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She reached for another piece of stationery.
Dear Anita:
I am at the beach house by myself.
Its quiet here, so quiet that I am beginning to realize how noisy my life was before. It is the way of women, I think, to follow the loudest voice, to constantly do for others.
I am trying now to find my own lost voice. Perhaps you are, too. An empty house can be a lonely, frightening world for women like us, used to listening to others.
My thoughts often drift southward these days, and I pray that you are okay. If theres anything I can do to help you, please dont be afraid to call. I know weve always been distant with each other, Anita, but in the words of Bob Dylan, "the times they are a changin. " Maybe we can find a new way.
My best,
Elizabeth
She got out of bed, dressed in a pair of ragged sweats, green plastic gardening clogs, and a fishing cap, like Kate Hepburn wore in On Golden Pond; then she walked up to the mailbox.
By the time she got home, she was breathing hard and soaked with sweat. She definitely needed more exercise.
She was in the bedroom, peeling off her wet sweats, when something occurred to her.
The Passionless Women.
She was one of them now.
In the days following the breakup of his marriage, Jack made sure he was never alone. Each morning, he woke at four a. m. and was at the office by five, long before any of his colleagues. After hours, he found someone--anyone--and hung out at the sports bar on Fiftieth.
He didnt know how else to handle the separation. Hed never been good at being alone.
Tonight, he stayed at the bar until it closed, downing drinks with Warren. When he finally stumbled home, he was well past drunk.
He walked into the apartment and called out Birdies name.
The silence caught him off guard.
That was when it really hit him. They were separated. Without thinking it through, he picked up the phone and dialed her number. It rang at least eight times before she answered.
"Hello?" She sounded tired.
He glanced at his watch. It was three in the morning here; midnight in Oregon. "Heya, Birdie," he said, wincing.
"Oh. Hi. "
He imagined her sitting up in bed, turning on the light. "Its weird being without you," he admitted softly, sitting down on his unmade bed.
"I know. "
"I shouldnt have said divorce. " Even now, the word made his stomach tighten. "I was angry. "
She didnt respond right away. He hated her silence; it made him feel as if this were all his fault. Finally, she said, "Maybe I should have done things differently, too. "
"What now?" he asked. It was what he really wanted to know. For twenty-four years, hed lived with her, slept with her, cared for her. Any other way was long forgotten.
"I dont know. " She sounded faraway. "I need some time alone. "
"But what about us?"
"We go
