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  “I understand.”

  Emma leaned her head back against the wall. Weariness overcame her. She could think of nothing more than being back in her bed so she could pull the covers over her head and shut the world out.

  “Do you have any Valium?” she asked Connie.

  Connie took Emma’s hand and pulled her to her feet. She placed a gentle arm around Emma’s shoulders and led her out of the store.

  “Come on,” Connie said. “I’ll take you home. Want to watch Pride and Prejudice? I’ll pick up some wine.”

  Emma pressed her head against Connie’s.

  “Sure. That sounds nice.”

  They had watched Pride and Prejudice, always the BBC version with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle, more times than she could count, but it never got old. Emma didn’t feel like watching anything other than maybe the flecks on her bedroom ceiling, but she went along with the plan. It would probably be good for her anyway.

  In her present mood, it would be much better than going dancing.

  Chapter 4

  Emma struggled to keep her mind on the movie. It wasn’t boring her, but her mind just wouldn’t stay away from the events of the last several months. Especially the day Alan had called to her from the sitting room.

  “Emma, come here,” he had said. “I want to discuss something with you.”

  She’d been in the middle of preparing dinner, but she recognized his tone. She switched off the stove, slung a tea towel over her shoulder and sat on the chair opposite him. He held a drink in his hand and a stern look on his face. This would be no simple talk. Their lives were about to change.

  Alan took a long pull from his drink then set it on the table beside his chair. Emma resisted the urge to ask him to use a drink coaster. He hated to be interrupted while he prepared a speech.

  “I’m leaving,” he stated.

  Emma stared at him, dumbfounded.

  Her brain struggled to comprehend what he was saying.

  Where was he going? On a trip?

  She pushed back the truth, unable and unwilling to accept it.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Don’t be inane. You know what I mean. I’m leaving. Leaving you. We’re getting a divorce.”

  Emma gaped at him. She saw the tea towel out of the corner of her eye and had the urge to snatch the towel and slap him across the face with it. She clenched her hands in her lap instead.

  “Why?”

  She couldn’t think of anything else to say. It was the only question, really. But how do you answer a question as big as the ocean, or even one as deep as a marriage bed?

  Has any couple been able to answer that question?

  “I’m bored.”

  “What? That’s it? You’re divorcing me because you’re bored?”

  Emma’s voice grew shrill. Alan winced. Even he must realize what an utterly stupid explanation it was.

  But really, is there any other explanation? You can go down a list of reasons, but maybe it always comes down to boredom.

  Emma watched her husband watch her, waiting for a reaction, anything. She realized in that moment why he was bored with her. She was too passive. Maybe she needed to throw something, scream, claw at his face. God knows he drove her to do all of those things, but she’d never done it. She’d always believed a good wife tolerated things and kept her mouth shut.

  Did she believed the right things? Her father had died when she was small and her mother had been sickly and never remarried. They had little family, so Emma hadn’t seen many wives at close range, or husbands for that matter.

  What do I do now?

  “For fuck’s sake, Emma, say something,” Alan exploded. “Show me something more than a calm demeanor.”

  She’d been right. She snatched the tea towel off her shoulder and whipped it across his face. She wished she could have a snapshot of Alan’s expression at that moment. She would have treasured it forever.

  Emma slung the tea towel back over her shoulder and headed to the kitchen to finish dinner. There was really nothing else to say. Alan was bored. She had lived with him long enough to know that boredom was the death knell. If he became bored with a television show, he switched to a new channel. If he became bored with a company, he sold it. If he became bored with his wardrobe, he threw it out and sent her to buy new things.

  So I’m like a suit. He’s going to throw me away and get something new.

  Emma stirred the Alfredo sauce, resisting the urge to walk in the other room and upend the pan over Alan’s head. She kept telling herself she wasn’t boring.

  What do I do that’s interesting?

  There it was. She was a boring person, she just hadn’t realized it before now.

