Wait for the Rain (4 page)

“Don’t worry, I get what you’re saying,” Daphne said.
I hardly look or feel my best lately. For a long time, actually.

“Are you seeing anyone? They must be lining up for you,” KC said.

Daphne cleared her throat and tried to sound casual as she answered, “Not right now.” The truth was, she hadn’t gone on a single date since she and Brian had split up.

She knew she needed to put herself out there.
Doing
so
was a different story. Columbus was hardly a hotbed of single men her age, and it wasn’t as if people were clamoring to set her up with eligible candidates. She was too shy to attend singles’ mixers alone, and she didn’t have any single female friends to drag along—or to drag
her
along. She knew of a handful of divorced fathers through Emma’s school circuit, but that road seemed laced with too many gossipy thorns. More than once (usually after a couple glasses of wine) she’d started filling out an online profile, carefully uploading the most flattering photos on her laptop, but when it came to describing herself to the world, she was embarrassed at how little she had to say. Hobbies? Career highlights? Notable accomplishments or adventures? She couldn’t think of a single thing to write that didn’t revolve around Emma, so inevitably she ended up pressing “Delete.”

She wanted to believe in herself, to trust that her limited résumé “outside the home,” as it were, was no reflection on her value as a person.

But the truth was, she didn’t.

Deep down, she felt it wasn’t enough. She
wanted
to expand her life, to climb her way out of the structured world she’d built for herself, but she was paralyzed by fear of what that represented: that she’d somehow failed.

Her marriage had been far from perfect, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t put a lot of work into it, and its dissolution had been crushing. She didn’t know if she could take another blow like that. The idea of starting all over was daunting.
I’m almost forty years old. How do I begin dating again?

Skylar, who was still focused on her phone, typed furiously for a moment longer, then tossed the device into her purse. “Okay, ladies, let’s make some noise. We’re here, we’re forty, and it’s time to stir up a little trouble in St. Mirika.” She polished off her drink and signed the bill. “I know that didn’t rhyme, but I don’t really care. Now let’s get out of here.”

As they followed Skylar toward the taxi stand, once again Daphne felt her heart begin to beat a little faster, knowing that stirring up a little trouble was exactly what she needed, yet still a bit anxious at what that might entail. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this,” she whispered to KC.

“Ditto,” KC whispered back.

“I heard you both,” Skylar called over her shoulder. “Selective hearing goes both ways.”

Chapter Four

“Wow, Skylar, this place is
gorgeous
.” Daphne let go of her suitcase and took in the spectacular scene around her.

“Well done.” KC craned her head back to marvel at the high ceilings.

The three of them were standing in the foyer of the sprawling beachfront property, which led into a spacious living room lined with floor-to-ceiling glass windows that opened to a large wooden deck overlooking the beach. The tile floors were a soft tan color, the walls a crisp white. The structure of the house was slightly curved like a half moon, with rounded hallways on either side. A number of seashell-themed prints dotted the walls, the watercolor hues a mixture of blue, green, and yellow that blended seamlessly with the bright sky and sparkling ocean outside.

Skylar studied a note on her phone, then pointed left and right without looking up from the screen. “Parker’s secretary says there are three bedrooms down each hall. All of them face the ocean and have their own bathroom and entrance to the deck.”

“Who is Parker?” Daphne turned and looked at her. She knew Skylar had arranged a beach house, but she’d assumed it was a rental. This place looked too nice to be a rental. Then again, Skylar didn’t fly coach.

Skylar tossed her phone into her purse. “Our CEO. This is one of his vacation homes. He told me we’re welcome to it as long as we don’t trash the place.”

KC laughed. “
Trash the place?
You sound like we’re still in college.”

Skylar held up a finger. “I’m aware of my tendency to regress verbally, but I promise it’s only in social situations. I sound like the consummate professional whenever necessary. Now, who wants a margarita before dinner? Parker’s secretary said she’d make sure the bar was stocked for us.”

KC adjusted her baseball hat. “I’m digging Parker’s secretary.”

“She dresses like she’s stuck in the eighties, but she’s efficient; I’ll give her that.” Skylar headed toward the large island in the center of the enormous—and pristine—kitchen. “So who wants that margarita?” Just then her phone beeped. She pulled it out of her purse and glanced at the display, then made an annoyed face. “Oh sugar, I have to take this. Just a sec.” She answered briskly. “Hi, Geoffrey, did you track down those figures on the Halston account? Ye
s . . .
I heard about tha
t . . .
oka
y . . .
ye
s . . .
Hold on a minute, I just landed, let me open my laptop.” She covered the phone with her hand and whispered, “I’m sorry, ladies, can you get the drinks on your own? I need to deal with something first.”

