Thought I Knew You(45)

“How was your night?” I asked, eyebrows wiggling suggestively.

“Uh-uh, you first. How was yours?”

“Oh, pretty wonderful. I can’t believe you get to do this all the time!” I flopped back onto the pillows. “I’ve never had a one-night stand before!”

“When did he leave?”

“I have no clue.”

She reached over and plucked something off the pillow next to my head. “Oh, my God. What an amateur. He left a note!”



Holding the sheet over me, I reached up for it. “Give me that! That might say something personal!” I grabbed it out of her hand.





Claire,

I had a wonderful time. Hope you get through your “something.” Your husband has no idea what he left behind. Next time you’re on the west coast, call me day or night. I still have your cell # and I’ll call you next time I’m in New York. I’d love to meet up. And I really hope I see you again. I mean that. Love, Will.





“Well, that’s about the sweetest Dear Jane letter I ever read,” Sarah said.

“It’s not a Dear Jane letter. That would imply that I’m being dumped, which implies that I wanted more than this one night. Which I don’t.”

Sarah stretched her arms wide, grinning and turning in a slow circle. “So how does it feel to be me?”

“It’s a great party,” I replied.





We spent our last day in San Diego doing a vineyard tour of southern California. Sarah deemed it “No Napa Valley. But pretty damn good.” And that was okay by me. It was the happiest day I’d had in a long time. We were giggly, surely obnoxious to some. I thought of Greg barely at all, Will frequently, and Drew once when our vintner pompously instructed us to swirl and sniff the glass prior to tasting. I remembered Drew doing something similar, mockingly, and declaring the wine, “Woodsy. Or is it Woody?” and us breaking into laughter. Where were we? A wine festival, years ago somewhere in New York state. Greg was with us, but I had no memories of that trip that included him. I made a mental note to call Drew as soon as I got home and apologize for avoiding him the past few weeks.



That night, we ordered Chinese take-out and laid off the booze. I was too old to drink for two consecutive nights, and my digestive system was not thrilled with my recent tear. We rented girly movies about finding true love and happily ever after and talked about what a bunch of shit they were.

“Not all men are scum, Claire,” Sarah amended.

“Not Owen?” I asked, realizing she had successfully evaded the “How was your night” question.

“Actually, no. To tell the truth, Owen is the first guy I’ve been genuinely interested in for a very long time.”

“Really?” I was flabbergasted. Sarah, the queen of giving out a fake phone number after the one-night stand.

“Really. And I think he might feel the same way.” She was quick to add, “But who knows? You can’t tell with vacation flings.”

I nodded, playing along. “Yeah, I mean they never go anywhere.”

We fell asleep with the TV still on, knowing that we would part the next day and go back to reality. That was okay; I was ready for it.





Chapter 20



When I arrived home, I hugged the girls with ferocity. The trip had worked wonders for my state of mind, but I frequently felt incomplete, as if I’d lost an arm or a leg. Holding my girls, I realized that Leah and Hannah filled that void. While I had enjoyed the long, hot showers and the selfish indulgence of alcohol and rich food, I wouldn’t trade lives with Sarah for anything. I breathed in the girls’ strawberry hair. They always smelled like candy, even when they’d gone days without a bath, as if innocent sweetness wafted out of their pores. Mom said Leah had cried because she missed me, but had slept well all three nights. Amazing.

Hannah held my hand for the majority of the evening, as though the simple gesture could anchor me and keep me from leaving her again. After I put Leah to bed, Hannah and I sat on the couch. She informed me that Annie was no longer her best friend because Pop-pop was and that she liked spaghetti.

I expressed surprise at both admissions, and Hannah said gravely, “Mommy, things change when you’re not here.”

“I guess they do!” I tried not to smile. “I won’t go away again for a long time, okay?”

“Did you go and try to find Daddy again?”

I had a stab of guilt. When I flew out there, that had been my intention. After my stranger chase through the streets of San Diego, the need to do the Greg Barnes tour had died. I decided to lie, thinking that alternate explanations would be too complicated. “I did look for Daddy. But I didn’t find him.”