An Unfinished Story(22)
A few nods, “me toos,” and “yeps.”
Claire fingered one of her necklaces. “I’m selling our house. Finally. It was empty for three years. Mostly empty. I’d cleaned out every room except his office. I couldn’t bring myself to go in there and box up his things. It was all I had left of him. How could I throw it all into storage or give it away?”
Claire glanced at Didi. “It was only as I realized that I couldn’t keep paying the mortgage forever that I put the house on the market. Yesterday, I finally marshaled up the courage to go into his office. And I found a pretty big surprise.” Claire elaborated on the discovery of Saving Orlando, finishing, “His story stopped midsentence, which broke my heart. He’d died without finishing it.”
Looking up, she found the women listening intently.
She thought for a quick second how beautiful it was she’d found this wonderful book of David’s, and a smile erupted from inside her. This bright smile was so out of place for this room and for Claire. But it was as real as the warmth of the sun. “Something deep within is telling me that if I can get someone to finish it, then I can maybe turn the page of my own book.”
Claire’s smile faded as she moved on. “I thought I’d found the perfect author—the guy who wrote Napalm Trees and Turquoise Waters—but I went to see him today, and he told me he wasn’t interested. That was really hard to hear. I thought he was the right guy for the job.” She lifted her shoulders. “But I know I can find someone. Healing is different for everyone, but I feel like I’m doing the right thing by trying to give my husband this gift. It’s like one last hug to say goodbye.”
Claire clasped her hands together. She looked down at the floor and wondered what to say next. Was that enough? Maybe for now.
Lashonda thanked her, and then another woman took the floor. Once those who wanted to speak had gotten their chance, Lashonda wrapped up the meeting by inviting everyone to dinner and a salsa class in Gulfport.
Going out dancing was the worst idea Claire’d ever heard, but afterward, as the women began to leave the room, Didi homed in on her. “It’s Lashonda’s birthday. There is no way you’re not going.”
Claire sighed and looked off to her left.
“I’ll tell you something that I believe with full conviction,” Didi said. “David wants you to have dinner with the ladies, then put on your dancing shoes and go salsa.” She offered a quick shimmy of the hips.
Claire shook her head with a half smile. How could she argue? It was Lashonda’s birthday. Almost all the other women were going. Besides, she was tired of being the downer anyway.
Eight of them occupied two tables on the sidewalk outside of Rita’s, one of the quintessential beach bars of St. Pete. A Grateful Dead jam set the laid-back mood. Claire checked out the locals, many without shoes or shirts, all of them shaggy and tanned sun worshippers holding Sunday boat drinks in their hands. A green-and-red parrot was resting on the shoulder of a patron a few tables down. Across the street, preventing a panoramic view of the water, stood the Gulfport Casino, which had been around for more than one hundred years. It was where the Sunday evening salsa classes were held.
A server with a nose ring promptly delivered their pi?a coladas and margaritas. The widows all toasted to Lashonda and then broke into smaller groups to talk.
Sitting next to Claire, Didi said, “I’m glad you’re here.”
Claire looked at the other widows and then at the other patrons celebrating life. “I feel like I don’t belong.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m the only one not smiling.” Claire pushed aside the festive cocktail parasol and took her first sip.
After Didi had done the same, she said, “Well, I’d say the best way to relearn how to smile is to surround yourself with happy people. I always love coming to Gulfport. It’s the Key West of St. Pete. Where else can you find this kind of vibe?” Then Didi pointed toward the tall buildings of downtown. “Over there, people are worried about 401(k)s and promotions. Here in Gulfport, they’re worried about dying without living. It’s a neat thing.”
“I do need this. Sometimes I feel like my brain goes straight to work the moment I wake up. Then it’s pedal to the metal all the way to bedtime.”
“That’s why Leo’s South is doing so well. But I bet your café wouldn’t go under if you took a few days off.”
Another sip. Pineapple and coconut. “Days off? What are days off?”
“They are these very fine chunks of time, typically several consecutive days, where you focus on yourself and not work. You don’t check email. You don’t even answer the phone.”
Claire rolled her eyes and changed the subject. “Where’s Andrés today?”
Didi waved her hand. “I’m playing hard to get. He called a few times, but I ignored him.”
“You’re too much.”
“I’m telling you, Claire. If you ever do go back on the dating market, just talk to me. The things I’ve learned as an older woman. I just wish the twenty-year-old Didi had known what the sixty-something-year-old Didi knows. I would have saved myself three marriages and maybe had an orgasm before my forties!”
A smile played at the corner of Claire’s lips. “You didn’t have an orgasm until your forties?”