Tides of the Heart by Jean Stone Page A

she had a libido, back before Jake was dead. Ginny shoved another Tostito into her mouth and waited for Jess to say how sorry she was that Jake was dead and ask what she could do to help.
    Instead, Jess said, “It’s been a long time, Ginny. You look … good.”
    “What I look like is a piece of shit,” Ginny replied and held the bag toward Jess. “Chips?”
    Jess shook her head.
    Ginny plunged her hand into the corn chips again and pulled out one, then two. She examined each carefully as if looking for the words she was supposed to say, as if they’d be imprinted between the flaky bits of brown stuff and the little flecks of salt. She knew she should thank Jess for coming. She knew she should say that Jess looked good, too, or that at least she looked the same, which, of course, was true. Ginny popped the chips into her mouth and wondered if teeny, tiny people ever aged, or if they one day simply folded up into an osteoporosislike, embryonic position and wrapped themselves in hand-knit afghans. “Have a seat,” she said. “I guess.”
    Jess had a seat beside her handbag. “Ginny,” she said, “the strangest thing has happened.”
    And then, while Ginny remained standing, eating, numb and motionless in the middle of her family room, Jess went on and on about some letter from her baby and a phone message and that Miss Taylor was dead and Jess’s kid might still be alive and she really didn’t think anyone would do this to her if it wasn’t true and God, what should she do.
    She never even mentioned Jake.
    “You’re the only one I have to turn to,” Jess continued. “You’re the only one who understands.”
    She was wrong, of course, because Ginny didn’t understand.She didn’t understand what the hell Jess was talking about or why she was here. “All I know is that you’re telling me Miss T. is dead.”
    Jess nodded. “She died last summer.”
    “Christ. I can’t believe that she’s dead, too.” The woman had kept tabs on Ginny like a hunter tracking deer, had seemed to know each thought she had and every move she made.
    “Miss Taylor was old, Ginny. Not like Amy.”
    Ginny turned back to the window. “Or Jake,” she said.
    Behind her there was only silence—that bracing, dead-air kind of silence that happens just before someone cries. Or screams.
    Then Jess found her words and her tiny voice asked, “What?”
    Folding her arms around her waist, Ginny steeled herself and faced her friend once more. There was a look of shock on Jess’s face. “I thought that’s why you came. I thought you heard it on the news. Now that Lisa’s so damn popular …”
    Jess rose and went to Ginny, putting her hand on Ginny’s arm. “Jake?” she asked.
    “Yeah. Dead. Gonzo. Can you imagine?” She wasn’t sure, but Ginny thought she felt a big, fat lump of tears harden in her throat.
    “I … I’ve been so immersed in my own problems I haven’t watched the news … or read the paper.…”
    She swallowed down the tears. “Forget it, kid.” Quickly she glanced around the room. “I’m going to find that worthless Consuelo and have her get us some coffee. And maybe some of those little quiche things left over from the funeral.”
    Jess stared at the floor, twisting that ring of hers the way she always had whenever she was upset, whenever she was thinking. “Ginny,” she said, “I have a better idea. Let me take you out for dinner. Then you can tell me everything that happened.”
    Ginny looked down at her sweatpants. At Jake’s shirt. “I haven’t exactly had my beauty treatment for the day.” She did not mention that she had not showered in two—or was it three?—days now.
    Jess shrugged. “I’ll wait.”
    The restaurant was overcrowded, with tables crammed together, downtown Manhattan-style. The waiters, however, were Californiatanned and blond and wore tightly fitting muscle shirts that Ginny didn’t seem to notice.
    “I’m so sorry about Jake,” Jess said, watching Ginny