Chasing Rainbows A Novel - By Long, Kathleen Page 0,13

right back.”

Forty-five minutes later, I’d picked through every inch of ground we’d covered, flipping leaves and running my now numb-with-cold fingers through the edge of every carefully manicured lawn. The grim realization I’d over-promised on my ability to find the earring began to sink in.

I dropped to my knees and let out a frustrated breath. I was out of sidewalk. I’d failed.

That’s when I saw it. A flicker of gold beneath one crinkled point of a dried-up maple leaf. The back of Mom’s earring.

Excitement whispered through me as I carefully checked the surrounding leaves, flipping over each one until I spotted the object of my search, an amber stone lying next to its dented gold setting.

As I raced back down the sidewalk toward my parents’ house, I remembered being five-years-old, running down the street, carefully cradling the first tooth I’d ever lost in the palm of my hands. I’d been so proud, full of happy anticipation, imagining my mother’s smile and her words of praise.

This time when I handed her the tiny object I cradled in my palm, she pulled me into a long, silent hug. And that meant more to me than words ever could.

o0o

I left for home feeling oddly buoyed by the simple act of finding Mom’s earring, but the closer I got, the more I realized I wasn’t ready to face my empty house. Not yet. The only things waiting for me there were the obedience school drop-out and a dozen rolls of positive affirmation paper towels Diane felt I couldn’t live without.

I experienced a moment of guilt about not rushing back to Poindexter, but based on the snores that had come from the sofa that morning, the drama of the past several days had taken their toll.

I had no particular destination in mind until I spotted the Genuardi’s supermarket coming up on my left.

I’d never been one who enjoyed grocery shopping. Never. Yet, suddenly, the thought of spending an hour tossing food items into a squeaky-wheeled cart felt promising. I’d begin the rebirth of my life right here...in the nutrition-rich, calorie-laden aisles of my neighborhood grocery store.

I shifted my car into Park and stared out the windshield. Other shoppers busied themselves--loading SUVs, pushing carts, herding children across the traffic lanes.

They moved through the steps of their lives effortlessly, flawlessly, while I sat and stared, knowing I could never measure up. Not now. Probably not ever.

I don’t really know how long I sat there, but the pace of life in the parking lot became more than I could handle.

I drove home, opened a bag of peanut butter M&Ms, slipped into my dad’s plaid shirt and plucked the cryptogram book from my underwear drawer.

I hunkered low in my favorite chair, reached for a pencil and concentrated, hoping I could lose myself in the process of solving another puzzle.

But when a knock sounded at the front door and soon-to-be-ex-husband stood on the other side of the peephole, all thoughts of cryptogram solving flew off my radar screen.

I flashed on the last time Ryan had been here--inside the home we’d planned to share forever. I’d been expecting a normal evening at home--Ryan watching television, me reading a book--but instead he’d made the face, the one that meant he had something significant to say.

Sure, I’d seen it before, but it had always been directed at someone else.

That night, he’d directed the face at me.

“I met someone,” he’d said.

For better or worse.

The memory of our vows had raced through my mind, juxtaposed to the words he’d spoken. I’d wrapped my arms tightly around my knees, bracing for impact. “Do I know her?”

He’d shaken his head. “No.”

Ryan had done his best to look remorseful even though I’d known he wasn’t sorry at all.

In sickness and in health.

I remembered thinking I could be a better wife. I could cook more. Clean more. Laugh more.

“She’s pregnant, Bernie,” he’d said.

Pregnant. That one I couldn’t do.

My disbelief had stunned me then, but now...now Ryan’s hey-won’t-you-let-me-in smile threatened to push me past the limits of rational thought.

I shook off the remembered images and muttered a few choice words as I unlocked the door. Poindexter raced upstairs, apparently unwilling to risk whatever confrontation might follow. At least he knew better than to greet the traitor who had deserted us.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, as I opened the door. “Forget where you live?”

Ryan gave a slow shake of his head. “Your mother called me.”

Shit. This was not how I wanted her to find out about the demise of my marriage.