North of Normal

Chapter Twelve

Back at the house, Polly flopped down on the sofa and toed off her shoes, sighing contentedly. She loved her high heels, but they were perhaps not the best shoe choice for tromping around construction sites.

Mae Jacobs, though, was a whiz kid when it came to renovations. She'd shown off floors she'd leveled, windows she'd installed and gutters she'd had put on. She gave Polly an overview of the floor plan for the other cabins that were in progress of being built, and had spoken so animatedly and proudly, that Polly couldn't help but be caught up in the enthusiasm too.

She could already picture the new cabins, could picture decorating them in 'north woods chic' – perusing little shops for just the perfect bedding, lamps, and pictures for the wall. Polly had always loved decorating and putting fabrics and colors together – had even quilted back in high school – but when she and Matthew had moved into the house in Santa Monica, it was a foregone conclusion that a decorator would take care of the details. One simply didn't have the time – or the balls – to decorate for oneself in LA. It just wasn't done.

Still, Mae Jacobs was a handful, but there was something so delightfully endearing about her. Polly hoped they would have the chance to really chat about something other than awls and shingles before she went back to LA, because that girl and her hundred mile an hour conversational style made Polly smile.

And wasn't it funny how, in just a day, she was referring to it as LA, instead of home.

Weird.

She had had a moment of humiliation with Mae, though, which made her blush anew just thinking about it. Polly had definitely not put forth much effort in the last few days in the fitness department, and without thinking, had asked Mae were the nearest gym or fitness center was.

Mae had burst out laughing in Polly's face.

"Well, Miss LA, we don't actually have any of them thar fancy gymnasiums," she'd said in an exaggerated hick accent. "See, if we wanna work out our legs, we walk along a sandy beach. If we wanna tone our arms? We go kayakin' on the big ole lake over there. Need to work on that thar core? Chop some firewood for an hour or two, and see if you can feel your 'abductors'," Mae had said, complete with air quotes. When both women had stopped laughing, Mae told Polly that the nearest gym really was in Houghton, but that the outdoors would probably serve her better – and was much cheaper.

In retrospect, Mae was right, Polly thought, standing up and looking outside towards the lapping waves on the beach just twenty yards away. Why pay to walk on a treadmill to nowhere when you could walk along a beautiful beach, and work out your gluts while you do it?

Polly glanced from the lake to her laptop, sure that she should probably get started on her Great American Novel, but feeling absolutely no inspiration for it at all. If not her Great American Novel, Polly was sure there were several cases in progress that she should be writing briefs for, but none of that appealed either. Let Matthew figure out how to make the pieces fit together in her absence – usually, she was the one left making sure all the balls stayed in the air. It was time for Matthew to take a front seat on that.

With a determined shake of her shoulders, Polly headed for the closet upstairs in her bedroom.

**

Ten minutes later, Polly was clad in sensible sneakers and a fleece jacket, and was picking her way down to the beach, deciding whether to go left or right. Right beckoned, so she strode off determinedly, trying to keep her shoes dry and occasionally picking up a stone or two that caught her eye. The size of the waves had grown larger as the wind whipped around her, and the sound of the water hitting the shore was mesmerizing and relaxing – surprisingly, since usually Polly thought of the beach as being full of tanned, toned bodies vying for position on the beach, sand in unmentionable places, and a sunburn by the end of the day.

This, though... this was a different beach. An overcast sky meant no sunburn, she had no intention of flinging sand anywhere near her unmentionables, and there was literally not a soul to be seen, in either direction, for miles and miles.

Polly could feel the tension of thinking of LA melt away as she continued walking, picking up a beautiful piece of sea glass, tinged a light blue and smooth as silk in her palm. In a flash, she understood why Parker always wanted to come home – this serenity, after a lifetime of missions and war, must be bliss.

She couldn't relate to his trials in Afghanistan, but she knew that she'd been through her own trials – working too many hours every week, fighting with Matthew about money and apparently other women, losing her friends one by one to children or career – Polly felt all the fight had been drained out of her for so many months, but here, she felt alive and free and... yes, even serene.

Maybe there was magic to the north after all.

But God knew she'd never admit that to Parker or Chase, not unless she was under duress.

For now, this feeling of calm and serenity would be her secret.