Distant Shores by Kristin Hannah
Dedication
Reader’s Guide
Other Books by This Author
AUTUMN
There is a tide in the affairs of men,
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat,
And we must take the current where it serves,
Or lose our ventures.
—Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, Act IV, Scene III
ONE
Seattle, Washington
It all started with a second martini.
“Come on,” Meghann said, “have another drink.”
“No way.” Elizabeth didn’t handle alcohol well; God knew that had been proven conclusively back in 1976 when she’d been at the University of Washington.
“You can’t refuse to drink at my forty-second birthday party. Remember how drunk I got last spring when you turned forty-five?”
What a debacle that had been.
Meghann sensed hesitation, and like any good attorney, she pounced on it. “I’ll have Johnny pick us up.”
“Are you sure Johnny’s old enough to drive?”
“Now, that hurts. All of my boyfriends have their driver’s licenses.”
“And I thought you had no standards.”
“I keep them as low as possible.” Meghann raised her hand and flagged down the waitress, who hurried over. “We’ll take two more martinis. And bring us a plate of nachos—heavy on the refried beans.”
Elizabeth couldn’t help smiling. “This is going to be ugly.”
The waitress returned, set two elegant glasses down on the table, and picked up the empties.
“Here’s to me,” Meghann said, clinking her glass against Elizabeth’s.
For the next hour, their conversation drifted down old roads and around old times. They’d been friends for more than twenty years. In the two decades since college, their lives had gone in opposite directions—Elizabeth had put all her energies into wife-and-motherhood; Meghann had become a first-rate divorce attorney—but their friendship had never wavered. For years, as Elizabeth and her family had moved from town to town, they’d kept in touch via e-mail and phone calls. Now, finally, they lived close enough to see each other on special occasions. It was one of the things Elizabeth loved most about living in Oregon.
By the time the third round was delivered, Meghann was laughing uproariously about the sound the cash register made.
“D’ya see tha hunk o’ burning love in the corner over there?” Meg glanced slyly at a college-age boy sitting by the window. “He looks lonely.”
“And look—no braces. He probably got them taken off last week. He’s just your type.”
Meghann dug through the nachos, looking for one with a lot of cheese on it. “Not everyone is lucky enough to have married their college sweetheart, kiddo. Besides, I don’t have a type anymore. I did once. Now I’ll stick with what makes me happy.”
Happy. The word hit Elizabeth hard.
“I wonder if a big ole wet one from a birthday girl—Birdie? What’s the matter?”
Elizabeth pushed the martini away and crossed her arms. It had become her favorite stance lately. Sometimes, she found herself standing in a room alone, with her arms bound so tightly around her own chest that she couldn’t draw an even breath. It was as if she were trying to trap something inside of her that wanted out.
“Birdie?”
“It’s nothing, really.”
Meghann lowered her voice. “Look. I know something’s wrong, Birdie. I’m your friend. I love you. Talk to me.”
This was why Elizabeth didn’t drink. In such a weakened state, her unhappiness swelled to unmanageable proportions, and the cap she kept on her emotions wouldn’t stay put. She looked across the table at her best friend, and knew she had to say something. She simply couldn’t hold it all inside anymore.
Her marriage was failing. Thinking it was hard; saying it was almost unthinkable.
They loved each other, she and Jack, but it was a feeling wrought mostly of habit. The passion had been gone for a long time. More and more often, it felt as if they were out of step, dancing to different pieces of music. He wanted sex in the morning; she wanted it at night. They compromised by going months without making love, and when they did finally reach out, their passion was as tired as their need.
Still, they were the envy of their friends. Everyone pointed to them and said, Look, a marriage that lasts. She and Jack were like the final exhibit in a museum that had been emptying for years.
She couldn’t possibly say all of that. Words had too much power. They had to be handled with fireproof gloves or they’d burn you to the bone. “I’m not very happy lately; that’s all.”
“What is it you want?”
“It’ll sound stupid.”
“I’m half drunk. Nothing will sound stupid.”