  Emma couldn’t even cry. The shock, so great, had dried her into dust. With a small nudge, she’d crumble into nothing and blow away.

  How do I become interesting?

  “What? You are interesting,” Connie said with a chuckle.

  Emma must’ve spoken out loud. She stared at the screen. Mr. Darcy was just being dressed down by Elizabeth for giving her such a shoddy proposal.

  I won’t think about Alan’s proposal. He’s not boring at least.

  “Sorry, Con. I was thinking out loud.”

  “What were you thinking about? And why do you think you’re not interesting?” Connie paused the movie, turned sideways on the sofa, and placed the popcorn bowl between them.

  “I was thinking about when Alan told me he was leaving. Did I ever tell you his reason?”

  “No, but I imagine it was an interesting one.”

  Connie’s upper lip pulled into a snarl. She had always hated Alan.

  How cliché is that? Don’t best friends always hate the significant other?

  “He said he was bored. By extension that meant I am boring.”

  “That sniveling piece of—”

  “Calling him names won’t help.”

  “Oh yes it does. It helps me a hell of a lot. But I will resist for your sake.” Connie patted Emma’s hand and gave her a sympathetic look. “You’re not boring, Em. I hate him for saying that to you, but I’m more mad at you for believing him.”

  “Connie …” Emma frowned.

  “You’ve given too much of yourself away,” Connie continued. “When you married him, you made your whole life revolve around him and the kids.”

  “That’s what moms do.”

  “I know I’m not qualified to say, but I’ve known a lot of moms, especially my own, and I don’t think that’s what being a mom is. I think being a mom is having your own life and giving a large piece of it to your family, but not all of it. You’re not supposed to disappear inside your family. You’re supposed to be one of the walls.”

  “So you’re saying I’m boring, too.” Emma groaned and let her head fall back against the sofa. “It’s true. I gave everything to my family and now that they don’t need me anymore, I’m nothing. Empty.”

  Connie didn’t say anything, and Emma rolled her head toward her. She could see her struggling for words.

  “It’s okay, Con. You can say it. I’m devastated, but softening the blow isn’t going to help me.”

  Connie shook her head, her chestnut hair falling over one eye. “You’re quite amazing, my friend. Do you realize how strong you are?”

  “Nope. I’m pathetic.”

  “No, you’re not. You could be completely falling apart right now, but you aren’t. Sure, you’re beating yourself up, which you shouldn’t do, but I’d rather that than have you fall into more depression.”

  “I can’t fall into a depression with you around. You won’t let me.” Emma pouted. “Truth is, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I cry myself to sleep every night and feel aimless every day. If you didn’t come over and make me put on my best mood for you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

  Connie clicked her tongue, her way of showing disagreement when she felt choked up.

  “It’s true.” Emma grabbed Connie’
s hand and squeezed. “I really want to do nothing more than lock myself away in this house, but I can’t even do that. I have to pack and move …” Emma grew dizzy with panic at the thought. “What am I going to do?” she whispered.

  Connie squeezed back. “You’re going to take it one day at a time. Maybe get a job?”

  “A job? What would I do?”

  “Come work for me at the restaurant. I need a sous-chef.”

  “Oh, Con, you’re too kind. I don’t even have a diploma. How could I do that? I dropped out, remember?”

  “So? You know how to cook, and you’re damn good. You’ve had all the practice you need as a mom. Besides, I’m the boss. I can hire whoever the hell I want.” Connie sat back and twisted her nearly waist-length locks into a bun and secured it with the elastic she always kept on her wrist. She would let her hair down and put it back up at least fifteen times a day. Emma had always been slightly envious of Connie’s gorgeous hair. Her own nearly black hair hung thick and wavy and nearly impossible to tame other than keeping it in her customary French twist. She kept it long but rarely let it hang loose.

  “Thanks,” Emma said. “But I don’t think so.”

  “Why not? Give me a good reason.”

