmth and all the memories of the love they’d once shared.
The key weighed cold and heavy in her palm. Its quaintness—not one of those computer-programmed card keys—appealed to her. And the fact that she had it and Curt didn’t meant he probably wouldn’t come after her. If he did, he’d be locked out of the room. They had only one key between them.
Still, she hesitated on the stairway landing for a minute, waiting. Curt didn’t emerge.
She continued the rest of the way down the stairs, which ended in the front hall near the taproom. Cheerful conversation bubbled out of the room, and she hurried past it. She’d endured enough cheerful conversation at her birthday party to last the next fifty years. Faking happiness, she’d learned, could drain a person of energy.
Stepping outside the inn’s front door, she let the cool night wrap around her. A couple of paunchy older men stood on the path near the porch, smoking cigarettes. A young man and a woman strolled toward the parking lot, their arms wrappedaround each other. After a candlelit meal at the inn’s restaurant, they were probably heading home for a très romantic night. Ellie felt a twinge beneath her breastbone as she watched them recede into the shadows. Not jealousy. Just…regret. Loss. Emptiness.
She spotted a bench on a side path that led to a small garden near the inn. The carved wooden slats were stiff and chilly against her back and thighs, but at least she had the night, a sky full of stars above her and the scent of pine around her. The air was nippy, and she hugged herself warm.
You’re allowed to be a basket case, she assured herself. You’ve just turned fifty. You’re on the verge of a divorce. Mere minutes ago, you dissolved into a blubbering fool and let Curt—the man you’re planning to divorce—comfort you. Anxiety is acceptable under the circumstances.
She wasn’t sure what she felt was anxiety, though. It was more those other things—regret, loss, emptiness.
Being held by Curt had felt so good. But why the hell shouldn’t it feel good? He was a man, and for many years, Ellie had associated being held by him with joy and love and fabulous sex. Just because she was prepared to walk away from what used to be didn’t mean she couldn’t feel wistful about her decision. Any woman would feel the way she did, especially after going so long without a man’s arms around her.
She sat straighter and gave her head a shake. It hadn’t been so long, she reminded herself. She’d had a man’s arms around her just a few months back, when she’d been in Ghana.
Ten months ago
“D ON ’ T GET IDEAS
“I can’t watch this,” she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing. “I need some fresh air.”
“Sure.” He pushed away from the bed as well.
God, no. She didn’t want him to accompany her. She had to get away from him before she sank into his arms again. “I’m just taking a walk,” she said brusquely. “You don’t have to escort me.”
“It’s late.” He glanced toward the windows, their closed drapes blocking out the night. When he turned back, shenoticed the shadow of moisture her tears had left on his shirt and suffered a pang of remorse. She shouldn’t have fallen apart like that. Not on his shoulder.
“I’m just going to step outside the building for a few minutes. I’ll be fine.” Like hell she would, but she had to find her own strength. She couldn’t rely on him to wipe her tears and make everything better.
She slid her feet into her shoes, grabbed the room key from the dresser and swung through the door. Only after it had shut behind her and she was halfway down the hall to the stairs did she draw in a breath. Her tongue tasted salty from her tears. She needed air. She needed the night.
She needed to get away from Curt, from his arms and his warmth and all the memories of the love they’d once shared.
The key weighed cold and heavy in her palm. Its quaintness—not one of those computer-programmed card keys—appealed to her. And the fact that she had it and Curt didn’t meant he probably wouldn’t come after her. If he did, he’d be locked out of the room. They had only one key between them.
Still, she hesitated on the stairway landing for a minute, waiting. Curt didn’t emerge.
She continued the rest of the way down the stairs, which ended in the front hall near the taproom. Cheerful conversation bubbled out of the room, and she hurried past it. She’d endured enough cheerful conversation at her birthday party to last the next fifty years. Faking happiness, she’d learned, could drain a person of energy.
Stepping outside the inn’s front door, she let the cool night wrap around her. A couple of paunchy older men stood on the path near the porch, smoking cigarettes. A young man and a woman strolled toward the parking lot, their arms wrappedaround each other. After a candlelit meal at the inn’s restaurant, they were probably heading home for a très romantic night. Ellie felt a twinge beneath her breastbone as she watched them recede into the shadows. Not jealousy. Just…regret. Loss. Emptiness.
She spotted a bench on a side path that led to a small garden near the inn. The carved wooden slats were stiff and chilly against her back and thighs, but at least she had the night, a sky full of stars above her and the scent of pine around her. The air was nippy, and she hugged herself warm.
You’re allowed to be a basket case, she assured herself. You’ve just turned fifty. You’re on the verge of a divorce. Mere minutes ago, you dissolved into a blubbering fool and let Curt—the man you’re planning to divorce—comfort you. Anxiety is acceptable under the circumstances.
She wasn’t sure what she felt was anxiety, though. It was more those other things—regret, loss, emptiness.
Being held by Curt had felt so good. But why the hell shouldn’t it feel good? He was a man, and for many years, Ellie had associated being held by him with joy and love and fabulous sex. Just because she was prepared to walk away from what used to be didn’t mean she couldn’t feel wistful about her decision. Any woman would feel the way she did, especially after going so long without a man’s arms around her.
She sat straighter and gave her head a shake. It hadn’t been so long, she reminded herself. She’d had a man’s arms around her just a few months back, when she’d been in Ghana.
Ten months ago
“D ON ’ T GET IDEAS
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