Page 30 of No Kind of Hero
She left, thought,Grownups. You are both grownups. Homeowners. Professionals. Parents . . . Oh, wait. Parent.She drove home in what might have been a daze, changed into her workout clothes, run straight up a mountain with Henry romping at her side and her “Screw You” playlist in her earbuds until her lungs and her thighs were both burning, and ran down the hill again with long strides that ate up the ground. Then she drove home once more, ripped her shoes off on the dock, and jumped into the lake, clothes and all.
She gasped at the shock of the cool water, turned around, and laughed out loud at the sight of Henry leaping off to join her, his floppy ears streaming out behind him and his streamlined brown body quivering with excitement. He paddled out to her, and she treaded water and told him, “Henry, we are physical creatures born for joy, and nature brings us happiness. You’re probably a Virgo. Let’s swim.”
Henry didn’t answer. Well, not exactly. But he swam with her, alternating between funny snorting noises and yips of pleasure, and when she finally returned to shore and staggered out of the water, her clothes and hair streaming, Henry shook all over her and his surroundings in canine ecstasy, making her jump, scream, laugh, and feel a little more of that joy. And when she took herself into the cottage and straight into the shower, wrestling her wet clothes off under the spray, she thought,I do so have a personality. I can so relax. I don’t even need a man with me to do it.
But it would be nice.
The next morning, she woke up to the sound of a jay calling.
It was early. Very early. The pink tinge in the sky, the silver of the lake told her that.
She could see it because for once, she hadn’t closed her curtains last night. Instead, after an evening with her hammock, her smutty book, some cheese and crackers, an apple, and an utterly delicious glass of chilled Pinot Gris, she’d undressed in the late midsummer twilight, lit candles on the edge of the bathtub, and had soaked, drunk another glass of wine—slowly, savoring every sip—played music, had lustful thoughts, andhadn’tread her book anymore. She didn’t need fictional fantasies. She had the real thing. After that, she’d dried herself slowly and thoroughly, rubbed lotion over her entire body, padded naked into the finally-dark bedroom, and done some long, slow, luxurious yoga by the windows in the light of the moon.
It had been like a spa. A spa for one. It had been sensual, and exciting, and daring in a completely new way. And nothing she’d done—even though she’d made her absolute best effort—had soothed the ache from three days of serious sexual frustration.
Plus, there was her heart. That could have been part of it too.
Which was one reason why, in the silver-pink light of dawn, she stood and looked at the shining surface of the lake again and thought,Wait, what?Like when you kept fitting key after key into a lock, and the last one on the ring finally slid effortlessly home with thatsnickof a perfect fit.
She checked her phone. It was only six-thirty. You couldn’t call anybody at six-thirty, at least not the person she wanted to call. She scrambled three eggs, dumped them in a pan with spinach and feta cheese, put two pieces of bread in the toaster, sliced strawberries, sat down, and ate the whole thing.
The lake was still beautiful, just as it had been on that morning ten days ago when her phone had woken her, her mother had called her, and she’d stood in the nude and looked out at the view. The mountains were still green. The sun was still shining. And she wasn’t stuck anymore. The woman who had done yoga in the dark, in the glorious nude, looking at the moon? That was somebody new. Beth needed to hang onto her for another day, and after that, she’d focus on hanging on for one more. One step at a time on that new path, and never mind that the road ahead was hidden in the mist. One step at a time, and you wouldn’t go over the cliff.
Unless you wanted to sky-dive.
By eight-fifteen, she’d sneaked into the big house to retrieve Henry, taken another walk with him to see the flowers and listen to the birds, and made coffee. And then she called Dakota.
“Hey,” Dakota said, sounding extremely . . . relaxed. “How are you?”
“Too early?” Whatever Dakota and Blake’s birthdates were, Beth had a feeling their Love Signs matched up. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what your schedule is now.”
“No, of course not. Blake’s left for the office, and I’m sitting on his deck looking at the . . . I never know exactly what mountains I’m looking at.”
“Uh . . . those would be the Rockies.” Was Dakota high?Veryrelaxed.
“Oh.” Dakota laughed. “No. I’m in Portland.”
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize.” Well,thiswas a disappointment.
Or not. She’d think of another way. This was . . . well, crazy, probably, but itfeltimportant.
“Why?” Dakota asked, sounding more alert now. “Did you need something? You’re still in Wild Horse, right? Still on your . . .” She hesitated. “Vacation?”
No choice. Plunge in. “Yes, and the thing is, it’s actually started tofeelmore like a vacation and less like a breakdown. But you don’t take a vacation at your parents’ house. At least I don’t. I can feel myself getting younger with every day I stay here, and not in a good way.” Then she realized what she’d said. “Of course,” she stammered, “not for you. That was different, I know, when you lived with your . . . with Russell.”
“Beth,” Dakota said, laughing. “Stop. Of course it was different. Your situation’s nothing like mine. I get yours completely, believe me. I resisted moving in with Blake like crazy because he had so much money, and I didn’t trust myself to resist the allure of that and . . . well, Blake, and to make good choices. And I wassleepingwith him. If I had your parents, with the princess bed your mom probably still keeps made up for you just in case you want to crawl back in there? I’d stay far away.”
“Oh,” Beth said again, and thenshelaughed. “I knew you were the right person to call. So here I am, with less than two weeks left”—she refused to give in to the pang that caused—“and I like it here. I mean, I realized yesterday that it’s true. I was running on a trail, and there was a meadow full of Black-Eyed Susans with butterflies all over them, and then I ran into the shadows, into the evergreens. Both of those things—they . . . they stopped my heart a little. Or they stoppedme.Figuratively. They made me look. Ilikeit here.”
“I don’t know why you wouldn’t.” Dakota’s tone was uncharacteristically dry.
Another stab, and Beth wanted to stammer an apology, an excuse. Instead, she stopped and thought. “I wish you were here,” she finally said. “I wish I could see your face. I called you because I knew you’d understand, but you understand too well, of course, and I’m causing you pain.”
“All you had to do is say that,” Dakota said, “and you stopped doing it. So—yes. Wild Horse hasn’t always been . . . hospitable to me. It’s a whole lot more comfortable now, but I still like Portland much better. In fact, if it weren’t for the fact that Russell’s still there, I’d probably never go back except to lord it over the populace. But you’ve felt awkward for the exact opposite reason, and the same one. Because you don’t feel like you’ve earned the spot you have there. Even though”—the dryness again—“that spot’s different from what mine was.”
“Yes.How can you be so much smarter than I am about this?”
“Some things,” Dakota said, “you don’t have to go to college for. Some things, in fact, you probably learn better if youdon’tgo to college.”
