It was amazing how much time it took to dismantle a life. Once Angie and Conlan had decided to end their marriage, details became what mattered. How to divide everything in half, especially the indivisible things like houses and cars and hearts. They spent months on the details of divorce, and by late September it was done.
Her house—no, it was the Pedersons’ house now—was empty. Instead of bedrooms and a designer living room and a granite-layered kitchen, she had a sizeable amount of money in the bank, a storage facility filled with fifty percent of their furniture, and a car trunk full of suitcases.
Angie sat on the brick hearth, staring out across the gleaming gold of her hardwood floors.
There had been blue carpeting in here on the day she and Conlan had moved in.
Hardwood, they’d said to each other, smiling at the ease of their agreement and the power of their dream. Kids are so hard on carpet.
So long ago …
Ten years in this house. It felt like a lifetime.
The doorbell rang.
She immediately tensed.
But it couldn’t be Con. He’d have a key. Besides, he wasn’t scheduled to come by today. This was her day to pack up the last of her things. After fourteen years of marriage, they now had to schedule separate time in the house they’d shared.
She got to her feet and crossed the living room, opening the door.
Mama, Mira, and Livvy stood there, huddled together beneath the entry roof, trying to keep out of the rain. They were trying to smile, too; neither effort was entirely successful.
“A day like this,” Mama said, “is for family.” They surged forward in a pack. The aroma of garlic wafted up from a picnic basket on Mira’s arm.
“Focaccia,” Mira said at Angie’s look. “You know that food eases every trouble.”
Angie found herself smiling. How many times in her life had she come home from school, devastated by some social slight, only to hear Mama say, Eat something. You’ll feel better.
Livvy sidled up to her. In a black sweater and skintight jeans she looked like Lara Flynn Boyle on Big Hair Day. “I’ve been through two divorces. Food so doesn’t help. I tried to get her to put tequila in the basket, but you know Mama.” She leaned closer. “I have some Zoloft in my purse if you need it.”
“Come, come,” Mama said, taking charge. She herded her chicks to the empty living room.
Angie felt the full weight of it then: failure. Here was her family, looking for places to sit in an empty house that yesterday had been a home.
Angie sat down on the hard, cold floor. The room was quiet now. They were waiting for her to start talking. They’d follow her lead. That was what family did. The problem was, Angie had nowhere to go and nothing to say. Her sisters would have laughed about that on any other day. Now it was hardly funny.
Mira sat down beside Angie and scooted close. The rivets on her faded jeans made a scraping noise on the floor. Mama followed, sat down on the brick hearth; Livvy sat beside her.
Angie looked around at their sad, knowing faces, wanting to explain it for them. “If Sophie had lived—”
“Don’t go there,” Livvy said sharply. “It can’t help.”
Angie’s eyes stung. She almost gave in to her pain right there, let it overwhelm her. Then she rallied. It wouldn’t do any good to cry. Hell, she’d spent most of the last year in tears and where had it gotten her? “You’re right,” she said.
Mira took her in her arms.
It was exactly what Angie needed. When she drew back, feeling somehow shakier and steadier at the same time, all three women were looking at her.
“Can I be honest here?” Livvy said, opening the basket and pulling out a bottle of red wine.
“Absolutely not,” Angie said.
Livvy ignored her. “You and Con have been at odds too long. Believe me, I know about love that goes bad. It was time to give up.” She began pouring the wine into glasses. “Now you should go somewhere. Take some time off.”
“Running away won’t help,” Mira said.
“Bullshit,” Livvy responded, offering Angie a glass of wine. “You’ve got money. Go to Rio de Janeiro. The beaches are supposed to be great. And practically nude.”
Angie smiled. The pinched feeling in her chest eased a little. “So I should buy a thong and show off my rapidly dropping ass?”
Livvy laughed. “Honey, it wouldn’t hurt.”
For the next hour, they sat in the empty living room, drinking red wine and eating, talking about ordinary things. The weather. Life in West End. Aunt Giulia’s recent surgery.
Angie tried to follow the conversation, but she kept wondering how she’d ended up here, alone and childless at thirty-eight. The early years of her marriage had been so good.…
“That’s because business is bad,” Livvy said, pouring herself another glass of wine. “What else can we do?”
Angie drifted back to the here and now, surprised to realize that she’d left for a few minutes. She looked up. “What are you guys talking about?”
“Mama wants to sell the restaurant,” Mira said.
Angie straightened. “What?” The restaurant was the hub of their family, the center of everything.
“We were not going to speak of it today,” Mama said, shooting Mira an angry look.