Laurie picked up her order, then trotted over clutching a tall mocha latte and a scone. At five-eight, five inches taller than I, she seemed able to consume practically anything and remain her gorgeous trim self, while I needed to watch my calories. And she was a head-turning blonde—almost my opposite in hair color and skin tone.
She sat across from me, wriggled out of her red quilted jacket, and bit into her scone.
“Sorry if I’m not very good company,” I said, recalling my depressing 8:00 a.m. sales meeting. It seemed like every other realtor in my office was enjoying a dynamite month but me. And the past few months hadn’t been much better. “It’s been a long day.”
“Don’t fade out onme yet,” she said. “I’m too pumped to go home and watch Dave vegetate in front of the TV or deal with the kids’ homework.” She tasted her latte and left fuchsia lipstick on the cup’s rim. “Mondays will be ladies’ night out, okay?”
“I’m still not sure a night class is going to work for me.” I had to find a way to get out of going again. “The real-estate market’s hopping, and I want to be free to meet with clients.” No need to mention I’d nearly run out of prospective buyers.
“You’ve got to keep coming. It would be terrible to miss even one class.”
“Sweetie, I only went to keep you company. You’ll do fine without me.”
“But it wouldn’t be half as much fun.” She watched me rip open a packet of sugar substitute. “You’re lucky you can already draw so well. How come you never do it?”
“I guess I don’t feel like it.” As I stirred the white crystals into my drink, my brain searched for the true reason. “No self-discipline maybe.” The past twenty years whirred by in my mind like a one-star movie on fast-forward. “Somehow when Phil and Rob showed up in my life, I lost interest. It’s just as well, because it’s almost impossible to earn a living as an artist. I should have gone to the school of business instead.”
“I love that painting in your living room.”
“Thanks.” My Morning at Cannon Beach, the only painting I still owned, hung above my couch. I supposed some might have called it well crafted or even quite good, but I’d completed the piece so long ago I felt as though someone else had painted it.
“I wish I had your talent,” Laurie said. “But I had fun in class, and I think our teacher’s a doll.”
“I’d better warn you, any friend of Phil’s is probably a flake.”
“Maybe. But that older lady knew Henry from church. He might be a good Christian man.”
Let me tell you, the word Christian grated in my ears. “Some very wicked people have called themselves Christians,” I said, hearing anger amplify my words. I glanced around the room and was glad nobody at the surrounding tables had heard me. I lowered my voice. “That’s the last trait I’m looking for in a man.”
“There are worse things.”
At that moment an orange-haired youth with a ring in his nose sauntered across the room.
Laurie chuckled into her hand. “Don’t you agree?” she said.
“I suppose.” I sipped my latte to avoid continuing our conversation. I knew she attended church every now and then, and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. But as far as I was concerned, religion served as a pacifier for the ignorant and the weak.
“Hey, what happened to the cute accountant you brought over for dinner a few months ago?” she finally said. “He looked like a keeper.”
“He was boring. No sense of humor.” I yawned with drama. “I fell asleep every time he opened his mouth. And he drove like a little old lady. I couldn’t wait to get home.”
She tossed me an exasperated look. “I’ve heard a list of complaints about every man you’ve dated.”
“I don’t care. I have Rob and my girlfriends and work to think about. Now, if I could find someone like your husband, Dave—a cute, successful businessman—I’d marry him on the spot.”
“No way. I see you with an intellectual, a scholar.”
“I tried that head-in-the-clouds type once, and we know how that ended. Since the divorce I’ve learned to rely on the logical side of my brain.” I sighed as I remembered how innocent I’d been, and how stupid. “Phil told me right from the start his parents were supporting him, that he hated work, and all he wanted to do was hang out with other artists.” I tapped my temple. “He was completely honest, and I married him anyway.” Not that I’d had much choice.
“I was hoping after we had a child, his adolescent behavior would change,” I said. “Like magic, Phil would grow up and metamorphose into my Prince Charming. Is that pathetic or what?”
“Don’t think Dave and I haven’t been through the wringer a few times. He’s not perfect either.” Laurie cupped her chin in one hand and leaned on her elbow. “About ten years ago, things were so bad I almost called it quits. Remember?”
I eyed her one-carat solitaire wedding ring. “I’m glad you two came back to your senses.”
“Yeah, I’d hate being single in today’s world.” She must have seen my features sagging, because she added, “Oh, sorry, Marguerite.”
“That’s okay.” I noticed a couple strolling by, their arms looped around each other’s waists. “I’d consider marriage again if the perfect man materialized. But being single has its advantages too.”
Although I couldn’t think of any at the moment.
As I mounted the porch and stepped inside my small two-story Victorian, I listened to Laurie’s Lexus roll away from the curb, then purr down the street. I carried my new book to the second floor and tossed it on the bed. My work attire, a boring navy blue pants suit and white cotton blouse, lay draped across the back of the chair. I dragged off my clothes, tossed them on top of the suit, and slipped into my nightgown.