  “Well, for one, I don’t want to work for my friend. You’d never be able to tell me off if I did something wrong.”

  “What makes you think I wouldn’t tell you off?”

  Emma laughed. “I know you. It would have been different if we’d opened the restaurant together, with both of us equally proficient. Now I’d just feel like a charity case.”

  “Then why don’t you go back to school? From what you told me, it sounds like you’ll have plenty of money for it.”

  Emma stared at Connie, stunned. It hadn’t even occurred to her that she could take up her life where she’d left off when Alan entered it.

  “Think about it, okay?” Connie said. “But keep in mind that you can do whatever you want now. I know you’re going to have to take some time to heal, but please promise me you won’t shut down. Allow yourself to resurrect your dreams or make new ones.”

  Emma smiled, charmed by the thought of dreams. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d indulged in one.

  “Now,” Connie said, “let’s finish this movie because I have to get back to the restaurant. Rick is covering for me, but I can’t stay away too long. Cat and mouse scenario and all that.”

  “I really appreciate you taking—”

  “Don’t say it. I’m your friend. You don’t have to thank me. The restaurant is my life, but you’re my friend. Since I’d give my life for you, there’s no contest.”

  The tears she couldn’t shed for her failed relationship came swiftly in the face of Connie’s love.

  “I know, I know.” Connie laughed, tears in her own eyes. “Now, let’s watch this show so we can moon over Mr. Darcy.”

  Emma got lost in the story of Elizabeth and her Mr. Darcy. It appealed to the idealistic little girl who still lurked inside her. The movie evoked a question she had never asked herself before, though. Is there really such a thing as true love?

  That was the question of the age. Emma used to believe in it. Back when Alan proposed on bended knee in the middle of the street, she’d believed in it. He’d shouted over the horns and irate drivers that if she didn’t say yes, he’d die. She shouted back that he would die whether she said yes or no, but she’d accepted, with stars and happily ever after in her eyes.

  Alan had always been one for grand gestures, but now she wondered if he’d really meant it? She had been his choice. She’d known that right from the time he’d spotted her hurrying across the campus where he’d been meeting with one of the instructors. He’d never told her what the meeting had been about, but he always answered it didn’t matter. What mattered was he’d found the love of his life.

  I guess he’s going to have a short life then.

  Emma shuddered and tried again to put Alan out of her mind.

  Connie stood at the door, pulling on her shoes. “Come to the restaurant tomorrow for dinner. I got a shipment of truffles in and I’m going to make you something special.”

  “Okay, I will. I look forward to it.”

  They hugged.

  “Hey, what’s that?” Connie asked.

  Emma turned to see what Connie was pointing at. A framed photo of a small white house in Greece hung on the wall beside the front door. “Oh, that’s my grandfather’s house.”

  “It’s so cute. Where is it?”

  “In Nafplio, Greece. That’s where he came from.”

  Connie turned and stared at her. Emma got a crinkling feeling in her spine. She’d seen that look on Connie’s face before. It always spelled trouble.

  For Emma.

  Connie left and Emma prepared for bed. She’d answered Connie’s mad rush of questions about the little house in Greece and now couldn’t get her mind off it.

  She had inherited the house from her grandfather, although she’d never seen it. There had never been enough time when the kids were small and then, when they went off to college, Alan had gotten very busy with his company. She had never been brave enough to take a trip to Greece alone, and so she still hadn’t fulfilled the conditions of her inheritance—that she just once visit the little house in Greece. Her grandfather had said that once she saw it, she could decide what she would do with it. In the meantime, a friend of the family took care of it.

  Whenever she thought of the house, it saddened her. She’d loved her grandfather and regretted she hadn’t made the time to travel to Greece. She’d grown up with his stories of an idyllic childhood spent mostly on the shores of the Aegean Sea. Emma drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She slumped onto her bed, her nightgown bunched around her neck, and let her arms drop to her sides.

