Page 23 of Summer Longing
Now all she needed was Olivia’s forgiveness.
She dialed again, prepared to leave a much stronger message, something to make certain her daughter returned her call. What that would be, she had no idea. And then:
“Hello, Mother.”
The tone of her daughter’s voice was markedly cooler than Ruth would have liked, but at least she had answered. “Olivia! How are you?”
“I’m fine. But this isn’t a great time.”
“Well, I’m sorry to intrude, but…” But what? And then Ruth realized she did not just want to hear her daughter’s voice; she wanted to see her. Yes, this…whatever it was between them had gone on long enough. It had taken her a few decades to build a successful business. If she applied the same focus and energy, surely she could rebuild her relationship with her daughter in whatever time she had left on the planet. “But I need to see you.”
“Why? Is something wrong?” Olivia said.
“Not exactly.”
“Okay, well, I’ll e-mail you some dates and we’ll get it on the calendar,” Olivia said.
“I was thinking next weekend.”
“Mother, I can’t drive down to Philly on a summer-holiday weekend. Traffic on the Jersey Turnpike is going to be brutal.”
“Actually, I’m not in Philadelphia. I’m in Provincetown.”
“Where?”
“Provincetown. Cape Cod. I’ve moved here.”
Silence. Then: “Why?” Her voice was thick with irritation, as if she’d felt forced to ask the question but really couldn’t care less.
It was then that Ruth realized there was no way Olivia was coming to visit her. Not that weekend. Not ever—at least, not until there was an urgency. Ruth hesitated just a few beats before saying, “I’m getting my affairs in order.” Well, it was technically the truth. Looking for a house to buy was part of her affairs, just as selling her business had been part of her affairs. She was getting her life on track for the next phase, whatever that might look like.
More silence. Finally, Olivia spoke.
“Can I call you back?”
Chapter Eleven
Ruth was a morning person, and yet for close to a year, she hadn’t had a reason to be up and out of the house. And so when Amelia sent the e-mail saying the mosaic class started at eight a.m. at Herring Cove, Ruth was delighted with her decision to join the group.
She spotted Amelia, Molly the dog, and half a dozen women near the edge of the ocean. An extremely large seagull walked brazenly close and seemed intent on following her to the sand.
“Ruth! Welcome! We were just introducing ourselves.”
The group stood clustered around Amelia. Ruth was surprised to see Elise Douglas among them. After they’d all shared their names, Amelia held up a handful of shells.
“The beauty—and challenge—of mosaics is taking a lot of random and disconnected pieces and putting them together to make a visually satisfying design,” Amelia said. “You can make a mosaic out of virtually anything. You can take something broken and turn it into something whole. There’s a story in my family about a famous argument between my great-grandparents back in Lisbon during which, well, let’s just say the dinner plates didn’t survive. Two weeks later, there was a new frame around the mirror hanging in the front hallway.”
Everyone laughed, and one of the women turned and made a comment to the woman next to her.
“Don’t believe me? I have the mirror on display at the inn. Now, fortunately, most mosaics do not require a domestic dispute. When we go to my studio, I’ll show you tiles, beads, buttons…the options for color and texture are vast. But I find the most satisfying works include some pieces that have personal meaning. That’s why we’re here this morning. For the next hour, I want everyone to walk up and down the beach looking for shells, stones, sea glass—anything that catches your eye. In your final mosaic, you might use everything you find or just one symbolic piece.”
Amelia handed everyone a mesh bag with narrow netting. Ruth adjusted her sun hat and followed the group as it marched forward. A few of the women, clearly friends to begin with, broke off in pairs and slowed down. Ruth passed the rest of the group and found herself walking alone until Amelia and Molly appeared by her side.
“She likes the beach?” Ruth said.
“Well,” Amelia said, patting Molly’s head, “she prefers to laze around the living room. But I force her to get moving—just like I force myself.”
Ruth nodded. “I have to admit I haven’t been out this early in a while. It feels good.”
