To the Beach and Back

Chapter Seven

The next morning, I wake early to the sounds of seagulls and a rumbling boat engine. I stretch, the crisp peach sheets feeling extra soft and luxurious against my bare legs. The hardwoods creak as I paddle barefoot to the bathroom, patting Sadie's still-snoozing head along the way.

Ryan's third-floor bathroom is small, just a toilet and pedestal sink that I grab onto when a wave of orange crush-inducing nausea hits me.

Or was it the beer?

When I look up into the white-rimmed oval mirror, I gasp. Dark mascara pools beneath my eyes in stiff flakes and remnants of yesterday's foundation have settled into my every wrinkle, nook, and cranny. I remember reading somewhere that sleeping with your makeup on ages your skin seven times faster and judging by my complexion, it seems to be correct. After my conversation with Nick last night, however, I was too tired for self-care. It's the same old familiar cycle ... he makes me feel awful and I react by treating myself poorly.

Oh, the self-sabotage of it all.

Sonja would not be happy. She checked in with me yesterday before leaving on her comped cruise with Matt who, I'm certain, is only using her. I wonder if he makes her feel the way Nick sometimes makes me feel ... like I'm the one to blame.

Like I'm wrong, wrong, wrong.

Facial.

I need a facial to wash away yesterday, so I fetch my toiletry bag holding Sonja's gifted skincare line with the intention of going through each and every step, including a thick, green mask that deep cleans and energizes.

Lord knows I'm going to need the energy today.

Sadie lifts both eyebrows at my masked face as I grab the box of Celeste's old photos and step outside onto the deck to a dusky sky, the air smelling clean and salty, with a hint of marshy algae.

On the opposite side of the canal, a man and his young son are backing a small boat away from their slip, a red cooler, tackle box, and poles ready for a day of fishing on the open water. I set the box on a side table and watch them as they drift slowly down the canal to the main water, both of them looking forward and beams from the rising sun peek between townhouses.

Someone knocks on my open bedroom door.

"Marcie? You up? I heard the toilet flush."

Allyse soon appears, carrying a tray with two coffee mugs, a cup of milk, sugar, and stevia packets as well as sliced bagels, cream cheese, and bagels.

Coffee.

She brought me coffee.

"Good—"

Allyse freezes momentarily when I turn to face her.

"Well, good morning, Kermit the Frog, is it easy being green?" she asks with a chuckle before motioning to the tray. "I didn't know how you took your coffee, so I brought everything I could find, plus some carbs."

I stand frozen by the railing.

Nick used to bring me my first cup of coffee, every morning of every day, for the twenty-five years we were married. Even if he was working on paperwork early in his office, he still had this amazing ability to detect just when I woke up. A radar that had him pushing open our bedroom door within minutes with coffee in my favorite mug and a smile.

God, that coffee always tasted so amazing.

It's those moments that I miss the most ... those times when he made me feel loved and special, the most important person in his world instead of just the villain. Even after he asked for a divorce, in those weeks that he still stayed at the house so we could sort out the details, he kept bringing me my first cup.