She had felt battered by emotion—feelings of failure, loss, anger, resolve, and fear—but as she walked the beach during that Christmas break, she worried mainly about the kids. She wanted to be the best mother she could be, but her counselor had continually reminded her that if she didn’t take care of herself first, she wouldn’t be able to provide the kids with the solid support they needed.
Deep down, she knew her counselor was right, but the idea felt almost blasphemous. She’d been a mother so long that she wasn’t even sure who she really was anymore. While at Carolina Beach, though, she had gradually accepted the notion that her emotional health was as important as the children’s. Not more important, but not less important, either.
She also understood how slippery the slope might be if she didn’t heed her counselor’s advice. She’d seen women lose or gain substantial weight while going through a divorce; she’d heard them talking about Friday and Saturday nights at the bars and admitting to one-night stands with strangers, men they barely remembered. Some remarried quickly, and it was almost always a mistake. Even those who hadn’t gone wild often developed self-destructive habits. Hope had seen divorced friends increase the two glasses of wine on the weekend to three or four glasses multiple times during the week. One of those women had come right out and said that drinking was the only way she’d survived her divorce.
Hope didn’t want to fall into the same trap, and her time at the beach was clarifying. After returning to Raleigh, she’d joined a gym and started taking spin classes. She’d added yoga to her routine, prepared healthy meals for herself and the kids, and, even on nights she couldn’t sleep, forced herself to stay in bed, breathing deeply, trying to discipline her mind. She’d learned to meditate, and put a renewed emphasis on rekindling friendships where contact had lapsed in recent years.
She had also made a vow to never say anything bad about Josh, which hadn’t been easy but had probably laid the groundwork for the relationship they had now. These days, most of her friends couldn’t understand why she still made time for him in her life, considering all the heartache he’d caused her. The reasons were multifaceted, but also her secret. When asked, she would simply tell them that as terrible a husband as he’d been, he’d always been a good father. Josh had spent a lot of time with the kids when they were young, attending extracurriculars and coaching their youth teams, and he’d spent his weekends with the family instead of with friends. The latter was something she’d insisted upon before agreeing to marry him.
She hadn’t, however, accepted Josh’s marriage proposal right away. Let’s see how things go for a while, she’d told him. As he left, he’d paused in the doorway.
“There’s something different about you,” he’d said to her.
“You’re right,” she’d said. “I am different.”
Eight weeks passed before she finally accepted his proposal, and unlike all her friends, she insisted on a simple wedding a couple of months after that, with only close friends and family in attendance. The reception dinner was potluck, one of her brothers-in-law manned the camera, and the guests finished out the evening dancing at a local nightclub. The short engagement and low-key wedding surprised Josh. He couldn’t fathom why she didn’t want the kind of wedding that all of her friends had insisted upon. She told him she didn’t want to waste the money, but in truth, she suspected she was already pregnant. It turned out she was—with Jacob—and for an instant, she thought perhaps that it might be Tru’s, but that was impossible. The timing wasn’t right, nor could Tru father a child, but in that moment, she understood that she had no desire to smile through the faux romance of a fairy-tale wedding. By then, after all, she understood the nature of romance, and knew it had little to do with trying to create a fantasy. Real romance was spontaneous, unpredictable, and could be as simple as listening to a man read a love letter found in a lonely mailbox on a stormy September afternoon.
At the cottage, Hope began to settle in. She set the wooden box on the kitchen table, put away the groceries, unpacked her belongings into the drawers so she wouldn’t be living out of a suitcase all week, and texted her kids, letting them know she’d arrived. Then, donning a jacket, she stepped onto the back deck and slowly descended the steps to the sand. Her back and legs were stiff from the drive, and though she felt like taking a stroll, she wouldn’t go far. She wanted to conserve her energy for the following day.
The sky was the color of cobalt, but the breeze was chilly and she tucked her hands into her jacket pockets. The air smelled of brine, primordial and fresh. Near a truck parked at the water’s edge, a man sat in a lawn chair flanked by a row of fishing poles, their lines disappearing into the sea. He was shore fishing, and Hope wondered whether he’d have any luck. Never once had she seen someone at the beach actually reel in a fish from the shallow water, but it seemed to be a popular pastime.
In her pocket, she felt her phone vibrate. Hoping it was one of the kids, she noted instead a missed call from Josh. She put the phone back in her pocket. Unlike Jacob and Rachel, he had been interested in her reasons for going to the beach. He thought she hated the beach, since she’d never wanted to vacation there while they’d been married. Whenever Josh had suggested that the family rent a house at the beach, Hope had always offered an alternative: Disney World, Williamsburg, camping trips in the mountains. They went skiing in West Virginia and Colorado, and spent time in New York City, Yellowstone, and the Grand Canyon; eventually they’d purchased a cabin near Asheville, which Josh had kept in the divorce. For years, the thought of being at the beach had just been too painful. In her mind, the beach and Tru were forever linked.
Nonetheless, she sent the kids to summer camps near Myrtle Beach and surfing camps at Nags Head. Both Jacob and Rachel took naturally to surfing, and ironically, it was after one of Rachel’s stays at surfing camp that Josh and Hope first began to heal the wounds of the divorce. While at camp, Rachel had complained of difficulty breathing and a racing heart; back at home, they took her to see a pediatric cardiologist, and within a day she was diagnosed with a previously undiscovered congenital defect that would require open-heart surgery.
At the time, Hope and Josh hadn’t spoken for nearly four months, but each of them set aside their antagonism for the benefit of their daughter. They alternated spending nights in the hospital and never once raised their voices in anger. The unity of their shared suffering had passed as soon as Rachel was released from the hospital, but it was enough to set in motion a relationship that allowed them to discuss the children in a cordial manner. As time passed, Josh remarried to a woman named Denise, and surprising Hope, something akin to friendship began to slowly renew.
Partly, it had to do with Josh’s marriage to Denise. As that relationship began to disintegrate, Josh began calling Hope. She tried to offer as much support as she could, but in the end, Josh’s divorce from Denise ended up being even more acrimonious than his divorce from Hope.
The stress of the divorces had taken a heavy toll on Josh and he no longer resembled the man she’d married. He’d put on weight and his skin was pallid and spotted; he’d lost much of his hair and his once-athletic posture had become stooped. One time, after she hadn’t seen him for a few months, it had taken Hope a few seconds to recognize him when he waved at her from across the dining room of their country club. She no longer found him attractive; in more ways than one, she felt sorry for him.
Not long before he’d retired, he’d shown up at her door in a sports jacket and pressed slacks. His freshly showered appearance had signaled that it wasn’t a normal visit, and she’d motioned him toward the couch. She made sure to sit at the opposite corner.
It took a while for him to get to the point. He started with small talk, discussing the children, and then a bit about his work. He asked whether she was still doing the New York Times crossword puzzles, a habit she’d picked up shortly after the kids started school that had slowly but surely become a minor addiction. She told him that she’d finished one just a few hours ago, and when he brought his hands together, she asked him what was on his mind.