To the Beach and Back

Chapter 20

I excuse myself, telling Nick I need to get something from my Jeep.

Once outside, I call Allyse, hoping that she's not driving over the Bay Bridge and gets into an accident from answering my phone call or something. God, that'd be awful. I'm already feeling enough guilt as it is, thinking that for some insane reason, her leaving has something to do with me.

"Hey, Marcie, I was going to call you later once I knew you were up!"

Allyse's voice is just like it always is. Cheery. Peppy. Not showing any sign of distress or trouble.

"Hey, is everything okay? Nick told me you left ... but he didn't say why."

She pauses, the faint sound of Celtic music playing in the background. What did she say about Celtic music before?

How she always plays it when she's depressed.

"No, everything is fine. I'm just really behind with work back at home and since Nick is going to be there until Sunday, I thought it'd be a good time to get caught up. But don't worry ... everything is fine! And I'll be back in a couple days, once things are ... better."

I grip my phone and step off the porch, settling in the Adirondack chair that Holda had picked out to make an endearing oasis, with potted geraniums and a cute flag of flying cranes that she was no longer using.

"Oh, alright," I say, not wanting to show my disappointment over her being gone ... and how she didn't tell me. "Well, I ..."

What can I say? I think back to the very first day when we met, and the words she used at the bar.

As long as we're in this situation, why don't we make the best of it and be friends?

Now that Nick is here, and the situation has changed, does that mean our friendship had ended? That the truce we had created between ourselves is over? No more adventures, no more sand bucket list, no more fair winds and mermaids?

Was our friendship truly real ... or just temporary?

No. It was real. I know it was.

"Marcie ... it's all okay. I just needed a few days to get some things in order and I'm sorry I didn't let you know sooner. But everything is fine, I promise you."

I'm struck with a flash of guilt over me thinking only of myself, of me thinking that any of this had anything to do with me. Why would it?

I'm the ex-wife.

I have nothing to do with her relationship with Nick and no permanent place in her life. In either of their lives.

"It's all good," I say to Allyse. "Be careful driving home and I'll see you soon. I have a hot date with a paintbrush," I say trying to keep my voice light and casual, trying to not give any clue of how much her absence is going to bother me.

"Well, just be careful of splinters."

~~~

Nick seems less moody when I return and there's a donut missing, so I take that as a positive sign. And as monotonous as some people think that painting cut work is, I love the task. There's something so soothing and rewarding about dipping your brush in the pan, scraping off the extra and then carefully running the brush right along the baseboards with a steady hand, not getting one drip onto the trim.

"You're not going to use painters' tape?" Nick asks.

I shake my head. "Nope."

He picks up the blue painters' tape in the box from Sherwin Williams that still has its plastic cover on. "You sure? Because you'd be able to paint a lot faster without having to worry getting paint on the trim."