Regina smiled to herself. It seemed so long ago that she had felt that way about anyone.
But she had once. She had felt her pulse race and her skin heat just the way she suspected Callie’s did now at the sight of her young man. The memories of those sensations might dim for a woman, but they never went away. They lingered, taunting, sparking an occasional regret, an even rarer sigh of remembered pleasure.
Sitting on the sofa, flexing her fingers and knees to work out the stiffness, she considered what to do with the day that stretched out ahead of her. She had quickly grown used to having Callie around on Sundays, puttering around the apartment, doing laundry, reading the New York Times, doing the crossword puzzle. It had been comforting to share the day with someone again, even though they had precious little to say to each other. The farm was home, but it had been lonely despite Eunice’s duty calls. Sad to say she’d never been entirely sure if Eunice was hoping to find her alive or dead.
At any rate, she couldn’t let a spectacular spring day like this go to waste. The sun glistening on the window hinted of balmy temperatures. It had been a long time since she’d awakened to a day like this without having to worry about plowing fields or planting crops.
She decided on a walk. Maybe she’d even stop at the café a few blocks away that Callie loved so much and have breakfast there, one of those sinful croissants with strawberry jam. And a cappuccino. Usually she liked her coffee strong and black, but she’d developed a certain fondness for the frothy steamed milk that made a cup of coffee seem like an extravagant treat. It was hard to believe she could afford such little luxuries, but the money Terry had been paying her to answer his fan mail had been adding up.
She felt like a teenager playing hooky as she dressed hurriedly and stole out of the apartment. She slipped quietly past Terry and Neil’s. They were lovely young men and they were dears for being so kind to her, but it was about time she started doing things on her own. It was time to rediscover the city she had once called home so many, many years ago. Memories, kept secret from everyone except her husband, called to her.
Once outside, the soft, cool breeze invigorated her. She strolled over to Broadway, then headed south toward Lincoln Center. She wasn’t sure whether it was the air or the promise of adventure, but she felt emboldened, rejuvenated for the first time in decades.
She felt almost as giddy as she had when she’d first stolen away to New York to study art, something neither of her daughters knew about. She wondered what they would think if they found out that she hadn’t always been tied to a farm in Iowa, that their father hadn’t been her first love.
She lingered over her breakfast, watching the people who passed by, especially the young ones, who were so full of life, so energetic. One girl, dressed in those tight bicycle shorts and a practically indecent top, skated to a halt right beside her table, clinging to the outdoor café’s railing for support. She grinned at Regina.
“Looks like fun,” Regina commented, indicating the in-line skates.
“It’s a blast,” the girl said. “You ought to try it.”
Regina laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea. “Not me. I’d break my neck, my hip and probably a lot of things in between.”
The girl surveyed her with the brazenness of youth. “I don’t know, you look pretty fit to me.”
“Which just shows that looks can be deceiving.”
“My mom does it. You’re not much older than her.” She grinned. “Think about it.” Joined by her boyfriend then, she skated off with a wave.
Regina stared after her, trying to adjust to the idea that she didn’t look any older than that girl’s mother. When had she grown used to thinking of herself as frail and tired and over the hill? The possibility that she might not be gave her something to consider for the rest of the day as she wandered farther afield than she had before.
When she found herself on Madison Avenue, far across town from Callie’s, she realized that instinct had pointed her in that direction. There were art galleries tucked amid the boutiques on block after block. She stared in the windows, one after another, fascinated by the displays of paintings and sculptures by artists she’d never heard of.
Deep inside, a part of her ached for a long-forgotten dream. Then, thinking of the young woman on her skates, she wondered if perhaps it was not too late for dreams to come true, after all.
Not until she was in a cab going back to Callie’s did she glance at her watch and realize that she had wasted the whole day with her nonsense. She couldn’t go back in time, even if she wanted to, she told herself sternly. Her daughters would have her committed if she suddenly went out and bought an easel and acrylics and took up painting. Who did she think she was—Grandma Moses?
Suddenly exhausted and feeling ridiculous over her absurd daydreams, she trudged up the stairs to Callie’s apartment. She was barely at the landing, when the door flew open and Callie ran out.
“Mother! Are you all right? Where on earth have you been? You’ve been gone for hours.”
Regina might have laughed at the turnabout in their roles if she hadn’t been so tired. As it was, the flurry of questions only irritated her.
“Did I ask where you were when you didn’t come home all night long?” she retorted, striking the first blow for her own independence. It was something Callie certainly ought to understand. She’d left Iowa quick enough when she was of a mind to and expected everyone left behind to understand. Only Regina had, and ironically, she hadn’t been able to tell her.
Apparently her daughter had