KC pointed toward the beach. “No worries, I think I’m going to go for a quick run anyway. I also need to call Max to let him know I made it here in one piece.”

“I should check in on Emma too,” Daphne said, although Brian was pretty sure they wouldn’t have much reception in the mountains. “Where should we put our things?” She peered in both directions.

Skylar pointed down the hall to the left, then to the one on the right and continued to whisper, “Choose any bedroom you like, except for the one on the end that way. That one’s mine,
suckahs
. Parker said it has a steam shower.”

Daphne looked at KC. “I could get used to this lifestyle.”

KC put her hands on her hips and nodded. “I know I live on the beach, so shouldn’t complain, but this place puts my little cottage to shame.”

The two of them wheeled their suitcases into bedrooms down the hallway to the right. Daphne carefully unpacked her things into a large white dresser and matching armoire, then turned on her phone and watched the screen flicker to life.

No messages.

She dialed Emma’s number, but it went straight to voice mail. With a start she wondered if she’d be able to connect with her daughter at all this week; she felt unsure how well she’d handle such a lapse of communication. Not that Emma communicated all that much lately, even those precious days when they were under the same roof. Once a cuddly chatter bug who couldn’t get enough of Mommy, Emma was now a typical overscheduled teenager who spent most of her limited free time in her room, studying, playing with her phone, or hanging out with friends—oftentimes simultaneously. Girl talk with
Mom
wasn’t high on her priority list, which left
Mom
alone most of the time. In her head she knew Emma was only doing exactly what teenagers do, that in fact her behavior was perfectly normal and indicative of a healthy, supportive upbringing, but that didn’t make it any easier to experience.

Maybe the adjustment to the changing relationship with her daughter wouldn’t be so difficult for Daphne if she weren’t a single parent now.

If she had a husband to hold her hand as together they watched their baby girl prepare to leave the nest.

If together they took another figurative step toward the rocking chair on the front porch, one imperfectly perfect day at a time.

If she didn’t feel so alone.

She pressed a palm against her forehead.
Stop it! Stop being so negative! Stop dwelling on the past!

She felt a few tears welling up in her eyes, then glanced at the closed door of her bedroom, not wanting Skylar or KC to see how fragile she was, desperate to keep up the illusion of the person they thought she still was, of the person she wished she still were. If her old friends saw her the way she used to be, maybe Daphne could see herself that way too, if only for a few days.

Try to have fun,
she told herself.
These women care about you.

She stepped into the immaculate bathroom to inspect her face in the mirror for evidence of tears. She heard a noise and glanced out the window. KC was standing on the main deck, dressed in gray running shorts and a pink sports top with the same baseball cap she’d worn on the plane. She carefully pulled one foot up behind her to stretch her quadriceps, then the other. She followed that with a stretch for her calves and hamstrings, then adjusted her hat, walked down the steps onto the beach, and took off running, a tiny cloud of sand swirling around her sneakers.

Daphne felt a sense of admiration at the familiar sight of her old friend’s ponytail flapping out of the back of her trademark baseball cap. KC was now a grown woman and the proud stepmother of two young men about to embark on their own journey through adulthood (not to mention the mother of two cats, apparently), but she clearly still embraced life like the bubbly teenager she was when Daphne had first met her, back when Daphne had the good fortune of being paired up as her roommate in the freshman dorm.

Daphne looked at herself in the mirror.
In college she had been bubbly too. And relatively sporty—not in KC’s league by any stretch of the imagination, but she’d played on various intramural teams, taken dance electives here and there, and generally enjoyed staying in decent shape. Eager to experience everything the venerable institution had to offer, she’d also popped in and out of multiple clubs on campus, dabbling in art, drama, photography, and even debate before setting her focus on writing for the school newspaper. She’d excelled in her classes, joined a sorority (Skylar was in her pledge class), made lots of friends, and over four years of coed life in Evanston, gradually checked off the standard rites of passage of the typical college experience. She was walking the colorful, exciting, interesting path she’d always imagined for herself. Following in the footsteps of many a Northwestern University graduate, she would have a successful career in journalism, where she’d crisscross the globe as a freelance travel writer to discover exotic, far-flung destinations, or maybe patrol the sidelines at major sporting events for
Sports Illustrated
, or perhaps even win a Pulitzer as a rookie beat reporter at the
New York Times
for uncovering local election fraud. At some point down the road, marriage would be the next box to check off on the list, followed eventually by homeownership and children, everything tracking according to plan.

Then Brian came along, and the distant future of that picture suddenly became the present, propelling her ahead of schedule on the itinerary. Now, as she studied her aging reflection and thought about what had happened since that fateful night she’d met him, she fel
t . . .
defeated. What did she have to show for all those years of hard work, of everything she’d invested in their family, of the budding career she’d sacrificed?

