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Shirlene
I open Stan’s side of the closet and inhale. When we got married, Stan insisted we keep an organized closet. On his side, all the long-sleeved shirts are hung together going in one direction, as are his short-sleeve shirts. Vests and pants are also in separate groups. I gave in, not that I had a choice, and my side is also arranged by category of dresses, skirts, slacks, and blouses. I move hangers across the bar, flipping through Stan’s shirts, and smell his oakmoss scent. I finger my favorite sweater vest of his. It’s a powder blue that brought out the color of his eyes. Someone could use these clothes, but I can’t bring myself to offer them to Goodwill. It feels too much like erasing Stan from my life. I close the closet door, lean against it, and slide down to the floor.
I haven’t attended an AA meeting since the day before Stan died. But I don’t care to speak to anyone right now. I don’t want to do much of anything except drive myself to a liquor store. Although it might be helpful to talk about things at a meeting, I can’t exactly say my elderly husband recently died, because they believe I’m Rain, who is twenty.
Our bed looms across the room. Hattie changed the sheets with a different bedspread, but I’m still sleeping in the guest room. I can’t be in our bed alone. In fact, I don’t want to be up here at all. It’s nearly time to feed Arlene anyway. I haul myself up off the bedroom floor. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I hear Cam in the kitchen.
“Just one more minute, sweetheart, and I’ll have your bottle warmed up.”
I find him cradling the baby in the crook of his arm and testing one of the bottles of my breast milk on his wrist. It’s such an intimate gesture.
He notices me. “I thought you might be napping. I tried not to disturb you.”
“No. I was just... It doesn’t matter.”
“Would you prefer to nurse her?”
“You go ahead and have some time with her. Let’s go in the living room.”
Cam settles into the rocker with Arlene. I sit on the piano bench and hit a key.
“I don’t know what to do with myself.” I rise and peer out the window.
“Well, I have a proposal,” he says.
I pivot to watch him feeding Arlene. My baby. His niece. His daughter. My confusing situation was manageable until Stan died. Now it seems disjointed and absurd.
“Good girl.” Cam kisses Arlene’s head. “I told you about my grandmother’s shore house in Rehoboth Beach. Well, I was planning on spending some time there this summer, but I didn’t bring it up because I knew Stan needed to be in his own home.”
I look out the window again. Across the street, children are playing in the sprinkler.
Cam continues. “Hattie and I met for lunch today, and we think a change of scenery might be good.”
“Tell me about the house.” I sit on the sofa.
“It’s the last one on the block, right at the beach. There are four bedrooms, but it’s nothing fancy.”
“Is there a porch?”
“A screened porch. And upstairs is a deck off two of the bedrooms. You have a wonderful view of the ocean from both.”
I wander back to my piano. “Although I haven’t been able to touch this, I can’t be away from the piano for several weeks.”
“My grandmother’s upright is there.”
“Can Hattie come?”
“Already invited.”
This could be the lifeline I need.
***
My stomach churns. I shouldn’t be running away to the beach. I should be grieving the death of my husband and processing the anger I’m experiencing about the vasectomy he kept secret from me. I need a drink.
As Cam, Hattie, Arlene, and I approach Rehoboth Beach proper, we enter a business district filled with tourist shops and a variety of restaurants. The festive atmosphere doesn’t distract me from my problems, and I keep an eye out for a liquor store.
What am I doing? I glance back at Arlene and try to calm myself without the promise of a drink to settle my nerves.
Pedestrians and traffic slow our progress in the busy summer resort town until Cam drives south. The residential streets are quieter and lined with lovely homes, some large remodels and others older cottages. After turning right and traveling toward the ocean, Cam drives in behind the last house before the beach. It’s two stories high with white clapboard siding. While Cam comes around to open the door for Hattie, I release Arlene’s infant car seat.
“I’ll unload the car later. First, I want to show you the house.” With a spring in his step, Cam leads us past the enclosed outdoor shower and up the path to the back door.
We enter a good-sized mudroom, which contains a washer and dryer. We follow Cam into a charming seashore-themed kitchen with a stencil of seashells painted along the top of each wall, likely done by Cam’s grandmother.
“The living room is through here,” Cam says.
We follow him into a large room. A handsome brick fireplace graces the wall facing the street, with plenty of cozy seating surrounding it. Much of the furniture is antique. There’s an eclectic collection of art on the walls.
Cam points to a stairway opposite the fireplace, next to a dining table, sideboard, and chairs. “There’s a tiny powder room under the steps.”
The upright piano sits next to a heavy wooden door leading to a screened porch. I wander toward it, hoping that if I can play, I’ll be more in control. My hands quiver as I reach for the keys but don’t touch them.
Cam opens the door. “We need to get some air in here. It’s been shut up since last fall.” He begins opening living room windows. Salty air floats in on an ocean breeze.
Hattie is the first one onto the porch. “What a view!”
I bring Arlene out with me. She wakes up wiggling her nose at the sweet smell of the sea. “She loves it here,” I say. Everyone is happy but me.
Cam comes to the doorway. “Let me show you the upstairs.”
Hattie leisurely follows Cam. “I’m glad I brought so many books to read.”
The second floor is light and airy with pastel wall colors and lots of windows.
“You two can have the front rooms with the ocean view. I’ll take the back.” He disappears into the back bedroom, and I hear him opening windows.
“I claim this one.” Hattie goes through the door closest to the bathroom.
I poke my head into what will be the nursery before wandering into the other front room. It’s cozy and has a dormer with a door leading to a deck. As I carry Arlene through the door, Hattie comes out onto the deck from her room.
“Now I have a problem,” she says, staring out at the ocean.
“What?”
“I can’t decide if I want to be on this deck or on the porch.”
“Life is rough.” The sea breeze whips my hair around.
Hattie leans into me. “This will help, Shirlene.”
“Hattie, I want a drink in the worst way.”
She slips her arm around my waist. “Let’s find you an AA meeting today.”
I nod. “I need it, and we also have to tell Cam that if there’s any liquor in the house, it has to go.”