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Her last stop was the library. She dropped off a box of canned goods for the local food drive, then headed back to her car. She was halfway across the street when the rain stopped.
The clouds parted suddenly; a shaft of pure yellow sunlight spilled over the street. Rainwater glistened on the pavement. The misty fog lifted itself, revealing the ocean.
A breeze fluttered through town, kicking up wet leaves. In it, she smelled the salty tang of the water and the barest hint of beach grass.
She crossed the empty street and came to the promenade. The wide path was paved in pink-colored stone; on either side of it, evergreen boxwood had been trimmed to a perfectly square hedge. Every few feet there was a lovely iron bench. The one beside her had a plaque that read: in memory of esther hayes. Old-fashioned ironwork streetlamps had been carefully placed at regular intervals along the walkway. It was easy to imagine Gatsby and Daisy strolling along this promenade in their white finery while children in oversized bathing suits ran giggling across the sand.
Elizabeth stepped down onto the sand. Seagulls circled over-head, cawing out at her, diving in close every now and then to see if she was a tourist with food to spare.
The beach stretched out in front of her, miles of gray, wind-sculpted sand. Gigantic black rocks rose from the shallow water like leviathan shark fins. Waves tumbled lazily forward, licking playfully along the shore.
She walked along the beach, enjoying the feel of the breeze on her face. In a secluded cove, she sat down on a flat black rock. Behind her, beach grass swayed in the breeze.
Just looking at it soothed her nerves.
She was no one out here; maybe that was the attraction. Not Mrs. Jackson Shore, not Jamie and Stephanies mother, not Edward Rhodess little girl.
She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. The air smelled of sand and kelp and sea. For the first time in weeks, maybe longer, she could breathe.
She hadnt understood until just now, this very moment, that shed been breathing badly lately. Holding her breath. Sighing heavily. Tension and unhappiness had stolen this simple gift.
But the clock was ticking. Tomorrow morning, shed have to board a plane and fly east toward a city that had frightened her in the best of times--and these were far from the best of times in New York.
Once there, shed have to move into an apartment she hadnt chosen and sleep beside a husband shed forgotten how to love.
Her last day in echo beach dawned surprisingly bright and clear. The ever-present clouds had scraped clean the sky, left it a tender, hesitant blue.
She woke early--shed hardly gone to sleep, it seemed, when the alarm rang--took a shower and got ready to go. She called the local taxicab and made arrangements to be picked up in an hour, then dragged her luggage out onto the porch.
She slipped off her loafers and put on the gardening clogs that were always by the door, then walked across her yard toward the cliff.
On the beach below, frothy white foam coughed onto the sand, then drew back, leaving its faded impression behind. Nothing--and no one--made a lasting mark on the beach.
She should have remembered that.
Crossing her arms at the cold, she turned and looked back at the house. Her house.
Now, with the sunlight hitting the white-shingled sides, it seemed to belong in Middle Earth, an enchanted cottage tucked between a green hillside and the gray ocean.
She tried not to think about the garden, and all the plans shed had for it. . . .
It felt as if shed been standing there a minute or two, but suddenly the cab was pulling into her driveway.
She whispered, "Good-bye, house," and went to get her bags.
By the time she reached the airport, she was breathing badly again.
The trip from portland to New York City was like climbing Mount Everest without oxygen. It went on and on, and by the time you reached your destination, there was no sensation left in your extremities. First, there was a flight to Seattle, then on to Detroit, and finally a landing at Kennedy Airport. All that paled in comparison to the cab ride into Midtown.
By the time the taxi pulled over to the curb, Elizabeths back was screaming in pain.
She paid the cabdriver and hurried into the building, barely nodding to the doorman. There would be time for introductions later, when she wasnt in desperate need of chiropractic care and an Excedrin.
Clutching the key Jack had sent her, she rode the elevator up to the twenty-fourth floor and found his apartment.
"Jack?"
There was no answer.
