Wait for the Rain Read online

  Until that rainy night.

  Midway through dinner, after yet another conversation focused nearly entirely on Emma, Brian had looked up from his pasta, a weariness in his eyes, and said, “What are we doing, Daph?”

  She had no response, because she didn’t know either. She’d just stared blankly back at him, wondering how they’d gotten to this place, wondering what had happened to them, wondering how she could be married to this man . . . yet feel so completely alone.

  That night he’d packed a suitcase.

  “Daphne?”

  The sound of Skylar’s voice yanked Daphne back to the present. She blinked and looked at her friend.

  “I just want you to know that I’m really sorry it didn’t work out,” Skylar said.

  Daphne kept the smile on her face. “Thanks, but that’s all in the past now. I’m doing great, really great actually. Life goes on, right?” Where is my life going? Please don’t cry.

  “How’s Emma?”

  “She’s doing wonderfully. She’s almost as tall as I am now, can you believe it?” Daphne felt a surge of emotion at the thought of her daughter, a mixture of love and heartache as she realized Emma, Brian, and Alyssa would be well on their way to Utah now. She briefly looked over Skylar’s shoulder, unable to maintain extended eye contact, but her smile remained frozen. “She’s got a lot on her plate, juggling school and friends and all her extracurricular activities; you know how teenagers are. She’s spending this week at a resort in Park City with Brian.” And his fiancée. Why can’t you say it? Brian is getting remarried. Just say it! Just tell her!

  “How old is she now?” Skylar asked.

  “Who?”

  Skylar looked confused. “Emma.”

  Daphne swallowed. “Yes, of course, I’m sorry. She’s fifteen.”

  Skylar slightly narrowed her eyes. “Daphne, are you okay?”

  Daphne nodded. “Yep, I’m good, just a little tired from getting up at the crack of dawn.” Knowing she wouldn’t be able to fight off the tears much longer if she didn’t change the topic of conversation, she cleared her throat and pointed to a suitcase propped against the bar. The bright green bag had a sticker across it that said, “Running Is Cheaper Than Therapy.” “I’m guessing that’s KC’s?”

  Skylar laughed. “You think it’s mine? My therapist would love that.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I’m right here, sweet cheeks.” Daphne felt a tap on her shoulder. She swung around to see her much shorter friend, smiling and freckled and looking as tan as if she’d already been on the island for a week. She was wearing a light blue baseball hat that read “USA Volleyball,” her sandy-blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. Like Skylar, she looked older than the last time Daphne had seen her, with noticeable crinkles around her eyes when she smiled.

  Before Daphne could speak, KC practically hurled herself forward and wrapped her tiny arms around Daphne’s torso. “I’m just thrilled that we’re all together again. Thrilled! Poor Max has had to listen to me babble on and on about this trip for months. I think he’s as happy as I am that it’s finally here just so he can get some peace and quiet with the babies. He practically pushed me out of the car at the airport this morning.”

  “The babies?” Daphne asked.

  “Martha and Oreo, our kitties.” KC gestured to her purse. “Want to see a video? Cutest things you’ve ever seen.”

  Skylar sipped her drink. “We’ll take your word for it.”

  Daphne smiled at KC. “I’ve missed your random chatter. It makes me think of all those late nights we had in the dorms, talking about everything under the sun.”

  “And sometimes until the sun came up.” KC pointed to the ceiling. “Think how many pizzas we must have eaten.”

  The memory of those long-ago marathon conversations, which bounced effortlessly from topic to topic, from romance and religion to politics and pop culture, stirred up more internal angst for Daphne. Why don’t I engage with people like that anymore? What happened to me?

  “Where have you been?” Skylar asked KC. “Were you doing laps waiting for Daphne’s flight to get in? Or maybe some sit-ups?”

  KC smiled and put her hands on her hips. “You mock me now, but we’ll see who’s laughing when I make you two do my beach workout with me.”

  Daphne adjusted her tote bag over her shoulder. “Beach workout? I don’t think I like the sound of that.” She looked at Skylar. “Do you like the sound of that?”

  Skylar set down her glass and put her hands behind her ears. “I’m sorry, what was that? My only form of exercise these days is exercising selective hearing.” She stood up and clapped her hands together, then gestured to the bartender for the bill. “Okay, ladies, let’s get this party started. I’m so excited to be the hell out of Manhattan. It’s absolutely arctic there right now.”

  Daphne held up the black coat she’d been carrying in the crook of her arm. “Same goes for Columbus. What am I going to do with this thing all week?”

  KC grinned. “It was eighty-two when Max chucked me out of the car on his way to go surfing.”

  “Are you teaching fitness classes at the beach now?” Daphne asked.

  KC nodded. “I’m still mostly at the gym, but now I also run an outdoor boot camp on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. The sand is great because it’s low impact but high resistance.”

  “I’m highly resistant to this conversation,” Skylar said. “If you seriously plan to do some crazy-ass workout while we’re here, I may have to lay my towel out on the other side of the island from you. I haven’t been to the gym in ages.” She pointed to her rear end. “If you want proof, feel free to have a squeeze.”

  KC’s eyes lit up, and she looked from Skylar to Daphne. “I was kidding before, but maybe I could lead you both in a beach class while we’re here! That would be so fun.”

  “My selective hearing is acting up again,” Skylar said as she reached for her phone. “Sorry, just have to quickly check my e-mail.”

  “I’m in okay shape, but I definitely couldn’t keep up with you,” Daphne said.

  KC patted her on the shoulder. “Sure you could! Many of my students are divorced women in their thirties and forties, so you’re right in my demographic.”

  Daphne felt another twinge deep inside. I’m a demographic now. I’m a cliché.

  “That’s not a criticism, not at all,” KC quickly added when she saw the look on Daphne’s face. Skylar, who was now typing furiously into her phone, didn’t seem to notice. KC kept her hand on Daphne’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “My divorced clients are usually in fantastic shape, or well on their way there. Most of them are back in the dating scene—or easing their way there—so they want to look and feel their best. I think that’s a positive thing. Not that you need help in any of those departments.” She removed her hand and placed it on her own cheek. “Am I talking too much? I feel like I’m talking too much. I hope I’m not putting my foot in my mouth here.”

  “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? Yes . . . I heard about that . . . okay . . . yes . . . 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 t
wo 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.