  Is there anything in my life that I’ve actually seen through to completion?

  Emma gazed in the mirror over her dresser and then turned away. She was so disgusted with herself, she couldn’t even look into her own eyes. She pulled the gown from around her neck and tossed it over the mirror, then climbed into bed naked.

  Chapter 5

  “Mother?”

  Emma groaned and rolled over. She struggled to get away from the dream with Jen standing in her room haranguing her.

  “Mother, wake up.”

  It wasn’t a dream. Her harried-looking daughter stood in the middle of her room demanding to be heard. Emma had a vision of a tiny Jennifer, only three, standing in the exact same spot and demanding her breakfast. Emma let out an exasperated breath.

  Some things never change.

  Jen charged forward and reached for the covers. “Come on, we need to talk.”

  Emma grabbed the covers and hung on, frantic. “I’ll get up now. You can wait for me in the sitting room.”

  Jen paused, her hand hovering over the duvet. She glanced down at Emma’s naked shoulders.

  “You’re not wearing anything?” she asked with a raised eyebrow and a sardonic expression.

  Emma didn’t respond. After a moment, Jen stomped to the sitting room.

  How on Earth did I give birth to such a harridan?

  Jen had always been forceful, yes, but she’d been a sweet girl, too. Emma missed the days when her daughter would smile at her, when she seemed to love her. She’d always thought the teenage angst passed by the time the child entered university. Jen, just months from finishing her second year of law school, had only gotten worse.

  Emma climbed out of bed and grabbed her nightgown from the mirror, keeping her eyes averted from it. She pulled her robe on and headed to the sitting room when it occurred to her. What is Jen doing here? She should be studying for exams.

  Jen sat on the sofa, looking out the large window to an immaculate expanse of lawn bordered by several leafy trees. Jen’s posture was still, her hands clenched in her lap. She must have been in a rush to leave her apartment because her normally tidy appearance seemed scruffy around the edges. She wore
no makeup—something Emma hadn’t seen since Jen was thirteen—and her short hair looked tousled rather than styled.

  She turned toward the kitchen for much needed coffee before Jen could spot her, calling over her shoulder, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” came the polite response.

  Emma’s hope disappeared. The more polite Jen got, the more she was building up for an explosion. She’d gotten it from her father as that was Alan’s way. Emma didn’t know if Jen inherited the trait or just gleaned it from countless lessons.

  I love my daughter, I just don’t like her sometimes.

  Shame heated Emma’s cheeks while she prepared two cups of coffee. To delay the inevitable—Emma never dove into the water, she always tortured herself by easing in bit by bit—she decided to make cappuccinos. It was a treat she didn’t often indulge in, but busying herself in the kitchen calmed her nerves and helped her to think clearly.

  Once the coffees were ready, Emma loaded them on a tray with condiments and a plate of croissants and carried it all into the sitting room. She placed the tray on the large square table in the middle of the room and sat on the sofa beside Jen.

  “Good morning, honey,” Emma said as she picked up her cup.

  Jen looked her way and a tiny frown creased her forehead.

  “Good morning. I hope you slept well.”

  Jen reached for her own cup and cradled it in her long thin fingers that were so like Alan’s.

  Emma still loved Alan’s hands. They had always seemed so capable.

  “Pretty well. Why aren’t you at school? We could have spoken on the phone rather than you driving an hour to come see me right before exams, although I’m happy you’re here.”

  Jen’s face soured. “We weren’t getting anywhere on the phone. I decided we needed to settle this in person.”

  “Oh, Jennifer.” Emma sighed, audibly. “There’s no point in discussing the house. Your father, as you know, will do exactly what he wants to do. I have no say in the matter.”

  “Of course you do, you just never stand up to him enough to find out. But, that’s not why I’m here. I’m dealing with the house issue. I’ll talk to Daddy, and if he still won’t listen, then I’ll let it go.”