sprite-tempered. As the owner of a successful boutique in Santa Monica, she made a living out of looking like a fashion layout.
Today, though, she was in boy-styled jeans with rips at the knees and a sweatshirt that read “Bayridge Bengals.” “Marlys? Have you been digging into the boxes of your old junior high clothes?”
When she shrugged, the overstretched neckline of her sweatshirt slid to reveal some of her olive-skinned shoulder. “Last night I might have been rummaging through some stuff I dragged down from the attic.”
“Oh, Marlys,” Juliet said, though she wasn’t surprised. The house in Pacific Palisades had belonged, originally, to Wayne’s parents. Though the time had felt right for her to move out and leave it to Wayne’s daughter, it didn’t seem healthy for the younger woman to use her new solitude as an unfettered opportunity to fixate on the past. In the months since the funeral, she’d often found Marlys sifting through cartons of military memorabilia as well as even less worthy flotsam of Weston family life.
Despite Juliet’s best efforts, she’d never been close to Marlys. But because of her love for her husband, she couldn’t overlook the old clothes or the shadows under his daughter’s eyes. “Have you been sleeping?”
Another shrug.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be rattling around that big house,” Juliet started. “Maybe you should think about sell—”
“No.” The word was fierce. “Maybe you can walk away so easily, but I can’t. I won’t.”
Grrrr . Juliet wanted to smack her forehead against the nearest countertop. Marlys never once gave her a break. Of course it hadn’t been easy for her to leave the house where she’d spent her married life. Of course it hadn’t been easy for her to . . .
... kiss another man. The moment caught up with her in Technicolor, with surround sound and full tactile memory. Noah’s muscles, his heat, his soft groan, and then the taste of his tongue in her mouth. God. God. Hardly more than a week after she’d left the house where she’d lived with the husband she still loved, she’d kissed another man.
“By the way, your ex-grief counselor called.”
“What?” Juliet blinked, trying to follow Marlys’s next thread of conversation.
“That woman you used to see after Dad died. Did you tell her I needed help?” Marlys looked ready to spit fire at the idea.
“What? No, of course not. She has the home number and was probably just checking—”
The other woman cut her off with a slash of her hand. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what she said. Checking on you.” Marlys leaned over to toy with a tail of denim fringe on the edge of her ripped kneehole, so that her shiny dark hair hid her face. “Did you get anything out of that? The counseling?”
Mercurial was a good way to describe Marlys’s moods, and Juliet found her hard to keep up with on her good days. But now, rattled by Noah, rattled by that kiss— oh, God —she was struggling more than usual. “The counseling? You want to know about the counseling?”
“Yeah.” The dark-haired woman jerked upright and folded her arms over her chest. “Tell me about it.”
“I went for just a few weeks,” she answered, not sure what information the other woman actually wanted. “It let me know that my feelings were entirely normal.”
Feelings like the ones she’d been experiencing lately, Juliet realized. During their last session, her counselor had gone over what to expect in the upcoming months.
Deep loneliness and isolation. Check.
Then a lessening of the heavy grief. Check.
Finally, the renewal of sexual drive.
At the time, that possibility had seemed remote. Due to Wayne’s cancer and treatment, the physical side of their marriage had ended long, long before his death. She’d believed her urges in that direction were dead, too.
Okay, she thought, taking a deep breath and letting it out. So what had happened today wasn’t crazy or weird or even unexpected. Wayne
Today, though, she was in boy-styled jeans with rips at the knees and a sweatshirt that read “Bayridge Bengals.” “Marlys? Have you been digging into the boxes of your old junior high clothes?”
When she shrugged, the overstretched neckline of her sweatshirt slid to reveal some of her olive-skinned shoulder. “Last night I might have been rummaging through some stuff I dragged down from the attic.”
“Oh, Marlys,” Juliet said, though she wasn’t surprised. The house in Pacific Palisades had belonged, originally, to Wayne’s parents. Though the time had felt right for her to move out and leave it to Wayne’s daughter, it didn’t seem healthy for the younger woman to use her new solitude as an unfettered opportunity to fixate on the past. In the months since the funeral, she’d often found Marlys sifting through cartons of military memorabilia as well as even less worthy flotsam of Weston family life.
Despite Juliet’s best efforts, she’d never been close to Marlys. But because of her love for her husband, she couldn’t overlook the old clothes or the shadows under his daughter’s eyes. “Have you been sleeping?”
Another shrug.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be rattling around that big house,” Juliet started. “Maybe you should think about sell—”
“No.” The word was fierce. “Maybe you can walk away so easily, but I can’t. I won’t.”
Grrrr . Juliet wanted to smack her forehead against the nearest countertop. Marlys never once gave her a break. Of course it hadn’t been easy for her to leave the house where she’d spent her married life. Of course it hadn’t been easy for her to . . .
... kiss another man. The moment caught up with her in Technicolor, with surround sound and full tactile memory. Noah’s muscles, his heat, his soft groan, and then the taste of his tongue in her mouth. God. God. Hardly more than a week after she’d left the house where she’d lived with the husband she still loved, she’d kissed another man.
“By the way, your ex-grief counselor called.”
“What?” Juliet blinked, trying to follow Marlys’s next thread of conversation.
“That woman you used to see after Dad died. Did you tell her I needed help?” Marlys looked ready to spit fire at the idea.
“What? No, of course not. She has the home number and was probably just checking—”
The other woman cut her off with a slash of her hand. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what she said. Checking on you.” Marlys leaned over to toy with a tail of denim fringe on the edge of her ripped kneehole, so that her shiny dark hair hid her face. “Did you get anything out of that? The counseling?”
Mercurial was a good way to describe Marlys’s moods, and Juliet found her hard to keep up with on her good days. But now, rattled by Noah, rattled by that kiss— oh, God —she was struggling more than usual. “The counseling? You want to know about the counseling?”
“Yeah.” The dark-haired woman jerked upright and folded her arms over her chest. “Tell me about it.”
“I went for just a few weeks,” she answered, not sure what information the other woman actually wanted. “It let me know that my feelings were entirely normal.”
Feelings like the ones she’d been experiencing lately, Juliet realized. During their last session, her counselor had gone over what to expect in the upcoming months.
Deep loneliness and isolation. Check.
Then a lessening of the heavy grief. Check.
Finally, the renewal of sexual drive.
At the time, that possibility had seemed remote. Due to Wayne’s cancer and treatment, the physical side of their marriage had ended long, long before his death. She’d believed her urges in that direction were dead, too.
Okay, she thought, taking a deep breath and letting it out. So what had happened today wasn’t crazy or weird or even unexpected. Wayne
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