Page 21 of The Shell Collector
I have things to be thankful for.She wasn’t an idiot. She was just sad, and didn’t she have a right to be sad?
She had their children. She had shelter. She’d been provided for. Yes, perhaps modestly so, but she had enough. She was grateful for all of it, but that didn’t dissolve the grief and there were just as many opinions on that.
She’d read about the five stages of grief or DABDA. Three stages of grief: Coping. Grieving. Surviving. In the end, all the books said the same thing: it was hard, and everyone’s experience was different. And that was probably why she never bothered to read any of them to completion, because, really, all she wanted to know was that there was hope.
It was nice that Ginny had bought her a book with God’s worldview, although she wondered if she had read any of it before picking it out. Ginny had never been one to go to church unless it had been following a Saturday-night sleepover at Amanda’s house.
She flipped open the book to a random page and started reading.
Stop surviving each day, and thrive in your life.
That was sound advice. It was true she’d kept her focus on one day at a time, but some big-picture thinking would do her good. She might tape that quote to her mirror.
She flipped through a few more pages until the first line of the chapter caught her eye.
It’s okay to decline offers.
Now you’re talking,she thought.
You don’t owe anyone an explanation. “Thank you, but I’m busy” is a perfectly acceptable response. People don’t have to know that what you’re busy with is taking deeper breaths and silencing irrational thoughts. They might understand; they might not. Just thank them for the invitation and encourage them to ask again next time. I promise that you will feel like saying yes again one day. Only you can decide when that is, and that is okay.
She gave the book a nod of approval, and rather than tossing it back on the table as decor, she carried it to her bedroom.Maybe I’ll read a page a day,she thought as she stretched out on her bed.
Amanda flipped to the back cover. There an attractive dark-haired woman smiled back at her with a list of accolades five lines long.
Oh yeah, easy for you to say. If I can get through this and look even half as confident as you are, I’ll be doing good.
7
Maeve hadn’t slept a wink,and for the life of her, she didn’t know what was keeping her awake. She’d tossed and turned until she finally gave up trying.
She slid the bedroom patio door open and stepped out onto the deck. The humid air hung so thick she playfully grabbed for a handful of it. There was no breeze tonight. Earlier the sky had been dark beneath a heavy curtain of clouds. She couldn’t even see the waves crash against the shoreline then, but now the nearly full moon cast light over everything, almost sparkling as it danced on the moving water.
Her dog, Methuselah, tapped across the room, hopping over the threshold as if it were a hurdle. She needed to get his nails trimmed. Sometimes when they got long, as they were now, it sounded like he was marching through the house in flip-flops.
He sprawled out on the deck and let out a sigh.
She sighed too.
Sleepless nights frustrated her. Something was at the edge of her mind. Whatever it was, she wrestled with it, wishing it would become clear. But it remained just out of reach.
She glanced over her shoulder at the clock in her bedroom. There was still an hour and a half until sunrise. If she got dressed and walked up the beach to the diner, Tug would probably be there by the time she arrived.
Maeve put on an orange T-shirt and stepped into a flowered skirt. She felt graceful like a dancer when she wore it, enjoying the way it swished across her shins. The gauzy fabric made it a good option on hot days, plus the material dried quickly, which she considered to be perfect for beachwear. She picked up her sandals and walked outside.
Bugs hung around the front-porch light like stragglers at an after-hours party. She swooshed them away and went downstairs.
She hadn’t even made it to the water, and her skin was already damp from the humidity. Once her feet hit the cool sand, she breathed easier. She lifted her arms in the air, feeling free all alone out there.
She and Tug had been through a lot over the years with him being Jarvis’s closest friend, the best man at their wedding.Herclosest friend too. She’d now spent more years with Tug than with Jarvis.
Tug had never married. His high school sweetheart, Willa, had begged him to marry her, but he never did make an honest woman of her.
Maeve never had liked Willa. She was a constant complainer, and that didn’t sit well with her.
When one of Tug’s customers kicked the bucket, they’d left Tug their African gray. As soon as Tug learned there was at least another thirty years in that bird’s minimum expected life span, he’d decided to jokingly rename her The Wife.
When Willa heard about that name, she didn’t see the humor in it.
