them both some relief. So she waited, sitting quietly out on the deck, the familiarity of it a
comfort as she put the swing in motion. He would be home soon, she knew. And Angie, with
the new school year barely a month old, had fallen into her old habit of going to Arlene's
afterward until they called her home.
Then she heard it, the garage door opening, the truck door slamming. She closed her eyes
for a moment, trying to gather her courage. She didn't want to hurt Craig but what she
needed to tell him would hurt him deeply. After everything that had transpired between
them—their fights, their silence—Craig still thought they could resurrect their marriage.
"Hey. Thought you'd be out here."
She nodded, waiting for him to join her.
"I thought, when you said you wanted to talk... well, I thought maybe it would be a good
thing," he said. "But it's not, is it?"
"No, Craig." She took a deep breath. "We can't do this any longer."
"But—"
"No, please. Let me finish." She cleared her throat before continuing. "It's been a tough
year for you, I know. But I've got to do this, Craig. I'm going to file for divorce," she said
quietly. "It's best for everyone, Craig."
He walked away, his steps echoing on the deck as he paced back and forth. Then he asked
the question Jill knew he would ask.
"You've always denied it but there's another man, isn't there? Just tell me."
She stared at him, her eyes filling with tears she didn't try to hide. "No, Craig. There was
never another man."
"Then why? Why would you want to divorce?"
"Because I have nothing to offer you anymore. Nothing. And it's not fair to you to go on
like this, Craig. I can't stay and be your wife." She looked away, then back at him, meeting
his eyes. "I'm sorry, but I'm just not in love with you. And you need someone who is. You
need to find someone who loves sports as much as you do. Then she'll go to all your games,
she'll stand up and cheer for you, she'll love you for that part of you. But I can't be that
person. I'm not that person."
"I don't understand." He paced again. "What does that mean? You want me to move out?"
She shook her head. "No. This is your home. This is Angie's home."
"Angie? You want Angie to stay with me?"
"Yes. Your mother is close by." She smiled sadly. "Angie doesn't want to be with me, Craig.
Besides, I wouldn't be very good for her right now. So we'll work out some arrangement. I
just want what's best for her."
He leaned his head back and stared at the sky, then let out his breath. "I guess I shouldn't
be so surprised. It's been so long since it's been normal." He turned and looked at her.
"Where will you go?"
"Actually, I've got my eye on this... this cute little cottage out at the lake." She wiped at
the tears sneaking down her cheek. "I think it'll be perfect for me."
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Despite her initial apprehension about the cottage, she found she actually felt at peace
there. And she came across many pleasant surprises as she sorted through Carrie's things.
Namely, a painting that Carrie had tucked into the bedroom closet, complete with giftwrapping
and a card. The wrapping paper indicated it was to be for Christmas but Jill
couldn't wait.
And when she tore the paper off, she slid to the floor beside it, her tears flowing freely.
The painting, in watercolors, was of her, sitting by the pier on their bench, the greenness
of the trees and the blueness of the water depicting a spectacular early summer day. And
beside the bench was the huge pot they'd bought and stuffed full of blooming red and
yellow flowers.
"Thank you," she whispered.
The painting exemplified their entire summer. Carefree days filled with love, filled with
colors and flowers, filled with gentle conversation and even gentler touches.
She took a deep breath, then looked at the painting again, this time without tears. This
time with wonder as she remembered the woman who had painted it. The woman who
showed her the meaning of true, genuine love.
It was weeks later—with the air hinting at fall and a light rain falling—she was standing in
the sunroom, staring at the lake and the pier, when she felt a pull, a familiar urging to go
outside. She tilted her head, her eyebrows drawn together in a frown. This feeling, this
unexplained inclination, turned into a yearning as her feet finally moved, carrying her
silently to the door. And just as the first time she'd met Carrie, it was like a hunger that
guided her. She didn't question it. She walked out, ignoring the rain, just following the
silent command of her heart.
The water was still, only the tiny droplets of rain disturbing the smooth surface. And she
stood there, looking out over the lake, searching for what, she didn't know. And then she
saw them off in the distance.
Ducks. A dozen or more.
They swam purposefully toward her, their quiet clamors carrying across the water. She
watched, aware that her heart was beating quickly, her breath hissing between her lips.
Then, out of the pack she came, wings flapping strongly, her gray head a dull contrast to
the brightly colored mallards around her.
Jill dropped to her knees as Grandma Duck ran across the water, away from the flock
before settling down again. Her sobs came quickly and her chest ached as she knelt there,
waiting for the duck to swim closer. So overwhelming was the feeling of Carrie's presence,
she stopped breathing, simply staring out over the water, waiting—believing.
And just as quickly as her sobs came, laughter bubbled out unexpectedly. She sat on her
heels, tears still running down her cheeks as she laughed in the rain.
"Oh, God, Carrie... I should have known you'd come back to me as that damn duck."