stiff and formal? She wished they could talk, really talk.
But all she could say was, “I’m glad it stopped raining.”
Jeff checked out the window. “Me too, except it’s been a pretty dry fall. Lots of fire warnings.”
“Jeff. . .”
“Carol . . .”
Carol blushed. “Sorry. You go.”
He breathed in and out deeply. “Look, I know this is probably not the best time, coming on the heels of Lynne’s death.”
She gripped her latte so tightly the thin cardboard began to buckle.
“But ever since the divorce, I’ve been thinking.”
“Yes?”
“There are so many memories I have, so many great memories of our family.”
She felt her stomach stir and chalked it up to the fact that she hadn’t eaten yet.
“I hate to leave, but. . .”
She blinked in confusion. Leave?
“How do I say this? I thought you should know that I’ve taken steps to sell the house. Already we have two offers and I haven’t officially put it on the market.”
The coffee nearly slipped from her hand. Sell the house?
That house represented their entire family history, from the gardens where Amanda and Jon had hunted for Easter eggs in their adorable spring outfits to the backyard where they threw the annual neighborhood Fourth of July party with greased watermelon races in the lake and fireworks over the waters of Kindlewah.
Together, they’d stripped the wallpaper and repainted the kids’ rooms and knocked down a wall to build a nursery for Jon. They’d added a balcony for Amanda and repainted every inch of that molding. That house had been their labor of love. Their home .
She replaced the coffee in the cup holder, afraid her unsteadiness would lead to a spill that might ruin the camel coat. “Why now?”
“The judge wanted us to do it a year ago. The only reason we held off was because of the kids.”
“And now they’re OK?”
“I’m sure they will be. They’ve already moved out. Jonathan’s clear across the country in Portland and Amanda keeps talking about going back to France after that incredible junior year she had.” He ran a hand through his straight blond hair. “As hard as it is to believe, they’re adults now.”
“But it’s our house, Jeff.” Carol searched for concrete arguments as to why he shouldn’t sell it and, much to her distress, couldn’t think of one. “Where will everyone go for Christmas?”
He shrugged. “How about your place? Carol, think about it. With your half of the money from the sale, you’ll be able to put down a sizable deposit on a pretty decent Upper East Side co-op.”
She didn’t want a “pretty decent” co-op on the Upper East Side. “What will you do? It makes no sense selling a house here and then buying a smaller one. And it’s not like Marshfield’s overrun with apartments.”
“Well, that’s the thing.” He studied his gloved hands. “Like I said, I’m ready to leave.”
This took a second or so to comprehend. Oh my God, she thought, quelling a wave of alarm, those weren’t euphemisms. He was actually talking about going away. Away from the kids and their home—away from her .
“You mean, you want to leave Marshfield.”
“Yes. That’s the idea.”
She thought back to that sultry summer afternoon when they stumbled upon the village that would soon become their home, the glow of the setting sun on Jeff’s handsome face as he talked about Marshfield being a place where they could grow old together, where their grandchildren could run through fields and catch butterflies.
“I might come back. Someday. But look, I’m only fifty, Carol, and there’s so much I want to do. Murray Schwartz has been working with Doctors Without Borders in Africa, and this winter he’s going to Haiti. He’s asked me to come along, and. . . you know, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
Carol’s mind suddenly went black. All she heard was that Jeff was selling their house and leaving her alone in New York. Their family truly was shattered, as
But all she could say was, “I’m glad it stopped raining.”
Jeff checked out the window. “Me too, except it’s been a pretty dry fall. Lots of fire warnings.”
“Jeff. . .”
“Carol . . .”
Carol blushed. “Sorry. You go.”
He breathed in and out deeply. “Look, I know this is probably not the best time, coming on the heels of Lynne’s death.”
She gripped her latte so tightly the thin cardboard began to buckle.
“But ever since the divorce, I’ve been thinking.”
“Yes?”
“There are so many memories I have, so many great memories of our family.”
She felt her stomach stir and chalked it up to the fact that she hadn’t eaten yet.
“I hate to leave, but. . .”
She blinked in confusion. Leave?
“How do I say this? I thought you should know that I’ve taken steps to sell the house. Already we have two offers and I haven’t officially put it on the market.”
The coffee nearly slipped from her hand. Sell the house?
That house represented their entire family history, from the gardens where Amanda and Jon had hunted for Easter eggs in their adorable spring outfits to the backyard where they threw the annual neighborhood Fourth of July party with greased watermelon races in the lake and fireworks over the waters of Kindlewah.
Together, they’d stripped the wallpaper and repainted the kids’ rooms and knocked down a wall to build a nursery for Jon. They’d added a balcony for Amanda and repainted every inch of that molding. That house had been their labor of love. Their home .
She replaced the coffee in the cup holder, afraid her unsteadiness would lead to a spill that might ruin the camel coat. “Why now?”
“The judge wanted us to do it a year ago. The only reason we held off was because of the kids.”
“And now they’re OK?”
“I’m sure they will be. They’ve already moved out. Jonathan’s clear across the country in Portland and Amanda keeps talking about going back to France after that incredible junior year she had.” He ran a hand through his straight blond hair. “As hard as it is to believe, they’re adults now.”
“But it’s our house, Jeff.” Carol searched for concrete arguments as to why he shouldn’t sell it and, much to her distress, couldn’t think of one. “Where will everyone go for Christmas?”
He shrugged. “How about your place? Carol, think about it. With your half of the money from the sale, you’ll be able to put down a sizable deposit on a pretty decent Upper East Side co-op.”
She didn’t want a “pretty decent” co-op on the Upper East Side. “What will you do? It makes no sense selling a house here and then buying a smaller one. And it’s not like Marshfield’s overrun with apartments.”
“Well, that’s the thing.” He studied his gloved hands. “Like I said, I’m ready to leave.”
This took a second or so to comprehend. Oh my God, she thought, quelling a wave of alarm, those weren’t euphemisms. He was actually talking about going away. Away from the kids and their home—away from her .
“You mean, you want to leave Marshfield.”
“Yes. That’s the idea.”
She thought back to that sultry summer afternoon when they stumbled upon the village that would soon become their home, the glow of the setting sun on Jeff’s handsome face as he talked about Marshfield being a place where they could grow old together, where their grandchildren could run through fields and catch butterflies.
“I might come back. Someday. But look, I’m only fifty, Carol, and there’s so much I want to do. Murray Schwartz has been working with Doctors Without Borders in Africa, and this winter he’s going to Haiti. He’s asked me to come along, and. . . you know, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
Carol’s mind suddenly went black. All she heard was that Jeff was selling their house and leaving her alone in New York. Their family truly was shattered, as
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