She had a wonderful daughter; there was no denying that. Emma was bright and friendly and growing into a delightful young woman. Daphne adored her, and she was proud of the way she was raising her.

But she also had a broken marriage.

And a broken spirit, if no longer a broken heart. She’d given up on salvaging the connection that had once existed between her and Brian, but that didn’t make it any easier to face a future that looked nothing like the one she’d envisioned for herself.

She used to be full of joy and optimism like KC, at least most of the time. That was one of the reasons the two of them had always gotten along so well. Where had that side of her gone? When had she stopped seeing promise in the inkblot and started seein
g . . .
spilled ink?

She lightly slapped her cheeks.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Look where you are right now. You’re going to be fine!

If only she believed that.

She looked outside again and watched KC disappear down the shore, then decided to change and go for a walk on the beach herself. It would be fun to explore her new surroundings, and she could use some fresh air. Plus, she had no idea how long Skylar would be on that call.

Back in her bedroom Daphne changed into a pair of white shorts and a fitted purple Northwestern tank top, slathered sunscreen over her fair skin, then reached for her straw hat and headed back toward the kitchen. Skylar was in full work mode at a desk in the living room, staring intently at her laptop, and talking with Geoffrey. She wore a wireless headset and pecked feverishly on the keyboard.

“Uh hu
h . . .
uh hu
h . . .
and did the German office confirm when they’d get us that report? Uh hu
h . . .
got i
t . . .
and what about France? We need them both by Wednesday or Parker’s going to have my head. Oka
y . . .
ye
p . . .
got it. And yours too. I really need yours.” She glanced up at Daphne and mouthed the words “I’m sorry.”

Daphne smiled as she put on her hat, then pointed to the beach and mouthed “Going for a walk
.
”
She wondered how many people were on the other end of that phone call, and if any of them knew where Skylar was at the moment. Her friend played down her professional success, but Daphne knew how hard she’d worked to achieve it. Skylar had been like that in college too. A social butterfly who was frequently the first girl in line at the keg on the weekends, she was just as frequently the last girl to leave the library during the week. Not too many people back then seemed to know that Skylar had a stealthy studious side, which was just the way she liked it. But Daphne had been her roommate in their sorority house and had seen the more ambitious aspect of Skylar’s personality firsthand. While KC spent much of her nonclassroom time on the soccer field, Daphne and Skylar spent a good chunk of theirs studying, and that shared work ethic—or was it fear of falling behind in a sea of overachievers?—had firmly cemented their friendship.

As she watched Skylar in action on the conference call, Daphne’s mind drifted from their college days to her suburban life in Grandview, where she often felt a similar, if less overt, sense of competition within the stay-at-home-mom community. The pressure to excel, even in something as innocuous as a bake sale, was often palpable. She knew it was absurd, but that didn’t make it any less real. She’d seen the raised eyebrows for the store-bought goodies on those fold-out card tables. How much could be said without a single word being uttered.

Skylar half nodded to acknowledge Daphne’s gesture, then flickered her eyes across her laptop and resumed typing. “Got it. And what did Melissa have to say about the delay in the China rollout? That market’s not going to wait. If we don’t move soon, next quarter’s going to be a steep climb. Okay, let’s see what data Thomas has. Can you get him on the call?” Her fingers flew effortlessly across the keys, as if they belonged to a piano and not a computer.

Daphne tiptoed toward the glass door and quietly exited the house. Once outside, she crossed the deck and climbed down the short flight of stairs to the beach, where she saw the footsteps KC had left in the soft white sand. She decided to go in the same direction, figuring they’d run into each other on KC’s way back. She kicked off her flip-flops and held them in one hand, then trotted toward the water to let the tiny waves wash over her bare feet as she strolled along the shore. The sea was a bit warm yet refreshing, the color a spectacular shade of green. She’d never been in an ocean this warm—or seen one this beautiful. It was a far cry from Lake Erie, that was for sure.

She walked for about a hundred yards, passing two additional houses as she went. Both were larger than the one she and her friends were staying in but similar in design, each with floor-to-ceiling windows opening to a sprawling deck facing the ocean. She saw no sign of life inside either place and wondered if they were vacant.

Are all the homes here used only a couple weeks a year?

She couldn’t imagine that kind of wealth. She and Brian had always lived comfortably by most standards, especially in the Midwest. His parents’ generosity in buying them a house, and his partnership at the firm had made Brian’s expectation that she be a stay-at-home mom hard to overcome, although a few months ago she’d taken the part-time job at the flower shop just to keep herself busy on the days when Emma was at Brian’s house. Before Daphne and Brian had split up, every summer their family of three had taken an annual trip, usually to Hilton Head or Naples. They’d always stayed in relatively fancy hotels, but owning deluxe beachfront property on a tropical island was in a completely different league.