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Since Brian died, it had felt as if someone had pressed Pause on her life. She’d been living here in her safe little world, moored in a harbor instead of heading boldly out to sea.
Liza didn’t want her in the harbor, she wanted her in dry dock. She wanted her safely shut away in a place where no harm could come to her.
Her daughter’s intentions were good, but the thought of selling the home she loved had brought Kathleen to the edge of panic. She’d been so horrified by the idea that she’d blurted out that wild statement about wanting adventure.
Liza’s expression of shock wasn’t something any of them were likely to forget in a hurry.
She’d obviously thought that the bang on the head had affected her mother’s thinking.
Mum? Are you sure you’re feeling all right? Are you dizzy? Do you know what day it is?
Yes, she knew what day it was. It was the day to make a few decisions.
She eased herself out of bed, ignoring the aches in her limbs, and took painkillers for her headache. From her bedroom window she could see the ocean in the distance and had a sudden yearning to be skimming the waves in a catamaran with salt air stinging her face. She’d once spent a month sailing the Mediterranean as part of a flotilla. She’d spent most of the time barefoot, her skin burnt from the hot sun, and her hair stiff from seawater. Most of all she remembered feeling alive and free.
She wanted to feel that way again. It wasn’t age dependent, surely?
Was Liza right? Was she being stubborn? Unrealistic? What did she expect at eighty years old? Did she really think she was going to dance barefoot across the sand and haul in a sail? Drink tequila in Mexico?
Those days were behind her, although she still had the memories and the evidence of the life she’d once lived.
The house was silent and she walked into the room that had been her study for all the years she’d lived here. The walls were lined with maps. Africa. Australia. The Middle East. America. The whole world was right there in front of her, tempting her.
How she missed exploring. She missed the bustle of the airport, the scents and sounds of a new country, the excitement of discovery. She missed sharing it with people. Go here, see this, do this. The Summer Seekers had been her baby. Her show.
What use was her experience to anyone now? She’d thought she might write a book about her travels, but it turned out that writing about it had been nowhere near as exciting as doing it. She’d scribbled a couple of chapters and then abandoned them, bored with sitting and drowning in a sea of nostalgia. She didn’t want to write, she wanted to do.
It had been eight years since she’d last traveled out of the country, a sedate trip to Vienna to celebrate their wedding anniversary. They’d eaten Sachertorte, richly chocolatey and unquestionably indulgent. Flavors had been one of the pleasures of exploring new countries. Flavors were memories for Kathleen. When she smelled spices, she was transported to the palm-fringed beaches of Goa. The soft sizzle of garlic in olive oil made her think of long, slow summers in Tuscany.
She’d always had a passion for adventure. For travel. She hadn’t paused long enough to let life settle on her.
She stood in front of the map of North America, marked with the historic Route 66.
That particular road trip had long been on her wish list. She would have taken the trip many years back were it not for the fact that it ended in California. California was a big place, of course, but still it was too uncomfortable.
Thinking about California made her think of the letters. She reached out to open the drawer in her desk, but then snatched her hand back.
It was far too late now. You couldn’t change history. All she could do was look at the maps and the photographs and dream.
She looked at the box files, bulging with maps and notes.
Selling this place wouldn’t just mean selling her home, it would mean leaving her past. Her house wasn’t stuffed full of meaningless objects, it was full of pieces of her life. Everything came with meaning and memory attached.
She locked the door of the study, and returned to the bedroom where she hid the key in a drawer.
That man breaking into her house had made her evaluate her life.
Yes, she was vulnerable, but so was every human being. Most didn’t realize it, of course. Most people believed they were in control of everything that happened to them and perhaps it took age and long experience to know that life could deliver blows you never could have deflected, not even with a skillet.
She’d never let fear stop her living. Instead she’d made the most of every moment, dealing with trouble as it came her way. If anything she’d been reckless.
She was no longer reckless, but nor was she ready to live out her days in a room with a call button.
A restless feeling stirred inside her. Excitement. Anticipation. A thirst for adventure. Lately it had been absent and it was reassuring to know she was still capable of feeling it. It gave her an energy and a drive that was much needed.
She walked to the bathroom and removed the bandage from her head. Enough of that.
She scrubbed at the dried blood and cleaned herself up as best she could, deciding that washing her hair probably wouldn’t
