pasting the albums together, striving for perfection, but had never really looked hard at the life within.
Then she’d driven to Seaside, picked up her key, groceries and wine, and dived into sand, surf and memories. As she turned the pages of her life, the tears fell and a strange thought lodged in her brain—she’d been so angry, so traumatized by Skeeter’s betrayal and death she’d never mourned the man she’d married and loved for nearly fifteen years. As she touched the pictures of them young and in love in Scotland, or the tender pictures of Skeeter holding his newborn daughter, the tears had fallen, mixed with sobs. She saw pictures of herself with Blakely’s soccer team, wearing her little Ralph Lauren polo dress and Tory Burch sandals; her and Skeeter at cookouts, wine in hand, and Christmas at the Theriots’, smiling, faking happy. It made her terribly sad for the Eleanor in those pictures.
But wading through the albums had been necessary.
Finally, after two days of memories, crying and fighting the depression that dogged her, she’d let go of the anger. She’d taken the plain gold band, snatched from her jewelry box before she left home, and flung it into the depths of the Gulf of Mexico, satisfied it would sink into the sands with lost gold doubloons and relics.
Eleanor had finally grieved her past.
She hadn’t gotten to the present and future just yet.
“You’re right,” Eleanor said, picking up her coffee mug. “Let’s go outside.”
Pansy pulled the door open. The whump, whump of waves pounding the sugary sands of Seaside Beach greeted them. People frolicked in the cold water, determined to taste the ocean on their spring break. A few people strolled along the shoreline, searching for shells as children dogged their vanishing footsteps.
Pansy inhaled. “Ah, so restorative.”
“Yes, e.e. cummings was right—you find a piece of yourself here.”
“Yeah, whatever, but I have some more thoughts.”
Eleanor sat because Pansy would have her say. Better to let her get it out so they could move on to watching sappy movies and eating Little Debbies.
“First, it’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to want to step back from a relationship. I understand.”
“Thank you,” Eleanor said, trying not to smile at Dr. Pansy McAdams, relationship therapist, no PhD or any other degree. She supposed Pansy’s lessons were given by life.
“You’ve lived your life trying to please everyone around you, and when you engaged in a love affair with a young, hot, ethnic musician, you broke away from pleasing people and instead pleased yourself. And then when all those you loved, except moi, got pissed at you and tried to punish you, things got heavy. It was harder to be the woman you thought you wanted to be.”
“Yep,” Eleanor said.
“And then when Dez basically poured out his heart in a song that everyone got to hear before you, it was like a dam broke, and you reverted to the old Eleanor. You shut down. Closed the windows. And ran.”
“I didn’t run. I’d already paid for this place and I needed a vacation.”
Pansy eyeballed her.
“Okay, I ran. I’m weak. I’m stupid. I hate myself.”
“I wasn’t going to go that far.”
“Why not? It’s true. I effed up in a big way. I took something genuine an amazing man felt for me, tucked away my own feelings for him and pretended everything away. And, guess what? I’m not better off. Blakely still hates me, my parents think I’m cracked, and, well, I could give a rat’s ass about what the Theriots think, but—”
“Aha! There it is. Giving a rat’s ass. That’s the difference. Why do you care what anyone thinks, Elle? If Dez loves you and you love him, what’s in your way? Your own insecurities? You’re going to let uncertainty and old wounds ruin your future? Dictate your life?”
Eleanor didn’t say anything. What could she say to that? Pansy was right, but it didn’t fix what was broken...which was her relationship with Dez.
“Baby,” Pansy said, “no one likes a pansy.”
“Huh?”
“Not me, the euphemism thing. A wimp. A patsy. Someone who gives up without a fight. Are you that girl? Are you the old Eleanor?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Look, I wanted to be bold, to carve out the life I wanted to live, but it was harder than I thought.”
“No shit. Sometimes life’s hard. Thing is, there are no rules for life. The people around you who try to tell you there are rules are the biggest liars on the planet. There’s no right man, there’s no right car to drive, there’s no