Claire looks up from her mug with a start. She’s always known that Anita isn’t married, but she’d assumed that she was a widow. “You? Really?”
“How do you think I could afford to start this business without a husband?”
“I always thought it was life insurance.”
Anita snorts. “If only. No, in my case it was infidelity. Pretty cut and dry. Your case will be a lot harder, unless you wait to file until the new year.”
Claire frowns. She hasn’t put much thought yet into the legalities of it all. “Why the new year?”
“Haven’t you read the papers? Some family act is coming in on the first of January,” Anita says. She shuffles to a kitchen drawer, pulling out an address book and flipping through it. “Starting then, you won’t need to prove abuse or infidelity. You can divorce for any reason. They’re calling itirreconcilable differences.”
“And…how exactly would I do that?”
“You call a lawyer,” Anita says. She stops at a page in her address book with a victorious noise, and scribbles something onto a piece of paper. “I’ll get you in touch with mine. He’ll get you started with your dissolution petition and summons. And you’ll need a bank account.” Anita brandishes the pen in Claire’s direction. “I assume you don’t have one? I can pay you in cash for now, but you’ll want somewhere to put your money eventually.”
“Summons? Will I need to go to court?” Claire says. She’d thought that the hardest step would be making the decision to leave, but it’s becoming clear that it’s only the beginning. And she can’t imagine that Pete will take it lying down.
Anita hands her a scrap of paper with a name and number on it. “Only if Pete won’t settle things the easy way. And if you want to get out on your own right away, there are little apartments like mine above every shop on this street. I’ll help you look,” Anita says.
Claire nods. She taps a quick rhythm on the table, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “How did you do it? Start over after your marriage fell apart?”
Anita sips slowly at her coffee. “You know, my marriage might have fallen apart, but my life really came together afterward. I’ve got my shop, and my little place. I’ve got friends and family.”
“Friends,” Claire says. The hollow place in her chest where Jackie used to live feels bigger than ever. “I guess I don’t have many of those, now.”
“What about that Jackie?” Anita says, blithely unaware that it’s the worst thing she could possibly say in this moment. “She’s been by a few times to buy supplies, you know. She even bought one of your paintings.”
Claire is sure that if she opens her mouth, she’ll start to cry. She clenches her jaw, staring down at the table, and Anita makes a soft noise.
“A story for another time,” Anita says quietly.
Anita leaves Claire to her own devices for the morning. In the afternoon, Claire joins her in the shop to start her new life in earnest.
~ ~ ~
The job turns out to be the best possible distraction. It’s easy to throw herself into helping Anita run the store as November marches onwards—Claire learns how to order supplies and do inventory. Anita even lets her help with balancing the books. It turns out that Claire has an easier time with the mathematics of it. When the shop is quiet Anita encourages her to paint, and Claire gets brave enough to break out the oils again. Her first few tentative pieces are nothing special, but she can feel the rust shaking off.
One thing Claire is sure of is that Pete has no idea where she’s gone.
So, Claire works. She tucks her money away. She meets with Anita’s lawyer and gets the ball rolling on divorce paperwork. She puts a deposit on a shoebox apartment above the sandwich shop a few doors down from Anita’s, which will let her move in just before Christmas. Brick by brick, she builds something new.
When in early December Anita gives her a weekend off, Claire finds that the sudden lack of purpose feels unnatural. There’s no cleaning to be done, no cooking, no grocery shopping. She has so few clothes with her that there’s nothing to mend or iron. She doesn’t have much to do besides lie on Anita’s couch.
“I’ll be with you in a jiff,” Anita says when Claire pushes the door to the shop open, not looking up from her notes. “My damnaccountant wants a record of every time I’ve so much as passed gas this month, and I’m in the middle of a thought.”
“Take your time,” Claire says.
Anita sets the pen down, sighing heavily as she looks up. “Claire. Did I not tell you to take the weekend?”
“I have nothing to do,” Claire says, already drifting towards a box of paint palettes that needs to be priced. “At least here I can be helpful.”
“That’s the point of it. You need to stop being so helpful,” Anita says. She rises from her stool, shooing Claire towards the door like she’s an unruly raccoon raiding the garbage bins. “Get out there and make friends. Get a hobby. Rob a bank.”
“You want me to commit a felony?” Claire says.
“If that’s what it takes,” Anita says, shoving Claire out the door. “I don’t want to see you in this store until Monday. Understood?”
Claire is left on the sidewalk, blinking confusedly in the morning sunlight.
